Up the Creek Without a Saddle (Bandit Creek Book 31)
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For the film, see Belle Starr film. For the 80s girl group, see The Belle Stars. Carthage, Missouri. This article appears to contain trivial, minor, or unrelated references to popular culture. Please reorganize this content to explain the subject's impact on popular culture, providing citations to reliable, secondary sources , rather than simply listing appearances. Unsourced material may be challenged and removed.
August This article needs additional citations for verification. Please help improve this article by adding citations to reliable sources. Los Angeles Times. Archived from the original on March 6, Retrieved January 23, RootsWeb — an Ancestry. Retrieved February 13, True West Magazine. Muldrow, Oklahoma. Retrieved May 16, Atlas Obscura. Officer Down Memorial Page. Vinita, Indian Territory [Okla. Wichita, Kan. Kansas City, Mo. San Francisco [Calif.
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Internet Movie Data Base. Retrieved September 16, A, Death Valley Days , November 13, ". Retrieved February 25, Part of a series on hill people around the world. Namespaces Article Talk. Occasionally two bedrooms may share a bathroom. One of the places you might stay in is a renovated old Mill which has small apartments which have a double bed on a balcony and two beds downstairs with one bathroom. This may be booked as two single rooms. It is possible to request a single room or to book on a willing to share basis.
If you are in a single room then a single supplement is payable of Euro 30 per night. An exception is made if you book more than two months in advance of the date of your holiday and you are willing to share but end up in a single room on one or more nights, then no single supplement is charged. The rides require a minimum of four people to confirm. Please contact us to enquire about small group supplement prices. INCLUDES Accommodation; full board with wine on most days each itinerary will have a few meals payable locally ; dinner on arrival and breakfast on departure.
An exception is made if you book more than two months in advance of the date of your holiday and you are willing to share but end up in a single room on one or more nights then no single supplement is charged. Single rooms are subject to availability and not guaranteed. Lovely riding through the forests and being abe to stop for lunch and swim.
Great holiday. These are challenging rides in Catalonia. Fantastic scenery on forward going horses with great Spanish food along the way. Bring clothes you can layer on so that you can enjoy the sunshine and the cooler mountain air. Really comfortable footwear is essential too. Email: claire inthesaddle. Spain Pyrenean Adventures. Maynard told me to take the tongue out of the new wagon and put a trailer tongue in it.
Put a water wagon behind your trailer, hook up those eight mules with your team and go to Daggett. Webster was supposed to swamp for me. But when he saw his new red wagon and mules hitched up with my outfit, he walked into the office and quit his job. The pleasure of your trip through the Big Sink will be enhanced if you know something about the structural features which are sure to arrest your attention. For undetermined ages Death Valley was desert. Then rivers and lakes. Rivers dried. Lakes evaporated. Again, desert. It is believed that in thousands of years there have been no changes other than those caused by earthquakes and erosion.
It is no abuse of the superlative to say that the foremost authority upon Death Valley geology is Doctor Levi Noble, who has studied it under the auspices of the U. Geological Survey since He has ridden over more of it than anyone and because of his studies, earlier conclusions of geologists are scrapped today.
From a pamphlet published by the American Geological Society with the permission of the U. Here the Amargosa river has cut a canyon feet deep The mountain is made up of thrust slices of Cambrian and pre-Cambrian rocks alternating with slices of Tertiary rocks, all of which dip in general about 30 to 40 degrees eastward, but are also anticlinally arched. Throughout the area south of Shoshone are many hot springs containing boron and fluorine—some with traces of radium. The water is believed to come from a buried river.
The source of other hot springs in the Death Valley area is unknown. Lanky and baked brown, in each wrinkle of his face the sun had etched a smile. Just come from there. I was watching the crystals; felt the ground move a little. Pool started sloshing. A sea serpent with eyes big as a wagon wheel and teeth full of kelp stuck his head up. No kelp in this valley.
That prove anything? Full of fish four inches long. Next time, three springs and a lake. Fish shrunk to one inch and different shaped head. Actually these fish are the degenerate descendants of the larger fish that lived in the streams and lakes that once watered Death Valley—an interesting study in the survival of species. The real name, Cyprinodon Macularius , is too large a mouthful for the natives so they are called desert sardines, though they are in reality a small killifish.
Dan Breshnahan, in charge of a road crew working between Furnace Creek Inn and Stove Pipe Well, ordered some of the men to dig a hole to sink some piles. Two feet beneath a hard crust they encountered muck. When they hit the pile with a sledge it would bounce back. Dan put a board across the top. With a man on each end of the board, the rebound was prevented and the pile driven into hard earth.
A heavily loaded 20 mule team wagon driven by Delameter 41 broke the surface of this ooze and two days were required to get it out. To test the depth, he tied an anvil to his bridle rein and let it down. The lead line of a 20 mule team is feet long. It sank he said the length of the line and reached no bottom. True or false, none has ever been found. A steep trail leads down to the water which will then be over your head. Indians will tell you that a squaw fell into this hole within the memory of the living and that she was sucked to the bottom and came out at Big Spring several miles distant.
The latter is a large hole in the middle of the desert and from its throat, also bottomless, pours a large volume of clear, warm water. Only the day before in , Dr. Levi Noble had been working in the mountains overlooking the valley on the east rim. Through his field glasses he saw a formation that looked like a natural bridge. Since Furnace Creek Inn wanted such attractions for its guests, Gower went immediately and almost within rifle shot of a road used since the Seventies, he found the bridge.
Death Valley is the hottest spot in North America. The U.
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Army, in a test of clothing suitable for hot weather made some startling discoveries. According to records, on one day in every seven years the temperature reaches on the valley floor. But five feet above ground where official temperatures are recorded the thermometer drops 55 degrees to In , the week of July , the temperature never got below Official recording differs little from that of Arabia, India, and lower California, but the duration is longer.
Left in the sun, water in a pail of ordinary size will evaporate in an hour. Bodies decompose two or three hours after rigor mortis begins but some have been found in certain areas at higher altitudes dried like leather. A rattlesnake dropped into a bucket and set in the sun will die in 20 minutes.
The evaporation of salt from the body is rapid and many prospectors swallow a mouthful of common salt before going out into a killing sun. One of the pitiable features of death on the desert is that bodies are found with fingers worn to the bone from frantic digging and often beneath the cadaver is water at two feet. There is also legendary weather for outside consumption. Told to see Joe Ryan as a source of dependable information, a tourist approached Joe and asked what kind of temperature one would encounter in the valley.
I was walking ahead when I heard Mike coughing. I looked around. Seemed to be choking and I went back. He told me they would stand heat up to degrees. I met an engaging liar at Bradbury Well one day. He was gloriously drunk and was telling the group about him that he was a great grand-son of the fabulous Paul Bunyan.
He got every goose, but how did he end up? Not so good. He straddled the Pacific ocean one day and prowled around in China, and saw a cross-eyed pigeon-toed midget with buck teeth. Worse, she had a temper that would melt pig-iron. What happened? He married her. She had some trained fleas. If Gramp got sassy, she put fleas in his ears and ants in his pants and stood by, laughing at him, while he scratched himself to death. In the late fall, winter, and early spring perfect days are the rule and if you are among those who like uncharted trails, do not hurry. Then when night comes you will climb a moonbeam and play among the stars.
You will learn too, that life goes on away from box scores, radio puns, and girls with a flair for Veuve Cliquot. Both had undoubtedly degenerated as a result of migrations. The Piutes in Utah, Idaho, and Nevada. The true blood connection of coast Indians may well be a matter of dispute.
Most of them were hardly above the animal in intelligence or morality. Those whom Dr. French found in the Panamint said they had no tribal name. All seem to agree however, that the farther north the Indian lived, the more intelligent he was and the better his physique—which would indicate a relation to the better diet in the lush, well-watered and game-filled valleys and foothills. Certainly those found in Death Valley country reflected in their persons and in their character the niggardly land and the struggle for 44 survival upon it.
They were treacherous as its terrain. Cruel as its cactus.
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Tenacious as its stunted life. A husband will prostitute his wife to a stranger for a trifling present. Medical Press, Vol. Some ethnologists declare they cannot be identified with any other American tribe. Wives were purchased, cash or credit. Polygamy prevailed. Unmarried women belonged to all, but Gibbs says women bewailed their virginity for three days prior to marriage.
Husbands were allowed to kill their mothers-in-law. The heart of a valiant enemy killed in battle was eaten raw or cut into pieces and made into soup. Women captives of other tribes were ravished, sold or kept as slaves. Some Southern California tribes sold their women and occasionally tribes were found without a single squaw. Thus the Indian who came or was driven to this wasteland evoked conflicting opinions and the real picture is vague. The lowest of California Indians is believed to have been the Digger, so-called because he existed chiefly upon roots and lived in burrows of his own making, but his isolation by ethnologists is not convincing.
He was found around Shoshone by Fremont and Kit Carson and inhabited valleys to the north and west, but in the Death Valley region the Piute and Shoshone were dominant. Blood vengeance was deep-rooted. Found with the Indian collection of Dr. Simeon Lee at Carson City was a revealing manuscript that tells how swiftly it struck. Mudge rode up to another Indian standing on a Carson City street and without warning shot him dead and galloped away.
The dead man had two cousins working at Lake Tahoe. The murder had occurred at a. Mudge promptly killed them both and fled again. Sheriff Ulric engaged Captain Johnnie, a Piute, to track the slayer. The posse decided to keep watch until thirst or hunger forced him out. He disappeared, but soon returned with an enormous amount of tempting food which he contrived to place within easy reach of Mudge.
Eat bellyful and fall down asleep. In Mono county Piutes killed the Chinese owner of a cafe and fed the carcass to their dogs. For the desert Indian life was raw to the bone. He was an unemotional, fatalistic creature as ruthless as the land. In the struggle to live, he had acquired endurance and cunning. He knew his desert—its moods, its stingy dole, its chary tolerance of life. He knew where the mountain sheep hid, the screw-bean grew and the fat lizard crawled. He knew where the drop of water seeped from the lone hill.
He combed the lower levels of the range for chuckwalla, edible snakes, horned toads—anything with flesh; stuffed the kill into bags and preserved 46 them for later use. I have seen a squaw squatted beside the carcass of a dog, picking out the firmer flesh. When the Piute came to a spring, the first thing he did was to look about for a flat rock which he was sure to find if a member of his tribe had previously been there.
Kneeling, he would skim the water from the surface and dash it upon this rock. Then he smelled the rock. If there was an odor of onion or garlic, he knew it contained arsenic and was deadly. Naturally, he would be concerned about another water hole. He had only to look about him. He would find partially imbedded in the earth several stones fixed in the form of a circle not entirely closed.
The opening pointed in the direction of the next water. The distance to that water was indicated by stones inside the circle. There he would find for example, three stones pointing toward the opening. But which of these trails leading to the water should he take? There might be several trails converging at the water hole. The matter was decided for him. He walked along each of those trails for a few feet. Beside one of them he would find an oblong stone. By its shape and position he knew that was the trail that led to the next water. Under such circumstances a man would perhaps wonder if upon arrival at the next water hole he would find that water also unfit to use.
The information was at hand. If, upon top of that oblong stone he found a smaller stone placed crosswise and white in color, he knew the water would be good water. If a piece of black malpai was there instead of the white stone, he knew the next water would be poison also. Not infrequently he would find other information at the water hole if there were boulders about, or chalky cliffs upon which the Indian could place his picture writing. If he saw the crude drawing of a lone man, it indicated that the land about was uninhabited except by hunters, but if upon the pictured torso were marks indicating the breasts of a woman, he knew there was a settlement about and he would find squaws and children and something to eat.
Frequently other information was left for this wayfaring Indian.
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Under conspicuous stones about, he might find a feather with a hole punched through it or one that was notched. The former indicated that one had been there who had killed his man. The notch indicated that he had cut a throat. Since there was a difference between the moccasins of Indian tribes, 47 the dust about would often inform him whether the buck who went before was friend or enemy.
Like all American aborigines, the Piute had his medicine man, but the manner of his choosing is not clear.
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The one selected had to accept the role, though the honor never thrilled him, because he knew that when the score of death was three against him he would join his lost patients in the happy hereafter. Occasionally he was stoned to death by the relatives of the first lost patient and with the approval of the rest of the tribe. The word Piute is believed to mean true Ute. There was an undetermined number of branches of the original Utah stock. Besides the above, there was another tribe called by other Indians, Cozaby Piutes, Cozaby being the Indian name of a worm that literally covered the shores of Mono Lake.
This worm was a principal food of the tribe. At its foot they rested and cursed it because it impeded their progress to the California goldfields. The truth lies somewhere between. A mountain of gold and silver side by side. A new crop of overnight millionaires.
New feet feeling for the first step on the social ladder. The Mackays, the Floods, the Fairs, the Hearsts. All this was more like current than twenty year old history to Jim Butler on May 18, , when his hungry burro strayed up a hill in search of grass. Soon a city stood where the burro ate and soon adventurers were poking around in the canyons of Death Valley, 66 miles south.
Jim Butler, more rancher than gold hunter was a likable happy-go-lucky fellow, who could strum a banjo and sing a song. But when he found the burro in Sawtooth Pass he saw a ledge which looked as if it might have values.
Born in El Dorado county in California in , Butler was more or less gold conscious, but unexcited he stuck a few samples in his pocket and went on after the burro. A story survives which states that a half-breed Shoshone Indian known as Charles Fisherman had told Butler of the existence of the ore 49 without disclosing its location and that Butler was actually searching for it when the burro strayed. The preponderance of evidence, however, indicates that Butler was en route to Belmont to see his friend, Tasker Oddie, who was batching there in a cabin.
He gave Oddie one of the samples and after his visit, left for home. In Klondike a few days later, Butler showed another sample to Frank Higgs, an assayer. Forget it. Later in Belmont Henry Broderick, a prospector dropped in for a visit with Oddie and noticed the sample Butler had given Oddie and looked it over. Belmont had a population of With few customers, Gayhart took a chance. The ore showed values and Oddie was mildly excited. Butler lived 35 miles away in wild, difficult country and Oddie wrote him, enclosing the assay.
Several weeks passed before Butler received the letter. Then Butler and his wife returned to Belmont only to find Oddie could not go with them. Jim and Mrs. Butler now returned home, loaded provisions, tools, and camp equipment in a wagon and three days later, Aug. The Butlers staked out eight claims. Jim took for himself the one he considered best. He named it The Desert Queen. Butler chose another and called it Mizpah. Jim located another for Oddie and named it Burro. The best proved to be Mrs.
Returning to Belmont, they found Oddie at home. The matter of recording the location notices had to be attended to. Neither of them had any money. The setup was now: Butler and his wife five-eighths, Oddie, Brougher, and Gayhart, one-eighth each. Brougher, Oddie, Jim, and Mrs. Butler set out in October, Butler did the cooking while the men dug, drilled, and blasted two tons of ore. The ore was sacked and hauled miles to Austin and shipped to a San Francisco smelter. The returns showed high values but still they had a major problem—money to develop the claims.
Because the country had been prospected and pronounced worthless, men of millions were not backing a banjo-picking rancher and a young lawyer with no money and few clients. The answer was leasing to idle miners willing to gamble muscle against money. The venture made many of them rich. The others recovered more than wages. As the leases expired the owners took them over.
The camp where Mrs. Butler cooked became the site of the Mizpah Hotel and the City of Tonopah and the hill where the burro strayed produced many millions. There are several versions of the Butler discovery and the writer does not pretend that his own is the true one. He can only say that he knew many of those who were first on the scene and some of those who held the first and best leases, and his conclusions are based on their personal narratives. Twenty-six miles south of Tonopah was a place known as Grandpa, so named because there were always a few old prospectors camped at the water hole known as Rabbit Springs.
These patriarchs had combed the desert about, for years without success. Al Myers, a prospector working on a hill nearby, came to the Grandpa Spring to fill a barrel of water and found his friend, Shorty Harris, who had been camping there, packing his burros to leave. Some of the more promising claims of Goldfield were leased, the most valuable being that of Hays and Monette, on the Mohawk.
Though wages at Tonopah were twice those paid at Goldfield, miners deserted the older camp for the lower wage and made more than the difference by concealing high-grade in the cuffs of their overalls or in other ingenious receptacles built into their clothing. Miners and muckers took the girls of their choice out of honkies and installed them in cottages.
To stop the stealing, a change room was installed but many had already secured themselves against want. Everybody was doing it. Tex Rickard, a gambler and saloon man, already known in Alaska and San Francisco for spectacular adventures, here began his career as a sports promoter in the ill-advised Jeffries-Johnson fight. One morning his Great Northern had more than its usual crowd.
Men stood three deep at the bar, games were busy and Billy Murray, the cashier was rushed. It was not unusual for desert men to leave their money with Murray. He would tag and sack it and toss it aside, but today there was a steady stream being poked at him. Finally it got in his way and he had it taken through the alley to the bank, but the deluge continued. When it again got in his way, his assistant having stepped out, Billy took it to the bank himself.
There he learned the reason for the flood of money. A run was being made on the John S. Cook bank. He satisfied himself that the bank was safe and returned to his cage. As fast as the money came in the front door, it went out the back and Billy Murray thus saved the bank and the town from collapse. Good looking and likable, he made friends, took over the gambling concession and was soon taking over Goldfield and the state of Nevada. Goldfield is only 40 miles from the northern boundary of Death Valley National Monument and was in bonanza when Shorty Harris walked into the Great Northern saloon.
Shorty drank it, laid a goldpiece on the bar. A faro dealer noticed the ore and picked it up. In a moment a crowd had gathered. Want to sell? The deal closed, he left to see friends around town. He found each of them in a barroom. News of his strike had preceded him and each time he laid the ore on the bar someone wanted an interest. Someone called him aside and someone bought the drinks.
Within an hour every fortune hunter in Goldfield was looking for Shorty Harris, each believing Shorty had found the Lost Breyfogle. After a few weeks he decided there was nothing worthwhile to be found. He was well outfitted and with five burros and more than enough provisions, was ready to go when, out of the bush came a cleancut youngster—a novice who had brought his wife along. I have enough grub for all of us. At a water hole known as Buck Springs they made camp. Within an hour they went up a canyon, each working a side of it.
Shorty broke a piece of quartz from an outcropping; saw shades of turquoise and jade. They staked out the discovery claims. Give the other fellow a chance. They went to Goldfield. Shorty showed the sample to Bob Montgomery, an old friend. Bob was skeptical. But in an hour the news was out and Goldfield en masse headed for the new strike. Some pulled burro carts across the desert.
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Some started out with wheelbarrows. Jack Salsbury began to move lumber. Others brought merchandise, barrels of liquor. Everything to build a town. It went to Paris and London. Overnight Rhyolite was born. Shorty bought a barrel of liquor, drove a row of nails around the barrel, hung tin dippers on the nails and invited the town to quench its thirst. Two railroads came. One, miles from Las Vegas. Another, miles from Ludlow. The tycoons of mining and their agents appeared as if borne on magic carpets and in a little while men who would have turned him from their doors, were fawning around the little man with the golden smile and the ugly brawl for the Bullfrog was on—a struggle between cheap promoters who gave him cheap whiskey and moguls who gave him champagne.
Scores of yarns have been written about the sale of the Bullfrog. In my residence two years before he died and in my presence he told my wife, to whom he was singularly devoted, the sordid story. I reached for a full pint on the table and under it was a piece of paper with a note. A fortune blown like a bubble meant absolutely nothing—stopped no laugh; dimmed no hope; quenched no fire in his eager eyes. Maybe they would have made me believe Shorty Harris was important. Harris this and Mr. Harris that. I step out of my cabin every morning and look it over— miles of outdoors. All mine. The discovery of this claim has been accredited to Shoshone Johnnie and historians have said that Montgomery bought it from Johnnie for a pair of overalls, a buggy, and a few dollars.
Even if Johnnie had located it Montgomery would have been entitled to one-half interest for the reason that he had been grubstaking Johnnie for years. It never paid as a mine, but America was gold mad and the two railroads which brought mail for Rhyolite also carried stock certificates out and the promoters lost nothing.
The strike at Bullfrog was made in Rhyolite attained a population of about 14, at its peak—then started downward. On January 1, , I made a camp fire in its empty streets and beside it tried to sleep through a biting wind that seemed aptly enough a dirge. The next morning I poked around in the abandoned stores to marvel at things of value left behind. Chinaware and silver in hurriedly abandoned houses and in the leading cafe. The cribs still bore the castoff ribbons and silks of the girls and for all I know, the satin slipper which I found on a bed may have been the one that Shorty Harris filled with champagne to toast the charms of Flaming Jane.
I walked up to the vacant depot. Across the door, through which thousands had passed from incoming trains with youth and hope and the eagerness of life, lay the long-dead carcass of a cow. It fitted, it seemed to me, the scene about. Like Tonopah, Skidoo on top of Tucki Mountain overlooking Death Valley may be accredited to the straying of a burro in The grass about was lush and they thought it safe to turn the burros loose.
The 56 burros strayed during the night and because the walls on the east side of the canyon are perpendicular, search was immediately confined to the sloping west area. But the burros, always unpredictable, found a way to ascend Tucki Mountain and there they were found—one of them actually straddling an outcropping of gold.
Bob Montgomery bought the claim on sight. A winding road with a spectacular view of Death Valley was built, a mill installed on the side of Telephone Canyon and water brought 22 miles from Panamint Canyon. A long rambling building on top of the mountain served as offices and living quarters for officials. A broad porch encircled it and afforded a sweeping and unforgettable view of Death Valley country. On the area about this building was the company town.
I first visited it with Shorty Harris, holding my breath most of the way on the steep, narrow, and winding road. We appropriated the company building for our temporary home. Shorty had owned claims there and had helped build the road. That was the end of Skidoo. More interesting to me than the fate of Skidoo was that of Blonde Betty and the traveling preacher, of which Shorty was reminded when we strolled by the crib in which Betty had lived.
Everybody liked Skagway. Only women around at that time were crib girls and they banked his grave with wild flowers and I got this sky pilot to say a few words. That gal could sing like a flock of larks and after the service the preacher barged up to me and said he wanted to meet Betty and would I introduce him.
He told her what a wonderful voice she had, how the song had touched him and hoped she would sing at one of his meetings. I know how to act. Shorty pointed to a riot of wild flowers on the side of a hill across the gulch.
He chucked the preaching job and ran off with Betty. But maybe God went along. On July 4, Shorty Harris made the strike which started the town of Harrisburg, now only a name on a signboard. I had been over the country and had seen a formation that looked good and was going back to look it over. The Blackwater trail is a wet trail and one of my burros sank in the ooze. He said he was a stranger in the country and he wanted to get to Emigrant Springs where his two partners were waiting.
He explained that the foreman at Furnace Creek had told him I had left only a short while before, but he might overtake me by hurrying, and I would show him the way. Then he asked if he could join me. When I reached my destination I showed him the trail to Emigrant Springs. I reckon I talked too much on the way over—maybe made him think I had a gold mountain. Anyway, he said he believed he would look around a little to see what he could find.
He was pecking around a short distance away and also found rock with color and claimed a half interest. It was then that I learned his name—Pete Auguerreberry and that his partners were Flynn and Cavanaugh. Wild Bill Corcoran had grubstaked me. I told Pete five partners were too many and we should agree upon a division point—each taking a full claim and he could have his choice. I went to Rhyolite for Bill Corcoran. He went for his partners. Everyone of us wanted to sell, except Pete who stood out for a fantastic price. His partners offered to give him a part of their share if he would accept the offer.
Pete refused. He thought it was worth millions. Wild Bill organized a company and we started work. For awhile it seemed the Harrisburg claims would prove to be good producers. In the end it was just another town on the map for Shorty. Futile years for Pete. Once I asked Shorty Harris how he obtained his grubstakes. Once I was broke in Pioche, Nev. I hoofed it out under a broiling sun, but when I got there, the lady said she had no job. A fellow in a two-horse wagon came along and offered me a ride. I picked up the sack and climbed in.