The heavens were a wonderful sight. The stars seemed to hang low and were more brilliant than usual. A comet with a long tail was plainly seen in the west, and the moon was rising over the sand hills. We began to speculate on the comet and, as the moon got above the sand hills and the wind freshened, the most remarkable thing happened--the sand hill began to move toward us! It kept getting closer, obscuring the moon, until it had moved up far enough to shut the moon from our sight entirely. We jumped up and each one of us was about to take a horse and ride for his life, when the Doctor laughed and said, "It is an eclipse of the moon. Don't you see it's coming out on the lower side again?" and we rolled over laughing at our fright, each claiming that he had known it was an eclipse all the time.

Later we found the comet we had seen was the famous Halley's Comet and were sorry some of our astronomers had not been with us, as probably very few of them had an opportunity of seeing both the eclipse of the moon and the comet under such favorable circ.u.mstances.

We go to sleep looking at the heavens and in the morning, after the train has gone by, we start east again. We come to a section house about a mile down the track, at which we find a section foreman. He tells us it is twenty miles to Kelso, and the sand is "just as deep as you can stick down a cane." This is not very encouraging, but we keep on the track, and finally, near time to make camp for the night, we reach Glasgow, another section house, where we find a water car.

We had to drive off the track here to get by the switches, and pulled through the sand up to the water car in front of the section house. We very nearly put the horses out of business, so to speak, pulling only a hundred yards at a time, but got all the water we wanted.

The foreman told us we could not drive on the track any farther as we were cutting up the ties and the oil which held the sand down. We told him that suited us; we wanted to be boarded until he could get a car and haul us out, and that we were about out of horse feed. He admitted that we could not pull through the sand and if we could not drive on the track we would have to stay there, but, as the railroad was not open for regular business and he had no facilities for feeding us, he changed the subject by asking us if we had got what water we wanted.

When we told him we had, he said, "Why don't you fellows go on then?"

which we promptly did, after thanking him for the water.

We made only about two miles more before camping for the night, and were still thirteen miles from Kelso. It did not seem possible that we could have made only about eight miles that day, but as I looked back over the road and remembered the number of times we had driven off the track to get around trestle work, and how hard we had labored to get back on again, and how slow we had to go to keep from jolting our wagon to pieces, I concluded that there was sufficient excuse and only hoped the horses' shoulders would not get sore with the jerking before we could get off the railroad for good. Besides, we must get to a town soon as we are about out of feed for the horses. With a firm determination to reach Kelso the next day we rolled up in our blankets and went to sleep looking at the stars.

Wednesday, May twenty-fifth. We were ready to make an early start this morning, but did not dare drive on the railroad track until after the train had gone by, and so had to wait until 8 A. M. Then we started out and luckily met a section foreman who gave us some good advice. He told us we would soon come to a wash on the north side of the track where we would probably find easier pulling than on the track, and he told us just how to get to it. He also told us we were only three and a half miles from his section house and that from there the going was better, and we would be within five miles of Kelso.

Incidentally, he said the Superintendent had dropped him a note telling him to get our names and to order us off the track. He said he would do neither. He was glad to see we had come that far alive and hoped we would get through O. K. He said the first chance he had to get out himself he would go too, and if any one had been kind enough to tell him about the country first, he never would have come.

Thanking him for his advice we drove along until we came to the jumping-off-place he had indicated, and after a hard pull found ourselves in the wash where it was possible for the horses to make fairly good headway, and soon reached Flynn, the section house. Here, after eating lunch and while the horses rested, Doc and I did some prospecting to find the best way into Kelso.

To follow the railroad was impossible on account of the sand, and we could not drive on the track on account of trestle work, so we went north to a mesa and discovered a trail coming down from above, the first trail we had seen in about sixty miles. Climbing up we found it well-defined, leading off down grade to Kelso, with the town itself in sight. A hard trail, and Kelso, for a minute, was enough to make us forget our troubles, but I knew how tired the horses were and I said, "Doc, we can never pull that wagon over here and up this hill." Doc didn't agree with me. He thought we could do it. We did by slow stages reach the foot of the hill and, with Doc and Bob pushing, got up and on to the trail. Here we took Dixie out of harness, as all Kate and Bess would have to do was to walk leisurely into town (about five miles), mostly down grade.

"Well, Doc," I said, "you won; we got up."

"Yes," said Doc, still a little out of breath, "but I am not making any more bets on this mare"--holding Kate by the head--"she is bleeding at the nose and I believe she is going blind. What are we going to do?"

"Any danger of her bleeding to death?" I inquired.

Now Doc is not especially strong on horse diseases but he knows symptoms, and when he looked up and said, "No, she is just naturally done," I felt relieved.

"What are we going to do," I repeated, "going to Kelso, Doc? Better climb up and ride for a change."

Chapter IV

Kelso, California

The drive into Kelso the afternoon of May twenty-fifth was especially fascinating. We were on a good hard trail and had only a few miles to go, and cares seemed to have rolled away. We could look at the scenery and talk intelligently about it; we became wildly enthusiastic over the Granite Mountains to the south of us, and the big sand hills to the southwest,--called "The Devil's Playground,"--under which we had camped a few nights before, and where we had seen the total eclipse of the moon. Just beyond the Granite Peak was Old Dad Mountain. Our trail lay down the middle of this wide valley, flanked by the Providence Mountains on the south, and desert hills on the north. The colors were changing all the time and the air was so clear that we could see as far as--well, you could see as far as you could see. That is a safe statement and saves mileage, which every traveling man will appreciate. We had seen some wonderful views during the past few days, but perspiration and scenery did not create enthusiasm; besides, we were worried then. But I think as we rode quietly down upon this little desert town, the spirit of the desert must have taken possession of us, and things looked different to us from that time on.

I think we were all somewhat surprised not to see a delegation coming out to meet us, but, after we got acquainted with the town, we found the reason easy enough to explain. The little town had grown smaller from the time we saw it, five miles away, until we got into it. If it had been any farther away when we first saw it, I doubt if we could have discovered it when we got there. This phenomenon may be of some use in determining the causes of mirages.

There were apparently only two men in town; the hotel keeper and saloon man, who greeted us from the shady end of the porch, advised us that the storekeeper, who had a bale of alfalfa hay in the freight house of the railroad, might be persuaded to let us have it if properly interviewed. We interviewed him properly and procured it. He was the second man. He was also the postmaster and sheriff and game warden. He had married a Los Angeles girl and they had a bungalow next to the store, some flowers and some fruit trees, and a shed and a corral behind, making four buildings on the north side of the railroad track. This was the town proper. The balance of the town on the other side of the railroad track did not count for much in a desert scene.

There was, in addition to the railroad station, an eating house, a repair shop, water tank, and a few railroad houses for the employees to live in.

This was Kelso as we saw it, a desert water station at the foot of the grade on the Salt Lake Railroad. There were eighty miles of sand and desert west of it that we knew, and we concluded there could be nothing worse east of it, so we were prepared to take things easy for a day or two and rest up our horses before going on.

We patronized the railroad lunch counter and visited with Fred Rickett, the postmaster, who gave us a great deal of interesting information about the country. He told us about a spring of water he had about six miles from town, up in the mountains, and how the mountain sheep came there to drink, as it was the only water for miles. He expects some time to pipe it down to town and irrigate a tract of land. At present he raises his vegetables up there. He took quite a fancy to Tuck, who never left the wagon all the time we were in town. I find the following memo in my diary for the day spent in Kelso, which shows how exciting the day really was:

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE BUSINESS SECTION OF KELSO, CALIFORNIA]

"Thursday, the twenty-sixth. Put in day here in Kelso talking to Rickett, making a few repairs to wagon, tightening screws, etc. Have no grain, but put all alfalfa we could inside the horses. Doctored Kate's shoulder, neck, and foot. Wrote a few letters and postals.

Rickett, who has prospected all over this part of the country, says the best way to get here from Daggett is _via_ the Santa Fe Railroad to Amboy and then up over the mountains between Granite and Old Dad, on horseback. A light wagon could make it. It is not so very much better than the way we came. A prospector came in with two burros from twelve miles up in the mountains for mail and supplies. Rickett says he has the only store for eighty miles west, forty miles south, thirty miles north, and twenty miles east.

"He told us he had two brothers in the war and how one of them came very near shooting the other; one was on the North and the other on the South. The one under Lee was a sharpshooter and one night killed four sentries at a single post, but got so hungry he could not wait for the fifth to show himself so called out to him for something to eat. The reply came back: 'Can of lard and some corn meal,' in a voice he recognized as his brother's. So he went back and got Lee to transfer him. (You may have heard this story before, but you appreciate the significance of it more when you hear it told by one of the brothers.)

"Got all of our meals at the restaurant here at thirty-five cents per.

Turned in early, all ready for an early start. So far, since leaving San Bernardino, we have met no one on the road. One auto pa.s.sed us going into Hesperia and we met one auto going out of Victorville. Not a snake sighted, a very few small jacks, and a few very large land tortoises. During the early spring or winter one can get through here better, although, of course, the weather is not so good. Rickett said last winter a young lad came through driving a buggy and a two-year-old colt, with only a dog for company. He a.s.sumed he got through, but he never had heard."

This extract from my diary would seem to show that the only item of news which a newspaper correspondent could have wired his home paper as happening that day (supposing there had been any newspaper correspondent), would have been about as follows:

"Kelso, May 26. We were interrupted to-day by Bill Baxter who came down from his mine over in the Providence Mountains for mail and supplies. Bill says it is mighty dry this year in the mountains.

Providence, Bill said, didn't do as much this year as usual. 'Come again, Bill, we don't mind being interrupted.'"

Chapter V

Off Again

We leave town early with a new arrangement of horses--Dixie beside Bess, and Kate walking behind. Doctor questions how long Dixie, who is so much smaller than Bess and not of the work-horse type, will be able to pull her end, but we leave that question; in fact, we haven't decided it yet. We are off for Las Vegas, Nevada. We have a road to follow among desert hills and valleys, up and down hill, but find no water except at a railroad water car or cistern. The first day we pa.s.s Cima, where we got a bale of wheat hay and water. We make about twenty-two miles, which seems more like progress, especially after using up six days to come eighty miles. Here there are more rocks in the hills and more vegetation. Forests of Joshua Palms (giant cacti) grow on the higher slopes on the north side. We never saw them growing on land sloping to the south or at low alt.i.tude.

Our first camp was among the giant cacti, which we used as. .h.i.tching posts for the horses while feeding. That night we heard a mountain lion squall, but Tuck evidently did not think he was near enough to worry about. Tuck is getting to be an ideal camp dog. He can be trusted to stay around camp and will not leave the wagon on any excuse if we are not about, so we feel perfectly safe, no matter where we are, in the belief that our tools, harness, and odds and ends (so essential to us on this sort of a trip) will not be mislaid by visitors or stolen.

The next morning we were at Leastalk, thirteen miles, by 9 A. M., and Kate was feeling so good we let her pack the saddle and Bob rode her.

Here at Leastalk we got half a sack of grain (all they had) and started up the Ivanpah Valley to Ivanpah, seven miles. We reached there at noon. How any one can reach a place that isn't, I can't say, but as I said before, we got to the place which, on the map, said "Ivanpah," but which there, said nothing.

On looking at the map I saw that a railroad track ran from here by various crooks and turns to Bengal on the Atchison, Topeka and Santa Fe Railroad. We finally discovered the track, and also a few work cars, and met the foreman and his crew of Mexicans working on the right-of-way.

[Ill.u.s.tration: JOSHUA PALM OR GIANT CACTUS]

"What are you going to do?" said I to the foreman, thinking he might be the forerunner of a building gang who were to build a town here or extend the railroad.

"I don't know," he said.

"Don't know? Haven't you any orders?" I asked, surprised.

"Won't get any until they pull me back to-morrow. This is the end of the road, isn't it?" he asked.

I was about to remark, "It certainly is," when it occurred to me that I wasn't supposed to know as much about a railroad as a real railroad man like the foreman of a gang of Mexicans, so I replied cautiously, "Well, I don't know. I thought this might be the beginning of a railroad; if this is the end of one, what was the use of building it?"

He looked at me curiously for a minute. It certainly was hot there in the sun and he had no way of knowing we had just been to water, so he said, "You had better take a drink. You can have what you want from my tank car; and you had better fill your barrels too; no knowing when you will get any more."

After filling our barrels we ate lunch and tried to get a shot at a coyote that had crossed the trail just below us, but we would have been cooler if we had let him go without trying. From about noon to four o'clock it is pretty hot in the sun, but we were now where we could ride,--Doc and I and Tuck in the wagon under the canvas top, and Bob on Kate. Sometimes during the middle of the day we would all ride in the wagon, and at other times would take turns riding the saddle, so as to make it easier on the team horses.