C. A. (Charles A.) Higgins.

To California over the Sante Fé Trail online

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still stand. The story of these habitations is like-
wise wholly conjectural. They may have been
contemporary with the cliff dwellings. That they
were long inhabited is clearly apparent. Frag-
ments of shattered pottery lie on every hand.

Hotti Escalante, Ash Fork,


From Ash Fork, the Santa Fe, Prescott & Phoenix
Railway (a Santa Fe line) extends southward
through Prescott to Phoenix in the Salt River
Valley. In a distance of about 2OO miles the
traveler is afforded glimpses of nearly every variety
of scenery typical of the Territory. There are
bleak, barren mountains, and mountains covered
with forests of pine or cedar, on whose slopes are
seen the dumps of world-famous mines.

There are rocky desert wastes where only
uncouth cacti find footing to give some poor sem-
blance of life and hope, and vast arid stretches
which in early spring are overspread with flowers,
among which the poppy predominates and by virtue
of its superior size and brilliancy carpets the ground
with an almost unbroken sheet of tawny flame, far
as the eye can reach on either hand. There are
waterless canyons, and canyons walling turbid
streams, unreclaimed vales dotted with cattle, a"nd
broad irrigated valley-plains level as a floor, where
is cultivated in extraordinary profusion nearly every
variety of fruit, nut and vegetable, not absolutely
restricted to the tropics, in addition to an enor-
mous acreage of alfalfa and the ordinary cereals of
the north temperate zone.

Were it not that modern tourists are somewhat
blas with respect to landscape wonders, and if
Arizona did not seem so far off, so out of the world,


it would be as much a fad to visit Point of Rocks
(once an Apache stronghold), near Prescott, as to
see the Garden of the Gods. The first-named is
a more striking bit of rock grotesquerie and fash-
ioned in more titanic form.

Ash Fork, instead of merely being as heretofore a
railroad* junction, now makes a strong bid for
tourist patronage. A large $150,000 Fred Harvey
depot hotel, the Escalante, has been opened there.
Wise travelers arrange to stop over at Ash Fork,
en route to the Salt River Valley, and "rest up."

This hotel was named after one of the Spaniards
of the Conquest, Padre Francisco Silvestre Velez
Escalante, a pioneer Franciscan priest, who jour-
neyed through this country in 1776.

Hotel Escalante is of steel and concrete fireproof
construction, built with wide shady verandas in the
fascinating Old Mission style. Here one may find
all the luxuries of the metropolis hot and cold
water, baths, steam heat, telephones and electric

The pretty curio building near by contains ex-
amples of the best Indian and Mexican handicraft.
It is a very pleasant place in which to while away
an idle hour.

Going south, one naturally expects warmer
weather. Nevertheless it comes as a surprise to
note how abrupt is the transition from bleak winter
to budding spring, or from spring to full midsum-
mer, by merely taking the half-day journey from
Ash Fork to Phoenix. There is not only an

advance into sunland, but a drop toward sea-level
of 4,500 feet. In one stretch of fourteen miles the
descent is nearly two thousand feet.

En route you reach Hassayampa River, near
Wickenberg of which stream it is affirmed that
whoever drinks of its waters will never afterward
tell the truth, have a dollar, nor leave Arizona.
Within a few miles of this unreliable place is the reli-
able Vulture Mine, a $2O,ooo,oco producer. The
Santa Fe has just built a branch 1 ne 195 miles long,
from Wickenberg via Parker, on the Colorado
River to a junction with the main California line
at Cadiz.

* Both north and south of Prescott some pretty
engineering problems have been solved by rock-cuts,
trestles, detours, and loops. At Cedar Glade is a
steel bridge 650 feet long, spanning Hell Canyon,
170 feet above the dry stream bed. Here in a
gorge uptilted rock-pillars and tremendous bowlders
lying shoulder to shoulder contest the passage;
yonder, on a slope, you may see far below a second
parallel track, and below that a third forming a
sweeping loop by which the safe descent of the
train is accomplished and the ascent of the opposite
side made possible. The way is now cautiously
over volcanic beds and rock terraces ; then daringly
along the sheer faces of forbidding cliffs ; and again
with a rush and swing freely across level plains.

The developed agricultural and horticultural areas
are in the neighborhood of Phoenix, the territorial
capital and chief city of Salt River
Valley. The climate is especially
friendly to invalids, even during

the hot summer months, but as in the case of other
Southwestern health and pleasure resorts, winter
brings the influx of visitors. The beneficent effect
of this climate upon the sick, or upon those who
merely seek an enjoyable retreat from the harsh
winter of the North and East, is not easily exag-
gerated. The soft air has a tonic quality.

Low humidity, perpetual sunshine and favorable
breezes tempt the invalid out of doors and prolong
life. Whitelaw Reid writes that nowhere has he
seen a purer atmosphere. It reminds him of the
Great Sahara and Mount Sinai's deserts. He con-
siders southern Arizona as drier than Morocco,
Algiers or Tunis, and more sunshiny than Egypt.
Pulmonary and throat diseases are benefited to a
degree that borders on the miraculous.

In addition to a full complement of hotels, sani-
tariums and hospitals, a feature is made of " tenting
out" in the open desert all winter, to get full
benefit of sun, air and country quiet. But Phoenix
is not wholly a refuge for the sick. It is a busy
city of 15,000 inhabitants, mainly composed of
strenuous Americans, where merchants thrive and
wealth accumulates. For the fashionable visitors
and the "idle born" there are provided golf
grounds, palm-shaded drives, clubs, theaters, the
ease of well-kept inns, and a delightful social life.
Many wealthy Easterners stay in Phoenix at least
a part of each winter.

Strangers will be interested in the Pima and Mari-
copa Indians, who live near the city and who are


daily seen on its streets disposing of baskets, bead-
work, pottery and mesquite. The wholly up-to-
date youthful Indian may be observed at the U. S.
Indian Industrial School.

In the foothills of the Bradshaw Mountains,
1,971 feet above sea-level, midway between Pres-
cott and Phoenix, and reached by automobile and
stage from Hot Springs Junction, is Castle Hot
Springs, a high-class Fall, Winter and Spring resort
which offers the many joys of life in the open from
Fall until late Spring. The hotel comprises three
separate buildings and five bungalows, modernly
equipped with all the conveniences that appeal to
the experienced traveler. There are electric light-
ing, cold storage and steam systems, also private
bath in connection with most of the rooms. The
table is excellent. The two bath houses are
equipped for the administration of hot medicinal
water by various methods. The mineral water is
a mild lithia, slightly alkaline-
saline chalybeate, and very
beneficial. Castle Hot
Springs is not a sanitarium,
but a high-class resort.

The valley, of which
Phoenix is the center, is one
of marvelous loveliness, which
only the painter's art can
convey to one who has not


Hit Springs.

beheld it. Of the valleys of the West, there are
four pre-eminent in beauty the San Gabriel and
Santa Clara in California, the valley of Salt Lake
in Utah, and this of the Salt River in Arizona.
Across the restful and infinitely modulated green of
orchard and shade trees, of alfalfa and barley fields,
of orange groves and palms, the eye is led to a dis-
tant horizon of rugged mountains, where shifting
light and shadow make an endless play of color,
astonishingly vivid to a traveler new to desert land-
scapes, and unceasingly attractive day after day.

It is for this Salt River Valley that the United
States Government, with the assistance of the people
to be benefited, has constructed the Tonto Basin
Reservoir Dam, one of the largest irrigating projects
in the world, which will place under certain irrigation
additional land of exceeding fertility and will make
desirable farm homes for intending settlers. The
earth here lies full-faced to the sun, as level as a calm
sea, widening to twenty miles and extending east
and west nearly a hundred. The sandy soil produces
abundantly. On a few acres one may make a fair
living. The result of this happy combination of
salubrious climate, fertile soil, commercial activity
and congenial society, is to make Phoenix a pecul-
iarly favored place for the traveler's attention.

Prescott is a lively town of 5,000 population, its
business district newly built from the ashes of a
destructive fire in 1900. Up in
the high hills, a mile above the
sea, what wonder that the summers

are cool ! Prescott's growth largely depends upon
the mineral wealth that is being coaxed out of the
reluctant Arizona mountains a substantial basis of
prosperity. The city is also a summer resort for those
who wish to escape the heat of the low-lying val-
leys. Here is located historic Fort Whipple, the
frontier post so frequently referred to in Captain
Charles King's novels. That peak, rising 9,000
feet skyward, is Granite Mountain; you would
hardly guess it is all of twelve miles away.

The greatest mineral development is in the vicin-
ity of Prescott. Here, among other famous depos-
its, are the United Verde copper mines and the
Congress and Rich Hill gold mines, the last named
situated upon an isolated summit, where, in early
days, gold was literally whittled from the rock with
knives and chisels. The branch lines from Prescott
to Crown King have made easy of access the rich
gold and copper mines of that flourishing district.
Congress, four miles from the junction, is a model
mining town. The United Verde copper mine is
at Jerome, which place is reached by a crooked nar-
row-gauge line built through a wild country.



A FEW miles beyond the Colorado River cross-
-*- * ing at Needles is the railroad station of that
name, where the remnant of the once powerful
and warlike Mojave tribe, now become beggarly
hangers-on to civilization, love to congregate and
sell their bows and arrows and pottery trinkets.
Their hovels are scattered along the wayside, and
the eager congregation of women peddlers, some
with naked babies sitting stoically astride their hips,
and all dubiously picturesque in paint and rags, is
sufficiently diverting. The men attain gigantic
stature, and are famed for their speed and bottom
as runners.

River boats occasionally ply between the Gulf of
California and Needles. The town is a Santa Fe
division point, and parties outfit here for the mines

roundabout. The new Santa Fe station hotel,
El Garces, has made the Needles stop-over much
pleasantei for travelers. El Garces is 518 feet
long, two stories high, cost $250,000 and has 65
guest rooms. Its dining room seats 1 20 persons.
The wide verandas form an ideal promenade and
every modern comfort is provided.

As an introduction to Southern California you
are borne across an arid region, whose monotony
intercepts every approach to California except that
roundabout one by way of the sea. On either
hand lies a drear stretch of sand and alkali, relieved
only by black patches of lava and a mountainous
horizon a Nubian desert in very truth. Through
this the train hastens to a more elevated country,
arid still, but relieved by rugged rocks, the gnarled
trunks and bolls of the yucca and occasional growths
of deciduous trees. Craters of extinct volcanoes
form interesting landmarks, and there are a num-
ber of rich mining districts tributary to the line,
but unseen from the train. A strange river, the
Mojave, keeps company with the track for several
miles, flowing gently northward, to finally lose
itself in thirsty sands. At Hesperia are vineyards
first hint of the paradise just over the range.


When the west-bound Santa Fe train crosses the
Colorado River, it enters the largest county in the
United States, within whose boundaries could be

El Garces Hotel

placed, with some square miles to spare, the States
of Vermont, New Hampshire, Massachusetts and
Rhode Island/ Sterile as is its appearance, it is yet
a region of uncountable wealth. Precious and base
metals, as well as rare gems, are found in the ledges
which seam every mountain range, while the valleys
are a vast storehouse of borax, soda, gypsum, nitre,
salt and many other chemical compounds which are
in constant demand. So lavish has nature been in
heaping these great deposits that the world's need
of all these useful articles may here be gotten for
many years without exhausting the supply. And
desert though this country has been called, since
the first hardy pioneers dared its dangers of track-
less sand and consuming thirst, there are yet great
stretches of land where the most bounteous har-
vests may be gathered, provided water is spread over
it. Strangely enough, in this land athirst, the
precious fluid has been found in abundance where
it was supposed not to be, and so near the surface
that it is no task to raise and distribute it over the
fertile soil.

In almost the geographical center of this great
domain, named San Bernardino County, is Ludlow,
a station on the Santa Fe main line and the south-
ern terminus of the Tonopah & Tidewater Rail-
road. This new artery of commerce was opened
for business on December 6, 1907, the first through
train from Los Angeles, California, to Tonopah,
Nevada, passing over the line on that date. It was
built primarily to supersede the " 20 -mule -team

borax " wagons which formerly hauled this widely
used product from the depths of Death Valley to
railway transportation more than a hundred miles
away. A branch line seven miles long to the
Lila C mine affords rapid and easy handling of the
crystallized Colmanite or borax-bearing ores.

The ringing of the engine bell on this first
through train sounded the death-knell of another
wide section of the Great American Desert. It
was answered by the huzzahs of hardy pioneers,
standing at the mouths of tunnels and shafts on a
hundred mountain sides. They had braved the
hardships of remote regions to find and develop
the great ore bodies awaiting their coming. Now
their patience was justified, for the train meant a
market for their ores and easy acquisition of life's
comforts. The prospector now no longer fears
that his pack-train will suffer thirst while crossing
from one mountain range to another. A short
detour brings him to a plenteous supply of water,
developed by the railroad builders. >

The opening of the Tonopah & Tidewater also
made accessible that weird rift in earth's surface
between the Funeral Range and the Panamints,
known as Death Valley. The floor of this mighty
sink is nearly 300 feet below sea level and is covered
in greater part by an incrustation of alkali com-
pounds, which resemble, at a distance, a blanket
of snow. In this one-time caldron nature's forces
are everywhere apparent. It is a most interesting
spot for the student, the scientist and the treasure

hunter, while the health-seeker, for eight months
of the year, can there rejuvenate his worn nerves
and enjoy a perfect climate.

The Tonopah & Tidewater is the shortest and
quickest route to Rhyolite, Bullfrog, Beatty,
Springdale, Bonnie Claire, Goldfield, Tonopah and
other bonanza mining camps of Nevada, whose
rich ores have caused the building of thriving
cities where a few years ago were only bare hill-
sides and sage-brush-covered plains. These offer
to men of affairs golden opportunities for invest-
ment and large returns, while the mere curiosity-
seeker will there find much that is unique and


The Santa Ana and San Gabriel Valleys of
Southern California are entered through the Cajon
Pass. It is the loveliest imaginable scene, a gently
billowing mountain flank densely set with thickets
of manzanita, gleaming through whose glossy foliage
and red stems the pale earth riees here and there in
graceful dunes of white unflecked by grass or shrub,
overhung by parallel-terraced ridges of the San Ber-
nardino Mountains, that pale in turn to a topmost
height far in the blue Italian sky. Entirely want-
ing in the austerity that characterizes the grander
mountains of loftier altitudes, it takes you from the
keeping of plateau and desert, and by seductive
windings leads you down to the garden of California.
In the descent from the summit (altitude 3,819 feet)

a drop of 2,700 feet is made in twenty-five miles.
On reaching San Bernardino, typical scenes at once
appear. On either hand are seen orchards of the
peach, apricot, prune, olive, fig, almond, walnut,
and that always eagerly anticipated 'one of the

You will not, however, find this whole land a
jungle of orange and palm trees, parted only by thick
banks of flowers. The world is wide, even in
California, or, one might better say, particularly in
California, where over an area averaging 150 miles
wide and 1 ,000 miles long is scattered a population
less than that of the city of Chicago. It is
true that in many places along your route you may
almost pluck oranges by reaching from the car
window in passing; but the celebrated products of
California lie in restricted areas of cultivation, which
you are expected to visit; and herein lies much of
the Californian's pride, that there still remains so
much, of opportunity for all. There is everything
in California that has been credited to it, but what
proves not uncommonly a surprise is the relatively
small area of improved land and the consequent
frequency of unfructed intervals. Only a moment's
reflection is needed to perceive that the case could
not be otherwise. As for flowers, even here they
are not eternal, except in the thousands of watered
gardens. In the dry summer season the hills turn
brown and sleep. Only when the winter rains have
slaked the parched earth do the grass and flowers
awake, and then for a few months there is enough

of bloom and fragrance to satisfy the most exuber-
ant fancy.

Now past pretty horticultural communities,
flanked by the Sierra Madre, the way leads quickly
from San Bernardino to Pasadena and Los Angeles.

Southward from the last-named city you pass
through a fruitful region, and within a stone's throw
of the impressive mission-ruins of Capistrano, to a
shore where the long waves of the Pacific break
upon gleaming white sands and the air is of the
sea. Blue as the sky is the Pacific, paling in the
shallows toward land, and flecked with bright or
somber cloud reflections and smurring ripples of the
breeze. It is not only the westerly bound of the
North American continent, it is the South Seas of
old adventure, where many a hulk of once treasure-
laden galleons lies fathoms deep among the queer
denizens of the sea who repeat wild legends of
naughty buccaneers. There is challenge to the
imagination in the very tracklessness of the sea.
On the wrinkled face of earth you may read earth's
story. She has laid things to heart. She broods
on memories. But the sea denies the past; it is as
heedless of events that were as the air is of the
path where yesterday a butterfly was winging. Its
incontinent expanse is alluring to the fancy, and
this sunset sea even more than the tempestuous
ocean that beats upon our eastern shores, for it is
so lately become our possession it seems still a
foreign thing, strewn with almost as many wrecks
of Spanish hopes as of galleons; and into its broad
bosom the sun sinks to rise upon quaint anti-
podean peoples, beyond a thousand mysterious
inhabited islands in the swirls of the equatorial

Next, swinging inland to find the pass of the
last intervening hills, you make a final descent to
the water's edge, and come to San Diego, that
city of Mediterranean atmosphere and color,
terraced along the rim of a sheltered bay of
surpassing beauty. Guarding the mouth of the
harbor lies the long crescent peninsular of Coro-
nado, the pale fagades of whose mammoth hotel
flash through tropical vegetation across the blue
intervening waters.


Here the sun habitually shines. Near the coast
flows the broad equable Japanese ocean-current,
from which a tempered breeze sweeps overland
every morning, every night to return from the cool
mountain-tops. Between the first of May and
the last of October rain almost never falls. By the
end of June the earth has evaporated most of its
surface moisture, and vegetation unsustained by
artificial watering begins to languish. The mid-
day temperature now rises, but the same breeze
swings like a pendulum between ocean and moun-
tain, and night and early morning are no less invig-

orating. This is summer, a joyous and active sea-
son generally misconceived by the tourist, who not
unreasonably visits California in the winter-time
to escape Northern cold and snow, and infers an
unendurable torrid summer from a winter of mild-
ness and luxuriance.

With November the first showers generally
begin, followed by an occasional heavy downpour,
and Northern pastures now whiten under falling
snow hardly faster than do these sere hills turn
beryl-green. The rainy season is so called not
because it is characterized by continuous rainfall,
but to distinguish it from that portion of the year
in which rain can not be looked for. Bright days
are still the rule, and showery days are marked by
transcendent beauties of earth and sky, fleeting
wonders of form and color. Let the morning open
with a murky zenith, dark tumbled cloud-masses,
dropping showers. As the invisible sun mounts, he
peeps unexpectedly through a rift to see that his
world is safe, then vanishes. The sky has an unre-
lenting look.

The dim, guardian mountains are obscured. Sud-
denly, far to the left, a rift breaks dazzling white,
just short of where the rain is falling on the hills
in a long bending column, and at one side a broad
patch pales into mottled gray ; and below the rift a
light mist is seen floating on the flank of a moun-
tain that shoots intc sharp relief against a vapor-
wall of slate. At the mountain's foot a whole
hillside shows in warm brown tint, its right edge

merged in a low flat cloud of silver, born, you
could aver, on the instant, from which the trun-
cated base of a second mountain depends, blue as
indigo. The face of earth, washed newly, is a
patchwork of somber and gaudy transparent colors
yellows, greens, sepias, grays. One's range and
clearness of vision are quickly expanded, as when a
telescope is fitted to the eye. Now begins a won-
derful shifting of light and shadow, peeps through
a curtain that veils unbearable splendors of upper
sky ; gradual dissolutions of cloud into curls and
twists and splashes, with filling of blue between.
Again the sun appears, at first with a pale bur-
nished light, flashing and fading irresolutely until
at length it flames out with summer ardor. The
clouds break into still more curious forms, into pic-
tures and images of quaint device, and outside a
wide circle of brilliant sunlight all the hills are in
purple shadow, fading into steel-blue, and about
their crests cling wisps of many-colored fleece.
Here and there a distant peak is blackly hooded,
or gleams subtly behind an intervening shower a

Tthachtfii L*#.

thin transparent wash of smoky hue. The veil
quickly dissipates, and at the same instant the peak
is robbed of its sunlight by billows of vapor that
marshal in appalling magnificence. Then the rain-
mist advances and hides the whole from view. A
strip of green next flashes on the sight, a distant
field lighted by the sun, but lying unaccountably
beneath a cloud of black. Beyond, the broad foot
of a rainbow winks and disappears. Among all the
hilltops rain next begins to fall like amber smoke,
so thin is the veil that shields them from the sun.

Then the sun abruptly ceases to shine, the whole
heavens are overcast, and between the fine fast-fall-
ing drops the ground gleams wet in cool gray light.
By noon the sun again is shining clear, although
in occasional canyons there is night and deluge,
and at the close of a bright afternoon the farthest,
loftiest peak has a white cloud wreath around it,
as symmetrical as a smoke-ring breathed from the
lips of a senorita ; and out of the middle of it rises

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