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Cobb. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + p { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + hr { width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + } + + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%;} + + .margin {margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%;} + .margin2 {margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%;} + + + .pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + color: gray; + font-style: italic; + font-size: 0.8em; + text-align: right; + } /* page numbers */ + + .linenum {position: absolute; top: auto; left: 4%;} /* poetry number */ + .blockquot{margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 10%;} + + + .bbox {border: solid 1px; padding-bottom: 1em; padding-top: 1em; + padding-left: 1em; padding-right: 1em; } + + .center {text-align: center;} + .right {text-align: right;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .caption {font-size: 0.9em; font-family: sans-serif; padding-bottom: 1em; padding-top: 1em;} + + .figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center;} + + + + + + .tnote {font-size: smaller; font-style: italic; border: 1px solid black; margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%;padding-bottom: .5em; padding-top: .5em; + padding-left: .5em; padding-right: .5em;} + + + + + + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Roughing it De Luxe, by Irvin S. Cobb + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Roughing it De Luxe + +Author: Irvin S. Cobb + +Illustrator: John T. McCutcheon + +Release Date: October 6, 2006 [EBook #19479] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ROUGHING IT DE LUXE *** + + + + +Produced by Audrey Longhurst, Melissa Er-Raqabi and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + + + + +<h1>Roughing It De Luxe</h1> +<h2>By Irvin S. Cobb</h2> + + +<p><a name="frontispiece" id="frontispiece"></a></p> +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/frontispiece.png" +alt="BY COMMON CONSENT WE HAD NAMED THEM CLARENCE AND CLARICE" +title="BY COMMON CONSENT WE HAD NAMED THEM CLARENCE AND CLARICE" /><br /> +<span class="caption">BY COMMON CONSENT WE HAD NAMED THEM CLARENCE AND CLARICE</span> +</div> + + + + +<h1><i>Roughing It De Luxe</i><br /> +<i>By</i><br /> +<i>Irvin S. Cobb</i></h1> + + +<p class="center"><i>Author of "Back Home,"</i><br /> +<i>"The Escape of Mr. Trimm," "Cobb's Anatomy,"</i><br /> +<i>"Cobb's Bill of Fare," etc.</i></p> + +<p class="center"><i>Illustrated by John T. McCutcheon</i></p> + +<p><a name="mark" id="mark"></a></p> +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/mark.png" +alt="mark" title="mark" /> +</div> + +<p class="center"><i>New York</i><br /> +<i>George H. Doran Company</i><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span></p> + + + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Copyright, 1913,</span><br /> +<span class="smcap">By The Curtis Publishing Company</span></p> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Copyright, 1914,</span><br /> +<span class="smcap">By George H. Doran Company</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span></p> + + + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">To George H. Doran, Esq.</span><br /> +<span class="smcap">My Friend and Still My Publisher;</span><br /> +<span class="smcap">My Publisher and Still</span><br /> +<span class="smcap">My Friend</span></p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span> +<br /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span></p> + + + + +<h3><i>THE TIME TABLE</i></h3> + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" summary="Time Table"> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='right'><span class="smcap">page</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap"><a href="#A_PILGRIM_CANONIZED">A Pilgrim Canonized</a></span></td><td align='right'>15</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap"><a href="#RABID_AND_HIS_FRIENDS">Rabid and His Friends</a></span></td><td align='right'>55</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap"><a href="#HOW_DO_YOU_LIKE">How Do You Like the Climate?</a></span></td><td align='right'>97</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap"><a href="#IN_THE_HAUNT_OF_THE">In the Haunt of the Native Son</a></span></td><td align='right'>135</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap"><a href="#LOOKING_FOR_LO">Looking for Lo</a></span></td><td align='right'>175</td></tr> +</table></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> +</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="ILLUSTRATIONS" id="ILLUSTRATIONS"></a>ILLUSTRATIONS</h2> + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" summary="Illustrations"> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='right'><span class="smcap">page</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#frontispiece">By common consent we had named them Clarence and Clarice</a></td><td align='right'>Frontispiece</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#illustration_p21">Evidently he believed the conspiracy against him was widespread</a></td><td align='right'>21</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#illustration_p35">There was not a turkey trotter in the bunch</a></td><td align='right'>35</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#illustration_p61">He'd garner in some fellows that wasn't sheep-herders</a></td><td align='right'>61</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#illustration_p73">Because a man has a soul is no reason he shouldn't have an appetite</a></td><td align='right'>73</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#illustration_p87">He was a regular moving picture cowboy and gave general satisfaction</a></td><td align='right'>87</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#illustration_p101">The boy who sells you a paper and the youth who blackens your shoes both show solicitude</a></td><td align='right'>101</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#illustration_p115">Out from under a rock somewhere will crawl a real estate agent</a></td><td align='right'>115</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#illustration_p127">He felt that he was properly dressed for the time, the place and the occasion</a></td><td align='right'>127</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#illustration_p143">Even the place where the turkey trot originated was trotless and quiet</a></td><td align='right'>143<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#illustration_p155">The woman nearest the wall has on her furs—it is always cool in the shade</a></td><td align='right'>155</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#illustration_p169">It's a great thing out there to be a native son</a></td><td align='right'>169</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#illustration_p179">Each Navajo squaw weaves on an average nine thousand blankets a year</a></td><td align='right'>179</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#illustration_p193">As she leveled the lens a yell went up from somewhere</a></td><td align='right'>193</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#illustration_p207">As the occupants spilled sprawlingly through the gap, a front tire exploded with a loud report</a></td><td align='right'>207</td></tr> +</table></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="A_PILGRIM_CANONIZED" id="A_PILGRIM_CANONIZED"></a><i>A PILGRIM CANONIZED</i></h2> + +<p><a name="illustration_p13" id="illustration_p13"></a></p> +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/illustration_p13.png" +alt="p13" title="p13" /> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span> +</p> + +<h3><i>A Pilgrim Canonized</i></h3> + + +<p><span class="smcap">It</span> is generally conceded that the Grand +Cañon of Arizona beggars description. +I shall therefore endeavor to refrain +from doing so. I realize that this is going +to be a considerable contract. Nearly everybody, +on taking a first look at the Grand +Cañon, comes right out and admits its wonders +are absolutely indescribable—and then +proceeds to write anywhere from two thousand +to fifty thousand words, giving the full +details. Speaking personally, I wish to say +that I do not know anybody who has yet +succeeded in getting away with the job.</p> + +<p>In the old days when he was doing the +literature for the Barnum show, Tody +Hamilton would have made the best nominee +I can think of. Remember, don't you, +how when Tody started in to write about +the elephant quadrille you had to turn over<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span> +to the next page to find the verb? And +almost any one of those young fellows who +write advertising folders for the railroads +would gladly tackle the assignment; in +fact, some of them already have—but not +with any tumultuous success.</p> + +<p>In the presence of the Grand Cañon, +language just simply fails you and all the +parts of speech go dead lame. When the +Creator made it He failed to make a word +to cover it. To that extent the thing is +incomplete. If ever I run across a person +who can put down on paper what the +Grand Cañon looks like, that party will +be my choice to do the story when the +Crack of Doom occurs. I can close my +eyes now and see the headlines: Judgment +Day a Complete Success! Replete with +Incident and Abounding in Surprises—Many +Wealthy Families Disappointed—Full +Particulars from our Special Correspondent +on the Spot!</p> + +<p>Starting out from Chicago on the Santa +Fé, we had a full trainload. We came from +everywhere: from peaceful New England +towns full of elm trees and oldline Republicans; +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> +from the Middle States; and from the +land of chewing tobacco, prominent Adam's +apples and hot biscuits—down where the +r is silent, as in No'th Ca'lina. And all of +us—Northerners, Southerners, Easterners +alike—were actuated by a common purpose—we +were going West to see the country +and rough it—rough it on overland trains +better equipped and more luxurious than +any to be found in the East; rough it at +ten-dollar-a-day hotels; rough it by touring +car over the most magnificent automobile +roads to be found on this continent. +We were a daring lot and resolute; each +and every one of us was brave and blithe +to endure the privations that such an expedition +must inevitably entail. Let the +worst come; we were prepared! If there +wasn't any of the hothouse lamb, with +imported green peas, left, we'd worry along +on a little bit of the fresh shad roe, and +a few conservatory cucumbers on the side. +That's the kind of hardy adventurers we +were!</p> + +<p>Conspicuous among us was a distinguished +surgeon of Chicago; in fact, so<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span> +distinguished that he has had a very rare +and expensive disease named for him, +which is as distinguished as a physician +ever gets to be in this country. Abroad +he would be decorated or knighted. Here +we name something painful after him and +it seems to fill the bill just as well. This +surgeon was very distinguished and also +very exclusive. After you scaled down +from him, riding in solitary splendor in his +drawing room, with kitbags full of symptoms +and diagnoses scattered round, we +became a mixed tourist outfit. I would +not want to say that any of the persons +on our train were impossible, because that +sounds snobbish; but I will say this—some +of them were highly improbable.</p> + +<p>There was the bride, who put on her +automobile goggles and her automobile +veil as soon as we pulled out of the Chicago +yards and never took them off again—except +possibly when sleeping. I presume +she wanted to show the rest of us +that she was accustomed to traveling at a +high rate of speed. If the bridegroom had +only bethought him to carry one of those<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> +siren horns under his arm, and had tooted +it whenever we went around a curve, the +illusion would have been complete.</p> + +<p>There was also the middle-aged lady +with the camera habit. Any time the train +stopped, or any time it behaved as though +it thought of stopping, out on the platform +would pop this lady, armed with her little +accordion-plaited camera, with the lens focused +and the little atomizer bulb dangling +down, all ready to take a few pictures. +She snapshotted watertanks, whistling posts, +lunch stands, section houses, grade crossings +and holes in the snowshed—also scenery, +people and climate. A two-by-four photograph +of a mountain that's a mile high +must be a most splendid reminder of the +beauties of Nature to take home with you +from a trip.</p> + +<p>There was the conversational youth in the +Norfolk jacket, who was going out West +to fill an important vacancy in a large +business house—he told us so himself. It +was a good selection, too. If I had a vacancy +that I wanted filled in such a way +that other people would think the vacancy<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> +was still there, this youth would have been +my candidate.</p> + +<p><a name="illustration_p21" id="illustration_p21"></a></p> +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/illustration_p21.png" +alt="EVIDENTLY HE BELIEVED THE CONSPIRACY AGAINST HIM WAS WIDESPREAD" +title="Illustration: EVIDENTLY HE BELIEVED THE CONSPIRACY AGAINST HIM WAS WIDESPREAD" /><br /> +<span class="caption">EVIDENTLY HE BELIEVED THE CONSPIRACY AGAINST HIM WAS WIDESPREAD</span> +</div> + +<p>And finally there was the corn-doctor<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span> +from a town somewhere in Indiana, who +had the upper berth in Number Ten. It +seemed to take a load off his mind, on the +second morning out, when he learned that +he would not have to spend the day up +there, but could come down and mingle +with the rest of us on a common footing; +but right up to the finish of the journey +he was uncertain on one or two other +points. Every time a conductor came +through—Pullman conductor, train conductor +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span> +or dining-car conductor—he would +hail him and ask him this question: "Do +I or do I not have to change at Williams +for the Grand Cañon?" The conductor—whichever +conductor it was—always said, +Yes, he would have to change at Williams. +But he kept asking them—he seemed to +regard a conductor as a functionary who +would deliberately go out of his way to +mislead a passenger in regard to an important +matter of this kind. After a while +the conductors took to hiding out from him<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span> +and then he began cross-examining the +porters, and the smoking-room attendant, +and the baggageman, and the flagmen, and +the passengers who got aboard down the +line in Colorado and New Mexico.</p> + +<p>At breakfast in the dining car you would +hear his plaintive, patient voice lifted. +"Yes, waiter," he would say; "fry 'em on +both sides, please. And say, waiter, do +you know for sure whether we change at +Williams for the Grand Cañon?" He put +a world of entreaty into it; evidently he +believed the conspiracy against him was +widespread. At Albuquerque I saw him +leading off on one side a Pueblo Indian who +was peddling bows and arrows, and heard +him ask the Indian, as man to man, if he +would have to change at Williams for the +Grand Cañon.</p> + +<p>When he was not worrying about changing +at Williams he showed anxiety upon +the subject of the proper clothes to be +worn while looking at the Grand Cañon. +Among others he asked me about it. I +could not help him. I had decided to +drop in just as I was, and then to be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span> +governed by circumstances as they might +arise; but he was not organized that way. +On the morning of the last day, as we +rolled up through the pine barrens of +Northern Arizona toward our destination, +those of us who had risen early became +aware of a terrific struggle going on behind +the shrouding draperies of that upper +berth of his. Convulsive spasms agitated +the green curtains. Muffled swear words +uttered in a low but fervent tone filtered +down to us. Every few seconds a leg or +an arm or a head, or the butt-end of a +suitcase, or the bulge of a valise, would +show through the curtains for a moment, +only to be abruptly snatched back.</p> + +<p>Speculation concerning the causes of +these strange manifestations ran—as the +novelists say—rife. Some thought that, +overcome with disappointment by the discovery +that we had changed at Williams +in the middle of the night, without his +knowing anything about it, he was having +a fit all alone up there. Presently the excitement +abated; and then, after having +first lowered his baggage, our friend de<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span>scended +to the aisle and the mystery was +explained. He had solved the question of +what to wear while gazing at the Grand +Cañon. He was dressed in a new golf +suit, complete—from the dinky cap to the +Scotch plaid stockings. If ever that man +visits Niagara, I should dearly love to be +on hand to see him when he comes out to +view the Falls, wearing his bathing suit.</p> + +<p>Some of us aboard that train did not +seem to care deeply for the desert; the cactus +possibly disappointed others; and the +mesquit failed to give general satisfaction, +though at a conservative estimate we passed +through nine million miles of it. A few +of the delegates from the Eastern seaboard +appeared to be irked by the tribal dancing +of the Hopi Indians, for there was not a +turkey-trotter in the bunch, the Indian settlements +of Arizona being the only terpsichorean +centers in this country to which +the Young Turk movement had not penetrated +yet. Some objected to the plains +because they were so flat and plainlike, and +some to the mountains because of their exceedingly +mountainous aspect; but on one<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> +point we all agreed—on the uniform excellence +of the dining-car service.</p> + +<p>It is a powerfully hard thing for a man +to project his personality across the grave. +In making their wills and providing for +the carrying on of their pet enterprises a +number of our richest men have endeavored +from time to time to disprove this; +but, to date, the percentage of successes has +not been large. So far as most of us are +concerned the burden of proof shows that +in this regard we are one with the famous +little dog whose name was Rover—when +we die, we die all over. Every big success +represents the personality of a living man; +rarely ever does it represent the personality +of a dead man.</p> + +<p>The original Fred Harvey is dead—has +been dead, in fact, for several years; but +his spirit goes marching on across the +southwestern half of this country. Two +thousand miles from salt water, the oysters +that are served on his dining cars do not +seem to be suffering from car-sickness. +And you can get a beefsteak measuring +eighteen inches from tip to tip. There are<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span> +spring chickens with the most magnificent +bust development I ever saw outside of a +burlesque show; and the eggs taste as +though they might have originated with a +hen instead of a cold-storage vault. If +there was only a cabaret show going up +and down the middle of the car during +meals, even the New York passengers +would be satisfied with the service, I think.</p> + +<p>There is another detail of the Harvey +system that makes you wonder. Out on +the desert, in a dead-gray expanse of silence +and sagebrush, your train halts at a +junction point that you never even heard +of before. There is not much to be seen—a +depot, a 'dobe cabin or so, a few +frame shacks, a few natives, a few Indians +and a few incurably languid Mexicans—and +that is positively all there is except +that, right out there in the middle of nowhere, +stands a hotel big enough and handsome +enough for Chicago or New York, +built in the Spanish style, with wide patios +and pergolas—where a hundred persons +might perg at one time—and gay-striped +awnings. It is flanked by flower-beds and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span> +refreshingly green strips of lawn, with +spouting fountains scattered about.</p> + +<p>You go inside to a big, spotlessly bright +dining room and get as good a meal as you +can get anywhere on earth—and served in +as good style, too. To the man fresh from +the East, such an establishment reminds +him vividly of the hurry-up railroad lunch +places to which he has been accustomed +back home—places where the doughnuts +are dornicks and the pickles are fossils, +and the hard-boiled egg got up out of a +sick bed to be there, and on the pallid +yellow surface of the official pie a couple +of hundred flies are enacting Custard's +Last Stand. It reminds him of them because +it is so different. Between Kansas +City and the Coast there are a dozen or +more of these hotels scattered along the +line.</p> + +<p>And so, with real food to stay you and +one of Tuskegee's bright, straw-colored +graduates to minister to your wants in the +sleeper, you come on the morning of the +third day to the Grand Cañon in northern +Arizona; you take one look—and instantly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span> +you lose all your former standards of comparison. +You stand there gazing down +the raw, red gullet of that great gosh-awful +gorge, and you feel your self-importance +shriveling up to nothing inside of +you. You haven't an adjective left to your +back. It makes you realize what the sensations +would be of one little microbe lost +inside of Barnum's fat lady.</p> + +<p>I think my preconceived conception of +the Cañon was the same conception most +people have before they come to see it for +themselves—a straight up-and-down slit in +the earth, fabulously steep and fabulously +deep; nevertheless merely a slit. It is no +such thing.</p> + +<p>Imagine, if you can, a monster of a +hollow approximately some hundreds of +miles long and a mile deep, and anywhere +from ten to sixteen miles wide, with a +mountain range—the most wonderful +mountain range in the world—planted in +it; so that, viewing the spectacle from +above, you get the illusion of being in a +stationary airship, anchored up among the +clouds; imagine these mountain peaks—hundreds<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> +upon hundreds of them—rising +one behind the other, stretching away in +endless, serried rank until the eye swims +and the mind staggers at the task of trying +to count them; imagine them splashed and +splattered over with all the earthly colors +you ever saw and a lot of unearthly colors +you never saw before; imagine them carved +and fretted and scrolled into all shapes—tabernacles, +pyramids, battleships, obelisks, +Moorish palaces—the Moorish suggestion +is especially pronounced both in colorings +and in shapes—monuments, minarets, temples, +turrets, castles, spires, domes, tents, +tepees, wigwams, shafts.</p> + +<p>Imagine other ravines opening from the +main one, all nuzzling their mouths in her +flanks like so many sucking pigs; for there +are hundreds of these lesser cañons, and +any one of them would be a marvel were +they not dwarfed into relative puniness by +the mother of the litter. Imagine walls +that rise sheer and awful as the Wrath of +God, and at their base holes where you +might hide all the Seven Wonders of the +Olden World and never know they were<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span> +there—or miss them either. Imagine a +trail that winds like a snake and climbs +like a goat and soars like a bird, and finally +bores like a worm and is gone.</p> + +<p>Imagine a great cloud-shadow cruising +along from point to point, growing smaller +and smaller still, until it seems no more +than a shifting purple bruise upon the +cheek of a mountain, and then, as you +watch it, losing itself in a tiny rift which +at that distance looks like a wrinkle in the +seamed face of an old squaw, but which +is probably a huge gash gored into the +solid rock for a thousand feet of depth and +more than a thousand feet of width.</p> + +<p>Imagine, way down there at the bottom, +a stream visible only at certain favored +points because of the mighty intervening +ribs and chines of rock—a stream that appears +to you as a torpidly crawling yellow +worm, its wrinkling back spangled with +tarnished white specks, but which is really +a wide, deep, brawling, rushing river—the +Colorado—full of torrents and rapids; and +those white specks you see are the tops of +enormous rocks in its bed.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span></p> + +<p>Imagine—if it be winter—snowdrifts +above, with desert flowers blooming alongside +the drifts, and down below great +stretches of green verdure; imagine two +or three separate snowstorms visibly raging +at different points, with clear, bright +stretches of distance intervening between +them, and nearer maybe a splendid rainbow +arching downward into the great +void; for these meteorological three-ring +circuses are not uncommon at certain +seasons.</p> + +<p>Imagine all this spread out beneath the +unflawed turquoise of the Arizona sky and +washed in the liquid gold of the Arizona +sunshine—and if you imagine hard enough +and keep it up long enough you may begin, +in the course of eight or ten years, +to have a faint, a very faint and shadowy +conception of this spot where the shamed +scheme of creation is turned upside down +and the very womb of the world is laid +bare before our impious eyes. Then go to +Arizona and see it all for yourself, and you +will realize what an entirely inadequate +and deficient thing the human imagination +is.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span></p> + +<p>It is customary for the newly arrived +visitor to take a ride along the edge of the +cañon—the rim-drive, it is called—with +stops at Hopi Point and Mohave Point and +Pima Point, and other points where the +views are supposed to be particularly good. +To do this you get into a smart coach drawn +by horses and driven by a competent young +man in a khaki uniform. Leaving behind +you a clutter of hotel buildings and station +buildings, bungalows and tents, you go +winding away through a Government forest +reserve containing much fine standing +timber and plenty more that is not so fine, +it being mainly stunted piñon and gnarly +desert growths.</p> + +<p>Presently the road, which is a fine, wide, +macadamized road, skirts out of the trees +and threads along the cañon until it comes +to a rocky flange that juts far over. You +climb out there and, instinctively treading +lightly on your tiptoes and breathing in +syncopated breaths, you steal across the +ledge, going slowly and carefully until you +pause finally upon the very eyelashes of +eternity and look down into that great +inverted muffin-mold of a cañon.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span></p> + +<p>You are at the absolute jumping-off +place. There is nothing between you and +the undertaker except six-thousand feet, +more or less, of dazzling Arizona climate. +Below you, beyond you, stretching both +ways from you, lie those buried mountains, +the eternal herds of the Lord's cattlefold; +there are scars upon their sides, like the +marks of a mighty branding iron, and in +the distance, viewed through the vapor-waves +of melting snow, their sides seem to +heave up and down like the flanks of panting +cattle. Half a mile under you, straight +as a man can spit, are gardens of willows +and grasses and flowers, looking like tiny +green patches, and the tents of a camp +looking like scattered playing cards; and +there is a plateau down there that appears +to be as flat as your hand and is seemingly +no larger, but actually is of a size sufficient +for the evolutions of a brigade of cavalry.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span></p> + +<p><a name="illustration_p35" id="illustration_p35"></a></p> +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/illustration_p35.png" +alt="THERE WAS NOT A TURKEY TROTTER IN THE BUNCH" +title="THERE WAS NOT A TURKEY TROTTER IN THE BUNCH" /><br /> +<span class="caption">THERE WAS NOT A TURKEY TROTTER IN THE BUNCH</span> +</div> + +<p>When you have had your fill of this the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span> +guide takes you and leads you—you still +stepping lightly to avoid starting anything—to +a spot from which he points out to +you, riven into the face of a vast perpendicular<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> +chasm above a cave like a monstrous +door, a tremendous and perfect figure +seven—the house number of the Almighty +Himself. By this I mean no irreverence. +If ever Jehovah chose an earthly +abiding-place, surely this place of awful, +unutterable majesty would be it. You +move a few yards farther along and instantly +the seven is gone—the shift of shadow +upon the rock wall has wiped it out +and obliterated it—but you do not mourn +the loss, because there are still upward of +a million things for you to look at.</p> + +<p>And then, if you have timed wisely the +hour of your coming, the sun pretty soon +goes down; and as it sinks lower and lower +out of titanic crannies come the thickening +shades, making new plays and tricks of +painted colors upon the walls—purples and +reds and golds and blues, ambers and umbers +and opals and ochres, yellows and tans +and tawnys and browns—and the cañon +fills to its very brim with the silence of +oncoming night.</p> + +<p>You stand there, stricken dumb, your +whole being dwarfed yet transfigured; and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> +in the glory of that moment you can even +forget the gabble of the lady tourist alongside +of you who, after searching her soul +for the right words, comes right out and +gives the Grand Cañon her cordial indorsement. +She pronounces it to be just +perfectly lovely! But I said at the outset +I was not going to undertake to describe +the Grand Cañon—and I'm not. These +few remarks were practically jolted out of +me and should not be made to count in the +total score.</p> + +<p>Having seen the cañon—or a little bit of +it—from the top, the next thing to do is to +go down into it and view it from the sides +and the bottom. Most of the visitors follow +the Bright Angel Trail which is handily +near by and has an assuring name. +There are only two ways to do the inside +of the Grand Cañon—afoot and on mule-back. +El Tovar hotel provides the necessary +regalia, if you have not come prepared—divided +skirts for the women and leggings +for the men, a mule apiece and a guide to +every party of six or eight.</p> + +<p>At the start there is always a lot of ner<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span>vous +chatter—airy persiflage flies to and +fro and much laughing is indulged in. +But it has a forced, strained sound, that +laughter has; it does not come from the +heart, the heart being otherwise engaged +for the moment. Down a winding footpath +moves the procession, with the guide in +front, and behind him in single file his +string of pilgrims—all as nervous as cats +and some holding to their saddle-pommels +with death-grips. Just under the first terrace +a halt is made while the official photographer +takes a picture; and when you +get back he has your finished copy ready +for you, so you can see for yourself just +how pale and haggard and wall-eyed and +how much like a typhoid patient you +looked.</p> + +<p>The parade moves on. All at once you +notice that the person immediately ahead +of you has apparently ridden right over the +wall of the cañon. A moment ago his +arched back loomed before you; now he +is utterly gone. It is at this point that +some tourists tender their resignations—to +take effect immediately. To the credit of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> +the sex, be it said, the statistics show that +fewer women quit here than men. But +nearly always there is some man who remembers +where he left his umbrella or +something, and he goes back after it and +forgets to return.</p> + +<p>In our crowd there was one person who +left us here. He was a circular person; +about forty per cent of him, I should say, +rhymed with jelly. He climbed right down +off his mule. He said:</p> + +<p>"I'm not scared myself, you understand, +but I've just recalled that my wife is a nervous +woman. She'd have a fit if she knew I +was taking this trip! I love my wife, and +for her sake I will not go down this cañon, +dearly as I would love to." And with +that he headed for the hotel. I wanted to +go with him. I wanted to go along with +him and comfort him and help him have +his chill, and if necessary send a telegram +for him to his wife—she was in Pittsburgh—telling +her that all was well. But I did +not. I kept on. I have been trying to +figure out ever since whether this showed +courage on my part, or cowardice.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span></p> + +<p>Over the ridge and down the steep declivity +beyond goes your mule, slipping a +little. He is reared back until his rump +almost brushes the trail; he grunts mild +protests at every lurching step and grips +his shoecalks into the half-frozen path. +You reflect that thousands of persons have +already done this thing; that thousands of +others—men, women and children—are going +to do it, and that no serious accident +has yet occurred—which is some comfort, +but not much. The thought comes to you +that, after all, it is a very bright and beautiful +world you are leaving behind. You +turn your head to give it a long, lingering +farewell, and you try to put your mind +on something cheerful—such as your life +insurance. Then something happens.</p> + +<p>The trail, that has been slanting at a +downward angle which is a trifle steeper +than a ship's ladder, but not quite so steep +perhaps as a board fence, takes an abrupt +turn to the right. You duck your head +and go through a little tunnel in the rock, +patterned on the same general design of the +needle's eye that is going to give so many<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> +of our prominent captains of industry trouble +in the hereafter. And as you emerge +on the lower side you forget all about your +life-insurance papers and freeze to your +pommel with both hands, and cram your +poor cold feet into the stirrups—even in +warm weather they'll be good and cold—and +all your vital organs come up in your +throat, where you can taste them. If anybody +had shot me through the middle just +about then he would have inflicted only +a flesh wound.</p> + +<p>You have come out on a place where the +trail clings to the sheer side of the dizziest, +deepest chasm in the known world. One +of your legs is scraping against the everlasting +granite; the other is dangling over +half a mile of fresh mountain air. The +mule's off hind hoof grates and grinds on +the flinty trail, dislodging a fair-sized stone +that flops over the verge. You try to look +down and see where it is going and find +you haven't the nerve to do it—but you +can hear it falling from one narrow ledge +to another, picking up other boulders as it +goes until there must be a fair-sized little<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span> +avalanche of them cascading down. The +sound of their roaring, racketing passage +grows fainter and fainter, then dies almost +out, and then there rises up to you from +those unutterable depths a dull, thuddy +little sound—those stones have reached the +cellar! Then to you there comes the pleasing +reflection that if your mule slipped +and you fell off and were dashed to fragments, +they would not be large, mussy, +irregular fragments, but little teeny-weeny +fragments, such as would not bring the +blush of modesty to the cheek of the most +fastidious.</p> + +<p>Only your mule never slips off! It is +contrary to a mule's religion and politics, +and all his traditions and precedents, to +slip off. He may slide a little and stumble +once in a while, and he may, with malice +aforethought, try to scrape you off against +the outjutting shoulders of the trail; but he +positively will not slip off. It is not because +he is interested in you. A tourist on +the cañon's rim a simple tourist is to him +and nothing more; but he has no intention +of getting himself hurt. Instinct has taught<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> +that mule it would be to him a highly +painful experience to fall a couple of thousand +feet or so and light on a pile of rocks; +and therefore, through motives that are +purely selfish, he studiously refrains from +so doing. When the Prophet of old wrote, +"How beautiful upon the mountains are +the feet of him," and so on, I judge he +had reference to a mule on a narrow trail.</p> + +<p>My mule had one very disconcerting +way about him—or, rather, about her, for +she was of the gentler sex. When she came +to a particularly scary spot, which was +every minute or so, she would stop dead +still. I concurred in that part of it heartily. +But then she would face outward and +crane her neck over the fathomless void +of that bottomless pit, and for a space of +moments would gaze steadily downward, +with a despondent droop of her fiddle-shaped +head and a suicidal gleam in her +mournful eyes. It worried me no little; +and if I had known, at the time, that she +had a German name it would have worried +me even more, I guess. But either the +time was not ripe for the rash act or else<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span> +she abhorred the thought of being found +dead in the company of a mere tourist, so +she did not leap off into space, but restrained +herself; and I was very grateful +to her for it. It made a bond of sympathy +between us.</p> + +<p>On you go, winding on down past the +red limestone and the yellow limestone +and the blue sandstone, which is green +generally; past huge bat caves and the +big nests of pack-rats, tucked under shelves +of Nature's making; past stratified millions +of crumbling seashells that tell to +geologists the tale of the salt-water ocean +that once on a time, when the world was +young and callow, filled this hole brim +full; and presently, when you have begun +to piece together the tattered fringes of +your nerves, you realize that the cañon is +even more wonderful when viewed from +within than it is when viewed from without. +Also, you begin to notice now that it +is most extensively autographed.</p> + +<p>Apparently about every other person +who came this way remarked to himself +that this cañon was practically completed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> +and only needed his signature as collaborator +to round it out—so he signed it and +after that it was a finished job. Some of +them brought down colored chalk and stencils, +and marking pots, and paints and +brushes, and cold chisels to work with, +which must have been a lot of trouble, but +was worth it—it does add so greatly to the +beauty of the Grand Cañon to find it spangled +over with such names as you could +hear paged in almost any dollar-a-day +American-plan hotel. The guide pointed +out a spot where one of these inspired +authors climbed high up the face of a +white cliff and, clinging there, carved out +in letters a foot long his name; and it +was one of those names that, inscribed +upon a register, would instinctively cause +any room clerk to reach for the key to an +inside one, without bath. I regret to state +that nothing happened to this person. He +got down safe and sound; it was a great +pity, too.</p> + +<p>By the Bright Angel Trail it is three +hours on a mule to the plateau, where there +are green summery things growing even in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span> +midwinter, and where the temperature is +almost sultry; and it is an hour or so more +to the riverbed, down at the very bottom. +When you finally arrive there and look up +you do not see how you ever got down, for +the trail has magically disappeared; and +you feel morally sure you are never going +to get back. If your mule were not under +you pensively craning his head rearward in +an effort to bite your leg off, you would +almost be ready to swear the whole thing +was an optical illusion, a wondrous dream. +Under these circumstances it is not so +strange that some travelers who have been +game enough until now suddenly weaken. +Their nerves capsize and the grit runs out +of them like sand out of an overturned +pail.</p> + +<p>All over this part of Arizona they tell +you the story of the lady from the southern +part of the state—she was a school teacher +and the story has become an epic—who +went down Bright Angel one morning and +did not get back until two o'clock the following +morning; and then she came against +her will in a litter borne by two tired<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> +guides, while two others walked beside her +and held her hands; and she was protesting +at every step that she positively could +not and would not go another inch; and +she was as hysterical as a treeful of chickadees; +her hat was lost, and her glasses +were gone, and her hair hung down her +back, and altogether she was a mournful +sight to see.</p> + +<p>Likewise the natives will tell you the +tale of a man who made the trip by crawling +round the more sensational corners +upon his hands and knees; and when he +got down he took one look up to where, a +sheer mile above him, the rim of the cañon +showed, with the tall pine trees along its +edge looking like the hairs upon a caterpillar's +back, and he announced firmly that +he wished he might choke if he stirred +another step. Through the miraculous indulgence +of a merciful providence he was +down, and that was sufficient for him; he +wasn't going to trifle with his luck. He +would stay down until he felt good and +rested, and then he would return to his +home in dear old Altoona by some other<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> +route. He was very positive about it. +There were two guides along, both of them +patient and forbearing cowpunchers, and +they argued with him. They pointed that +there was only one suitable way for him +to get out of the cañon, and that was the +way by which he had got into it.</p> + +<p>"The trouble with you fellows," said the +man, "is that you are too dad-blamed technical. +The point is that I'm here, and +here I'm going to stay."</p> + +<p>"But," they told him, "you can't stay +here. You'd starve to death like that poor +devil that some prospectors found in that +gulch yonder—turned to dusty bones, with +a pack rat's nest in his chest and a rock +under his head. You'd just naturally +starve to death."</p> + +<p>"There you go again," he said, "importing +these trivial foreign matters into the +discussion. Let us confine ourselves to the +main issue, which is that I am not going +back. This rock shall fly from its firm +base as soon as I," he said, or words to that +effect.</p> + +<p>So insisting, he sat down, putting his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> +own firm base against the said rock, and +prepared to become a permanent resident. +He was a grown man and the guides were +less gentle with him than they had been +with the lady school teacher. They roped +his arms at the elbows and hoisted him +upon a mule and tied his legs together +under the mule's belly, and they brought +him out of there like a sack of bran—only +he made more noise than any sack of bran +has ever been known to make.</p> + +<p>Coming back up out of the Grand Cañon +is an even more inspiring and amazing +performance than going down. But by +now—anyhow this was my experience, and +they tell me it is the common experience—you +are beginning to get used to the +sensation of skirting along the raw and +ragged verge of nothing. Narrow turns +where, going down, your hair pushed your +hat off, no longer affright you; you take +them jauntily—almost debonairly. You +feel that you are now an old mountain-scaler, +and your soul begins to crave for a +trip with a few more thrills to the square +inch in it. You get your wish. You go<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span> +down Hermit Trail, which its middle +name is thrills; and there you make the +acquaintance of the Hydrophobic Skunk.</p> + +<p>The Hydrophobic Skunk is a creature of +such surpassing accomplishments and vivid +personality that I feel he is entitled to a +new chapter. The Hydrophobic Skunk +will be continued in our next.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="RABID_AND_HIS_FRIENDS" id="RABID_AND_HIS_FRIENDS"></a><i>RABID AND HIS FRIENDS</i></h2> + +<p><a name="illustration_p53" id="illustration_p53"></a></p> +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/illustration_p53.png" +alt="p53" title="p53" /> + +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span></p> + +<h3><i>Rabid and His Friends</i></h3> + + +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> Hydrophobic Skunk resides at +the extreme bottom of the Grand +Cañon and, next to a Southern Republican +who never asked for a Federal +office, is the rarest of living creatures. He +is so rare that nobody ever saw him—that +is, nobody except a native. I met plenty +of tourists who had seen people who had +seen him, but never a tourist who had seen +him with his own eyes. In addition to +being rare, he is highly gifted.</p> + +<p>I think almost anybody will agree with +me that the common, ordinary skunk has +been most richly dowered by Nature. To +adorn a skunk with any extra qualifications +seems as great a waste of the raw material +as painting the lily or gilding refined gold. +He is already amply equipped for outdoor +pursuits. Nobody intentionally shoves him<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span> +round; everybody gives him as much room +as he seems to need. He commands respect—nay, +more than that, respect and veneration—wherever +he goes. Joy-riders never +run him down and foot passengers avoid +crowding him into a corner. You would +think Nature had done amply well by the +skunk; but no—the Hydrophobic Skunk +comes along and upsets all these calculations. +Besides carrying the traveling credentials +of an ordinary skunk, he is rabid +in the most rabidissimus form. He is not +mad just part of the time, like one's relatives +by marriage—and not mad most of +the time, like the old-fashioned railroad +ticket agent—but mad all the time—incurably, +enthusiastically and unanimously mad! +He is mad and he is glad of it.</p> + +<p>We made the acquaintance of the Hydrophobic +Skunk when we rode down Hermit +Trail. The casual visitor to the Grand +Cañon first of all takes the rim drive; then +he essays Bright Angel Trail, which is +sufficiently scary for his purposes until he +gets used to it; and after that he grows +more adventurous and tackles Hermit<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> +Trail, which is a marvel of corkscrew convolutions, +gimleting its way down this red +abdominal wound of a cañon to the very +gizzard of the world.</p> + +<p>Alongside the Hermit, traveling the +Bright Angel is the same as gathering the +myrtles with Mary; but the civil engineers +who worked out the scheme of the Hermit +and made it wide and navigable for ordinary +folks were bright young men. They +laid a wall along its outer side all the +way from the top to the bottom. Now +this wall is made of loose stones racked +up together without cement, and it is nowhere +more than a foot or a foot and a half +high. If your mule ever slipped—which +he never does—or if you rolled off on your +own hook—which has not happened to date—that +puny little wall would hardly stop +you—might not even cause you to hesitate. +But some way, intervening between you +and a thousand feet or so of uninterrupted +fresh air, it gives a tremendous sense of +security. Life is largely a state of mind, +anyhow, I reckon.</p> + +<p>As a necessary preliminary to going<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> +down Hermit Trail you take a buckboard +ride of ten miles—ten wonderful miles! +Almost immediately the road quits the +rocky, bare parapet of the gorge and winds +off through the noble, big forest that is a +part of the Government reserve. Jays that +are twice as large and three times as vocal +as the Eastern variety weave blue threads +in the green background of the pines; and +if there is snow upon the ground its billowy +white surface is crossed and criss-crossed +with the dainty tracks of coyotes, +and sometimes with the broad, furry marks +of the wildcat's pads. The air is a blessing +and the sunshine is a benediction.</p> + +<p>Away off yonder, through a break in the +conifers, you see one lone and lofty peak +with a cap of snow upon its top. The +snow fills the deeper ravines that furrow +its side downward from the summit so that +at this distance it looks as though it were +clutched in a vast white owl's claw; and +generally there is a wispy cloud caught on +it like a white shirt on a poor man's Monday +washpole. Or, huddled together in a +nest formation like so many speckled eggs,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span> +you see the clutch of little mottled mountains +for which nobody seems to have a +name. If these mountains were in Scotland, +Sir Walter Scott and Bobby Burns +would have written about them and they +would be world-famous, and tourists from +America would come and climb their +slopes, and stand upon their tops, and sop +up romance through all their pores. But +being in Arizona, dwarfed by the heaven-reaching +ranges and groups that wall them +in north, south and west, they have not +even a Christian name to answer to.</p> + +<p>Anon—that is to say, at the end of those +ten miles—you come to the head of Hermit +Trail. There you leave your buckboard +at a way station and mount your +mule. Presently you are crawling downward, +like a fly on a board fence, into the +depths of the chasm. You pass through +rapidly succeeding graduations of geology, +verdure, scenery and temperature. You +ride past little sunken gardens full of wild +flowers and stunty fir trees, like bits of Old +Japan; you climb naked red slopes crowned +with the tall cactus, like Old Mexico; you<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> +skirt bald, bare, blistered vistas of desolation, +like Old Perdition. You cross +Horsethief's Trail, which was first traced +out by the moccasined feet of marauding +Apaches and later was used by white outlaws +fleeing northward with their stolen +pony herds.</p> + +<p>You pass above the gloomy shadows of +Blythe's Abyss and wind beneath a great +box-shaped formation of red sandstone set +on a spindle rock and balancing there in +dizzy space like Mohammed's coffin; and +then, at the end of a mile-long jog along +a natural terrace stretching itself midway +between Heaven and the other place, you +come to the residence of Shorty, the official +hermit of the Grand Cañon.</p> + +<p><a name="illustration_p61" id="illustration_p61"></a></p> +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/illustration_p61.png" +alt="HE'D GARNER IN SOME FELLOWS THAT WASN'T SHEEPHERDERS" +title="HE'D GARNER IN SOME FELLOWS THAT WASN'T SHEEPHERDERS" /><br /> +<span class="caption">HE'D GARNER IN SOME FELLOWS THAT WASN'T SHEEPHERDERS</span> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span><br /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span> +</p><p>Shorty is a little, gentle old man, with +warped legs and mild blue eyes and a set +of whiskers of such indeterminate aspect +that you cannot tell at first look whether +they are just coming out or just going back +in. He belongs—or did belong—to the +vast vanishing race of oldtime gold prospectors. +Halfway down the trail he does +light housekeeping under an accommodating<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> +flat ledge that pouts out over the pathway +like a snuffdipper's under lip. He has +a hole in the rock for his chimney, a +breadth of weathered gray canvas for his +door and an eighty-mile stretch of the most +marvelous panorama on earth for his front +yard. He minds the trail and watches out +for the big boulders that sometimes fall in +the night; and, except in the tourist season, +he leads a reasonably quiet existence.</p> + +<p>Alongside of Shorty, Robinson Crusoe +was a tenement-dweller, and Jonah, weekending +in the whale, had a perfectly uproarious +time; but Shorty thrives on a +solitude that is too vast for imagining. He +would not trade jobs with the most potted +potentate alive—only sometimes in mid-summer +he feels the need of a change +stealing over him, and then he goes afoot +out into the middle of Death Valley and +spends a happy vacation of five or six +weeks with the Gila monsters and the heat. +He takes Toby with him.</p> + +<p>Toby is a gentlemanly little woolly dog +built close to the earth like a carpet sweeper, +with legs patterned crookedly—after<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> +the model of his master's. Toby has one +settled prejudice: he dislikes Indians. You +have only to whisper the word "Injun" and +instantly Toby is off, scuttling away to the +highest point that is handy. From there +he peers all round looking for red invaders. +Not finding any he comes slowly back, +crushed to the earth with disappointment. +Nobody has ever been able to decide what +Toby would do with the Indians if he +found them; but he and Shorty are in perfect +accord. They have been associated +together ever since Toby was a pup and +Shorty went into the hermit business, and +that was ten years ago. Sitting cross-legged +on a flat rock like a little gnome, +with his puckered eyes squinting off at +space, Shorty told us how once upon a time +he came near losing Toby.</p> + +<p>"Me and Toby," he said, "was over to +Flagstaff, and that was several years +ago. There was a saloon man over there +owned a bulldog and he wanted that his +bulldog and Toby should fight. Toby can +lick mighty nigh any dog alive; but I +didn't want that Toby should fight. But<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span> +this here saloon man wouldn't listen. He +sicked his bulldog on to Toby and in about +a minute Toby was taking that bulldog all +apart.</p> + +<p>"This here saloon man he got mad then—he +got awful mad. He wanted to kill +Toby and he pulled out his pistol. I +begged him mighty hard please not to +shoot Toby—I did so! I stood in front +of Toby to protect him and I begged that +man not to do it. Then some other fellows +made him put up his gun, and me and +Toby came on away from there." His +voice trailed off. "I certainly would 'a' +hated to lose Toby. We set a heap of store +by one another—don't we, dog?" And +Toby testified that it was so—testified with +wriggling body and licking tongue and +dancing eyes and a madly wagging stump +tail.</p> + +<p>As we mounted and jogged away we +looked back, and the pair of them—Shorty +and Toby—were sitting there side by side +in perfect harmony and perfect content; +and I could not help wondering, in a country +where we sometimes hang a man for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span> +killing a man, what would have been adequate +punishment for a brute who would +kill Toby and leave Shorty without his +partner! In another minute, though, we +had rounded a jagged sandstone shoulder +and they were out of sight.</p> + +<p>About that time Johnny, our guide, felt +moved to speech, and we hearkened to his +words and hungered for more, for Johnny +knows the ranges of the Northwest as a +city dweller knows his own little side street. +In the fall of the year Johnny comes down +to the Cañon and serves as a guide a while; +and then, when he gets so he just can't +stand associating with tourists any longer, +he packs his warbags and journeys back +to the Northern Range and enjoys the +company of cows a spell. Cows are not +exactly exciting, but they don't ask fool +questions.</p> + +<p>A highly competent young person is +Johnny and a cowpuncher of parts. Most +of the Cañon guides are cowpunchers—accomplished +ones, too, and of high standing +in the profession. With a touch of reverence +Johnny pointed out to us Sam Sco<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span>vel, +the greatest bronco buster of his time, +now engaged in piloting tourists.</p> + +<p>"Can he ride?" echoed Johnny in answer +to our question. "Scovel could ride +an earthquake if she stood still long enough +for him to mount! He rode Steamboat—not +Young Steamboat, but Old Steamboat! +He rode Rocking Chair, and he's the only +man that ever did do that and not be called +on in a couple of days to attend his own +funeral."</p> + +<p>This day he told us about one Tom, who +lived up in Wyoming, where Johnny came +from. It appeared that in an easier day +Tom was hired by some cattle men to thin +out the sheep herders who insisted upon invading +the public ranges. By Johnny's +account Tom did the thinning with conscientious +attention to detail and gave general +satisfaction for a while; but eventually +he grew careless in his methods and took to +killing parties who were under the protection +of the game laws. Likewise his own +private collection of yearlings began to increase +with a rapidity which was only to be +accounted for on the theory that a large<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span> +number of calves were coming into the +world with Tom's brand for a birthmark. +So he lost popularity. Several times his +funeral was privily arranged, but on each +occasion was postponed owing to the failure +of the corpse to be present. Finally he +killed a young boy and was caught and +convicted, and one morning they took him +out and hanged him rather extensively.</p> + +<p>"Tom was mighty methodical," said +Johnny. "He got five hundred a head for +killing sheep herders—that was the regular +tariff. Every time he bumped one off +he'd put a stone under his head, which +was his private mark—a kind of a duebill, +as you might say. And when they'd find +that dead herder with the rock under his +head they'd know there was another five +hundred comin' to Tom on the books; they +always paid it, too. Once in a while, +though, he'd cut loose in a saloon and garner +in some fellows that wasn't sheep herders. +There was quite a number that +thought Tom acted kind of ungentlemanly +when he was drinkin'."</p> + +<p>We went on and on at a lazy mule-trot,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> +hearing the unwritten annals of the range +from one who had seen them enacted at +first hand. Pretty soon we passed a herd +of burros with mealy, dusty noses and +spotty hides, feeding on prickly pears and +rock lichens; and just before sunset we slid +down the last declivity out upon the plateau +and came to a camp as was a camp!</p> + +<p>This was roughing it de luxe with a +most de-luxey vengeance! Here were three +tents, or rather three canvas houses, with +wooden half-walls; and they were spick-and-span +inside and out, and had glass +windows in them and doors and matched +wooden floors. The one that was a bedroom +had gay Navajo blankets on the floor, +and a stove in it, and a little bureau, and +a washstand with white towels and good +lathery soap. And there were two beds—not +cots or bunks, but regular beds—with +wire springs and mattresses and white +sheets and pillowslips. They were not veteran +sheets and vintage pillowslips either, +but clean and spotless ones. The mess tent +was provided with a table with a clean +cloth to go over it, and there were china<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span> +dishes and china cups and shiny knives, +forks and spoons. Every scrap of this +equipment had been brought down from +the top on burro packs. The Grand Cañon +is scenically artistic, but it is a non-producing +district. And outside there was a +corral for the mules; a canvas storehouse; +hitching stakes for the burros; a Dutch +oven, and a little forge where the guides +sometimes shoe a mule. They aren't blacksmiths; +they merely have to be. Bill was +in charge of the camp—a dark, rangy, +good-looking young leading man of a cowboy, +wearing his blue shirt and his red +neckerchief with an air. He spoke with +the soft Texas drawl and in his way was as +competent as Johnny.</p> + +<p>The sun, which had been winking farewells +to us over the rim above, dropped +out of sight as suddenly as though it had +fallen into a well. From the bottom the +shadows went slanting along the glooming +walls of the gorges, swallowing up the yellow +patches of sunlight that still lingered +near the top like blacksnakes swallowing +eggs. Every second the colors shifted and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span> +changed; what had been blue a moment +before was now purple and in another +minute would be a velvety black. A little +lost ghost of an echo stole out of a hole +and went straying up and down, feebly +mocking our remarks and making them +sound cheap and tawdry.</p> + +<p>Then the new moon showed as a silver +fish, balancing on its tail and arching itself +like a hooked skipjack. In a purpling sky +the stars popped out like pinpricks and the +peace that passes all understanding came +over us. I wish to take advantage of this +opportunity to say that, in my opinion, +David Belasco has never done anything in +the way of scenic effects to beat a moonrise +in the Grand Cañon.</p> + +<p>I reckon we might have been there until +now—my companion and I—soaking +our souls in the unutterable beauty of that +place, only just about that time we smelled +something frying. There was also a most +delectable sputtering sound as of fat meat +turning over on a hot skillet; but just the +smell alone was a square meal for a poor +family. The meeting adjourned by ac<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span>clamation. +Just because a man has a soul +is no reason he shouldn't have an appetite.</p> + +<p>That Johnny certainly could cook! +Served on china dishes upon a cloth-covered +table, we had mounds of fried steaks +and shoals of fried bacon; and a bushel, +more or less, of sheepherder potatoes; and +green peas and sliced peaches out of cans; +and sourdough biscuits as light as kisses +and much more filling; and fresh butter +and fresh milk; and coffee as black as your +hat and strong as sin. How easy it is for +civilized man to become primitive and +comfortable in his way of eating, especially +if he has just ridden ten miles on a buckboard +and nine more on a mule and is +away down at the bottom of the Grand +Cañon—and there is nobody to look on +disapprovingly when he takes a bite that +would be a credit to a steam shovel!</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span></p> + +<p><a name="illustration_p73" id="illustration_p73"></a></p> +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/illustration_p73.png" +alt="BECAUSE A MAN HAS A SOUL IS NO REASON HE SHOULDN'T HAVE AN APPETITE" +title="BECAUSE A MAN HAS A SOUL IS NO REASON HE SHOULDN'T HAVE AN APPETITE" /><br /> +<span class="caption">BECAUSE A MAN HAS A SOUL IS NO REASON HE SHOULDN'T HAVE AN APPETITE</span> +</div> + +<p>Despite all reports to the contrary, I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> +wish to state that it is no trouble at all to +eat green peas off a knifeblade—you +merely mix them in with potatoes for a cement; +and fried steak—take it from an old +steak-eater—tastes best when eaten with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span> +those tools of Nature's own providing, +both hands and your teeth. An hour passed—busy, +yet pleasant—and we were both +gorged to the gills and had reared back +with our cigars lit to enjoy a third jorum +of black coffee apiece, when Johnny, speaking +in an offhand way to Bill, who was +still hiding away biscuits inside of himself +like a parlor prestidigitator, said:</p> + +<p>"Seen any of them old hydrophobies the +last day or two?"</p> + +<p>"Not so many," said Bill casually. +"There was a couple out last night pirootin' +round in the moonlight. I reckon, +though, there'll be quite a flock of 'em out +tonight. A new moon always seems to +fetch 'em up from the river."</p> + +<p>Both of us quit blowing on our coffee +and we put the cups down. I think I was +the one who spoke.</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon," I asked, "but what +did you say would be out tonight?"</p> + +<p>"We were just speakin' to one another +about them Hydrophoby Skunks," said +Bill apologetically. "This here Cañon is +where they mostly hang out and frolic +'round."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span></p> + +<p>I laid down my cigar, too. I admit I +was interested.</p> + +<p>"Oh!" I said softly—like that. "Is it? +Do they?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Johnny. "I reckin there's +liable to be one come shovin' his old nose +into that door any minute. Or probably +two—they mostly travels in pairs—sets, as +you might say."</p> + +<p>"You'd know one the minute you saw +him, though," said Bill. "They're smaller +than a regular skunk and spotted where +the other kind is striped. And they got little +red eyes. You won't have no trouble at +all recognizin' one."</p> + +<p>It was at this juncture that we both got +up and moved back by the stove. It was +warmer there and the chill of evening +seemed to be settling down noticeably.</p> + +<p>"Funny thing about Hydrophoby +Skunks," went on Johnny after a moment +of pensive thought—"mad, you know!"</p> + +<p>"What makes them mad?" The two of +us asked the question together.</p> + +<p>"Born that way!" explained Bill—"mad +from the start, and won't never do nothin' +to get shut of it."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Ahem—they never attack humans, I +suppose?"</p> + +<p>"Don't they?" said Johnny, as if surprised +at such ignorance. "Why, humans +is their favorite pastime! Humans is just +pie to a Hydrophoby Skunk. It ain't really +any fun to be bit by a Hydrophoby Skunk +neither." He raised his coffee cup to his +lips and imbibed deeply.</p> + +<p>"Which you certainly said something +then, Johnny," stated Bill. "You see," he +went on, turning to us, "they aim to catch +you asleep and they creep up right soft +and take holt of you—take holt of a year +usually—and clamp their teeth and just +hang on for further orders. Some says +they hang on till it thunders, same as snappin' +turtles. But that's a lie, I judge, because +there's weeks on a stretch down here +when it don't thunder. All the cases I ever +heard of they let go at sun-up."</p> + +<p>"It is right painful at the time," said +Johnny, taking up the thread of the narrative; +"and then in nine days you go mad +yourself. Remember that fellow the Hydrophoby +Skunk bit down here by the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span> +rapids, Bill? Let's see now—what was +that hombre's name?"</p> + +<p>"Williams," supplied Bill—"Heck Williams. +I saw him at Flagstaff when they +took him there to the hospital. That guy +certainly did carry on regardless. First he +went mad and his eyes turned red, and he +got so he didn't have no real use for water—well, +them prospectors don't never care +much about water anyway—and then he +got to snappin' and bitin' and foamin' so's +they had to strap him down to his bed. +He got loose though."</p> + +<p>"Broke loose, I suppose?" I said.</p> + +<p>"No, he bit loose," said Bill with the air +of one who would not deceive you even in +a matter of small details.</p> + +<p>"Do you mean to say he bit those leather +straps in two?"</p> + +<p>"No, sir; he couldn't reach them," explained +Bill, "so he bit the bed in two. +Not in one bite, of course," he went on. +"It took him several. I saw him after he +was laid out. He really wasn't no credit +to himself as a corpse."</p> + +<p>I'm not sure, but I think my companion<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span> +and I were holding hands by now. Outside +we could hear that little lost echo +laughing to itself. It was no time to be +laughing either. Under certain circumstances +I don't know of a lonelier place +anywhere on earth than that Grand Cañon.</p> + +<p>Presently my friend spoke, and it seemed +to me his voice was a mite husky. Well, +he had a bad cold.</p> + +<p>"You said they mostly attack persons +who are sleeping out, didn't you?"</p> + +<p>"That's right, too," said Johnny, and Bill +nodded in affirmation.</p> + +<p>"Then, of course, since we sleep indoors +everything will be all right," I put in.</p> + +<p>"Well, yes and no," answered Johnny. +"In the early part of the evening a hydrophoby +is liable to do a lot of prowlin' +round outdoors; but toward mornin' they +like to get into camps—they dig up under +the side walls or come up through the +floor—and they seem to prefer to get in +bed with you. They're cold-blooded, I +reckin, same as rattlesnakes. Cool nights +always do drive 'em in, seems like."</p> + +<p>"It's going to be sort of coolish to-night," +said Bill casually.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span></p> + +<p>It certainly was. I don't remember a +chillier night in years. My teeth were +chattering a little—from cold—before we +turned in. I retired with all my clothes +on, including my boots and leggings, and +I wished I had brought along my earmuffs. +I also buttoned my watch into my +lefthand shirt pocket, the idea being if for +any reason I should conclude to move during +the night I would be fully equipped +for traveling. The door would not stay +closely shut—the doorjamb had sagged a +little and the wind kept blowing the door +ajar. But after a while we dozed off.</p> + +<p>It was one-twenty-seven <span class="smcap">a.m.</span> when I +woke with a violent start. I know this +was the exact time because that was when +my watch stopped. I peered about me in +the darkness. The door was wide open—I +could tell that. Down on the floor there +was a dragging, scuffling sound, and from +almost beneath me a pair of small red eyes +peered up phosphorescently.</p> + +<p>"He's here!" I said to my companion as +I emerged from my blankets; and he, waking +instantly, seemed instinctively to know<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span> +whom I meant. I used to wonder at the +ease with which a cockroach can climb a +perfectly smooth wall and run across the +ceiling. I know now that to do this is the +easiest thing in the world—if you have the +proper incentive behind you. I had gone +up one wall of the tent and had crossed +over and was in the act of coming down +the other side when Bill burst in, his eyes +blurred with sleep, a lighted lamp in one +hand and a gun in the other.</p> + +<p>I never was so disappointed in my life +because it wasn't a Hydrophobic Skunk at +all. It was a pack rat, sometimes called +a trade rat, paying us a visit. The pack +or trade rat is also a denizen of the Grand +Cañon. He is about four times as big as +an ordinary rat and has an appetite to +correspond. He sometimes invades your +camp and makes free with your things, but +he never steals anything outright—he merely +trades with you; hence his name. He +totes off a side of meat or a bushel of meal +and brings a cactus stalk in; or he will confiscate +your saddlebags and leave you in +exchange a nice dry chip. He is honest,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span> +but from what I can gather he never gets +badly stuck on a deal.</p> + +<p>Next morning at breakfast Johnny and +Bill were doing a lot of laughing between +them over something or other. But we had +our revenge! About noon, as we were +emerging at the head of the trail, we met +one of the guides starting down with a +couple that, for the sake of convenience, +we had christened Clarence and Clarice. +Shorty hailed us.</p> + +<p>"How's everything down at the camp?" +he inquired.</p> + +<p>"Oh, all right!" replied Bill—"only +there's a good many of them Hydrophoby +Skunks pesticatin' about. Last night we +seen four."</p> + +<p>Clarence and Clarice crossed startled +glances, and it seemed to me that Clarice's +cheek paled a trifle; or it may have been +Clarence's cheek that paled. He bent +forward and asked Shorty something, and +as we departed full of joy and content we +observed that Shorty was composing himself +to unload that stock horror tale. It +made us very happy.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span></p> + +<p>By common consent we had named them +Clarence and Clarice on their arrival the +day before. At first glance we decided +they must have come from Back Bay, Boston—probably +by way of Lenox, Newport +and Palm Beach; if Harvard had been a +co-educational institution we should have +figured them as products of Cambridge. +It was a shock to us all when we learned +they really hailed from Chicago. They +were nearly of a height and a breadth, and +similar in complexion and general expression; +and immediately after arriving they +had appeared for the ride down the Bright +Angel in riding suits that were identical +in color, cut and effect—long-tailed, tight-buttoned +coats; derby hats; stock collars; +shiny top boots; cute little crops, and +form-fitting riding trousers with those +Bartlett pear extensions midships and aft—and +the prevalent color was a soft, melting, +misty gray, like a cow's breath on a +frosty morning. Evidently they had both +patronized the same tailor.</p> + +<p>He was a wonder, that tailor. Using +practically the same stage effects, he had,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> +nevertheless, succeeded in making Clarence +look feminine and Clarice look masculine. +We had gone down to the rim to see them +off. And when they passed us in all the +gorgeousness of their city bridle-path regalia, +enthroned on shaggy mules, behind +a flock of tourists in nondescript yet appropriate +attire, and convoyed by a cowboy +who had no reverence in his soul for the +good, the sweet and the beautiful, but kept +sniggering to himself in a low, coarse way, +we felt—all of us—that if we never saw +another thing we were amply repaid for +our journey to Arizona.</p> + +<p>The exactly opposite angle of this phenomenon +was presented by a certain Eastern +writer, a member, as I recall, of the +Jersey City school of Wild West story +writers, who went to Arizona about two +years ago to see if the facts corresponded +with his fiction; if not he would take steps +to have the facts altered—I believe that +was the idea. He reached El Tovar at +Grand Cañon in the early morning, hurried +at once to his room and presently +appeared attired for breakfast. Compe<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span>tent +eyewitnesses gave me the full details. +He wore a flannel shirt that was unbuttoned +at the throat to allow his Adam's +apple full sweep, a hunting coat, buckskin +pants and high boots, and about his waist +was a broad belt supporting on one side a +large revolver—one of the automatic kind, +which you start in to shooting by pulling +the trigger merely and then have to throw +a bucket of water on it to make it stop—and +on the other side, as a counterpoise, +was a buck-handled bowie knife such as +was so universally not used by the early +pioneers of our country.</p> + +<p>As he crossed the lobby, jangling like a +milk wagon, he created a pronounced impression +upon all beholders. The hotel is +managed by an able veteran of the hotel +business, assisted by a charming and accomplished +wife; it is patronized by scientists, +scholars and cosmopolitans, who come +from all parts of the world to see the +Grand Cañon; and it is as up-to-the-minute +in its appointments and service as though +it fronted on Broadway, or Chestnut Street, +or Pennsylvania Avenue.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span></p> + +<p>Our hero careened across the intervening +space. On reaching the dining room +he snatched off his coat and, with a gesture +that would have turned Hackett or Faversham +as green with envy as a processed +stringbean, flung it aside and prepared to +enter. It was plain that he proposed to put +on no airs before the simple children of the +desert wilds. He would eat his antelope +steak and his grizzly b'ar chuck in his shirt-sleeves, +the way Kit Carson and Old Man +Bridger always did.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span></p> + +<p><a name="illustration_p87" id="illustration_p87"></a></p> +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/illustration_p87.png" +alt="HE WAS A REGULAR MOVING PICTURE COWBOY AND GAVE GENERAL SATISFACTION" +title="HE WAS A REGULAR MOVING PICTURE COWBOY AND GAVE GENERAL SATISFACTION" /><br /> +<span class="caption">HE WAS A REGULAR MOVING PICTURE COWBOY AND GAVE GENERAL SATISFACTION</span> +</div> + +<p>The young woman who presides over the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span> +dining room met him at the door. In the +cool, clarified accents of a Wellesley graduate, +which she is, she invited him to have +on his things if he didn't mind. She also +offered to take care of his hardware for +him while he was eating. He consented to +put his coat back on, but he clung to his +weapons—there was no telling when the +Indians might start an uprising. Probably +at the moment it would have deeply pained +him to learn that the only Indian uprising +reported in these parts in the last forty +years was a carbuncle on the back of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span> +neck of Uncle Hopi Hooligan, the gentle +copper-colored floorwalker of the white-goods +counter in the Hopi House, adjacent +to the hotel!</p> + +<p>However, he stayed on long enough to +discover that even this far west ordinary +human garments make a most excellent +protective covering for the stranger. Many +of the tourists do not do this. They arrive +in the morning, take a hurried look at the +Cañon, mail a few postal cards, buy a +Navajo blanket or two and are out again +that night. Yet they could stay on for a +month and make every hour count. To +begin with, there is the Cañon, worth a +week of anybody's undivided attention. +Within easy reach are the Painted Desert +and the Petrified Forests—thousands of +acres of trees turned to solid agate. If +these things were in Europe they would be +studded thick with hotels and Americans +by the thousand would flock across the +seas to look at them. There are cliff-dwellers' +ruins older than ancient Babylon +and much less expensive.</p> + +<p>The reservations of the Hopis and the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span> +Navajos, most distinctive of all the Southern +tribes, are handy, while all about +stretches a big Government reserve full +of natural wonders and unnatural ones, +too—everything on earth except a Lover's +Leap. There are unexcelled facilities for +Lover's Leaps, too—thousands of appropriate +places are within easy walking distance +of the hotel; but no lover ever yet +cared to leap where he would have to drop +five or six thousand feet before he landed. +He'd be such a mussy lover; no satisfaction +to himself then—or to the undertaker, +either.</p> + +<p>However, as I was saying, most of the +tourists run in on the morning train and +out again on the evening train. To this +breed belonged a youth who dropped in +during our stay; I think he must have followed +the crowd in. As he came out from +breakfast I chanced to be standing on the +side veranda and I presume he mistook me +for one of the hired help. This mistake +has occurred before when I was stopping +at hotels.</p> + +<p>"My friend," he said to me in the pat<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span>ronizing +voice of an experienced traveler, +"is there anything interesting to see round +here at this time of day?"</p> + +<p>Either he had not heard there was a +Grand Cañon going on regularly in that +vicinity or he may have thought it was +open only for matinees and evenings. So +I took him by the hand and led him over +to the curio store and let him look at the +Mexican drawnwork. It seemed to satisfy +him, too—until by chance he glanced out +of a window and discovered that the Cañon +was in the nature of a continuous performance.</p> + +<p>The same week there arrived a party of +six or eight Easterners who yearned to see +some of those real genuine Wild Western +characters such as they had met so often in +a film. The manager trotted out a troupe of +trail guides for them—all ex-cowboys; but +they, being merely half a dozen sunburned, +quiet youths in overalls, did not fill the +bill at all. The manager hated to have his +guests depart disappointed. Privately he +called his room clerk aside and told him +the situation and the room clerk offered to +oblige.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span></p> + +<p>The room clerk had come from Ohio +two years before and was a mighty accommodating +young fellow. He slipped across +to the curio store and put on a big hat +and some large silver spurs and a pair of +leather chaps made by one of the most +reliable mail-order houses in this country. +Thus caparisoned, he mounted a pony and +came charging across the lawn, uttering +wild ki-yis and quirting his mount at every +jump. He steered right up the steps to +the porch where the delighted Easterners +were assembled, and then he yanked the +pony back on his haunches and held him +there with one hand while with the other +he rolled a brown-paper cigarette—which +was a trick he had learned in a high-school +frat at Cincinnati—and altogether he was +the picture of a regular moving-picture +cowboy and gave general satisfaction.</p> + +<p>If the cowboys are disappointing in their +outward aspect, however, Captain Jim +Hance is not. The captain is the official +prevaricator of the Grand Cañon. It is +probably the only salaried job of the sort +in the world—his competitors in the same<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span> +line of business mainly work for the love +of it. He is a venerable retired prospector +who is specially retained by the Santa Fe +road for the sole purpose of stuffing the +casual tourist with the kind of fiction the +casual tourist's system seems to crave. He +just moons round from spot to spot, romancing +as he goes.</p> + +<p>Two of the captain's standbys have been +advertised to the world. One of them deals +with the sad fate of his bride, who on her +honeymoon fell off into the Cañon and +lodged on a rim three hundred feet below. +"I was two days gettin' down to the poor +little thing," he tells you, "and then I seen +both her hind legs was broke." Here the +captain invariably pauses and looks out +musingly across the Cañon until the victim +bites with an impatient "What happened +then?" "Oh, I knew she wouldn't be no +use to me any more as a bride—so I shot +her!" The other tale he saves up until +some tenderfoot notices the succession of +blazes upon the treetrunks along one of the +forest trails and wants to know what made +those peculiar marks upon the bark all at<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span> +the same height from the earth. Captain +Hance explains that he himself did it—with +his elbows and knees—while fleeing +from a war party of Apaches.</p> + +<p>His newest one, though—the one he is +featuring this year—is, in the opinion of +competent judges, the gem of the Hance +collection. It concerns the fate of one +Total Loss Watkins, an old and devoted +friend of the captain. As a preliminary +he leads a group of wide-eared, doe-eyed +victims to the rim of the Cañon. "Right +here," he says sorrowfully, "was where +poor old Total slipped off one day. It's +two thousand feet to the first ledge and we +thought he was a gone fawnskin, sure! +But he had on rubber boots, and he had +the presence of mind to light standing up. +He bounced up and down for two days +and nights without stoppin', and then we +had to get a wingshot to kill him in order +to keep him from starvin' to death."</p> + +<p>The next stop will be Southern California, +the Land of Perpetual Sunshine—except +when it rains!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span></p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="HOW_DO_YOU_LIKE" id="HOW_DO_YOU_LIKE"></a><i>HOW DO YOU LIKE THE CLIMATE?</i></h2> + + +<p><a name="illustration_p95" id="illustration_p95"></a></p> +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/illustration_p95.png" +alt="p95" title="p95" /> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span></p> + +<h3><i>How Do You Like the +Climate?</i></h3> + + +<p><span class="smcap">Once</span> upon a time a stranger went +to Southern California; and when +he was asked the customary question—to +wit: "How do you like the climate?" +he said: "No, I don't like it!" So +they destroyed him on the spot. I have +forgotten now whether they merely hanged +him on the nearest tree or burned him at +the stake; but they destroyed him utterly +and hid his bones in an unmarked grave.</p> + +<p>History, that lying jade, records that +when Balboa first saw the Pacific he +plunged breast-deep into the waves, drew +his sword and waved it on high, probably +using for that purpose the Australian +crawl stroke; and then, in that generous +and carefree way of the early discoverers, +claimed the ocean and all points west in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span> +the name of his Catholic Majesty, Carlos +the Cutup, or Pedro the Impossible, or +whoever happened to be the King of Spain +for the moment. Personal investigation +convinces me that the current version of +the above incident was wrong.</p> + +<p>What Balboa did first was to state that +he liked the climate better than any climate +he'd ever met; was perfectly crazy +about it, in fact, and intended to sell out +back East and move West just as soon as +he could get word home to his folks; after +which, still following the custom of the +country, he bought a couple of Navajo +blankets and some moccasins with blue +beadwork on the toes, mailed a few souvenir +postcards to close friends, and had his +photograph taken showing him standing +in the midst of the tropical verdure, with +a freshly picked orange in his hand. And +if he waved his sword at all it was with +the idea of forcing the real-estate agents +to stand back and give him air. I am sure +that these are the correct details, because +that is what every round-tripper does upon +arriving in Southern California; and,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span> +though Balboa finished his little jaunt of +explorations at a point some distance below +the California state line, he was still in +the climate belt. Life out there in that +fair land is predicated on climate; out +there climate is capitalized, organized and +systematized. Every native is a climate +booster; so is every newcomer as soon as +he has stuck round long enough to get the +climate habit, which is in from one to +three days. They talk climate; they think +climate; they breathe it by day; they snore +it by night; and in between times they live +on it. And it is good living, too—especially +for the real-estate people and the +hotel-keepers.</p> + +<p>Southern Californians brag of their climate +just as New York brags of its wickedness +and its skyscrapers, and as Richmond +brags of its cooking and its war +memories. I don't blame them either; the +California climate is worth all the brags +it gets. Back East in the wintertime we +have weather; out in Southern California +they never have weather—nothing but climate. +For hours on hours a native will<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span> +stand outdoors, with his hat off and his +head thrown back, inhaling climate until +you can hear his nostrils smack. And after +you've been on the spot a day or two you're +doing the same thing yourself, for, in addition +to being salubrious, the California climate +is catching.</p> + +<p><a name="illustration_p101" id="illustration_p101"></a></p> +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/illustration_p101.png" +alt="THE BOY WHO SELLS YOU A PAPER AND THE YOUTH WHO BLACKENS YOUR SHOES BOTH SHOW SOLICITUDE" +title="THE BOY WHO SELLS YOU A PAPER AND THE YOUTH WHO BLACKENS YOUR SHOES BOTH SHOW SOLICITUDE" /><br /> +<span class="caption">THE BOY WHO SELLS YOU A PAPER AND THE YOUTH WHO BLACKENS YOUR SHOES BOTH SHOW SOLICITUDE</span> +</div> + +<div><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span></div> + +<p>Just as soon as you cross the Arizona +line you discover that you have entered +the climate belt. As your train whizzes +past the monument that marks the boundary +an earnest-minded passenger leans over, +taps you on the breastbone and informs +you that you are now in California, and +wishes to know, as man to man, whether +you don't regard the climate as about the +niftiest article in that line you ever experienced! +At the hotel the young lady of the +telephone switchboard, who calls you in +the morning, plugs in the number of your +room; and when you drowsily answer the +bell she informs you that it is now eight-thirty +and—What do you think of the climate? +The boy who sells you a paper +and the youth who blackens your shoes +both show solicitude to elicit your views +upon this paramount subject.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span></p> + +<p>At breakfast the waiter finds out—if he +can—how you like the climate before finding +out how you like your eggs. When +you pay your bill on going away the clerk +somehow manages to convey the impression +that the charges have been remarkably +moderate considering what you have enjoyed +in the matter of climate. Punching +your round-trip ticket on the train starting +East, the conductor has a few well-merited +words to speak on behalf of the climate +of the Glorious Southland, the same being +the favorite pet name of the resident classes +for the entire lower end of the state of +California.</p> + +<p>Everybody is doing it, including press, +pulpit and general public. The weather +story—beg pardon, the climate story—is +the most important thing in the daily paper, +especially if a blizzard has opportunely +developed back East somewhere and +is available for purposes of comparison. +At Los Angeles, which is the great throbbing +heart of the climate belt, I went as +a guest to a stag given at the handsome +new clubhouse of a secret order renowned<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span> +the continent over for its hospitality and +its charities. We sat, six or seven hundred +of us, in a big assembly hall, smoked cigars +and drank light drinks, and witnessed some +corking good sparring bouts by non-professional +talent. There were two or three +ministers present—fine, alert representatives +of the modern type of city clergymen. +When eleven o'clock came the master of +ceremonies announced the toast, To Our +Absent Brothers! and called upon one of +those clergymen to respond to it.</p> + +<p>The minister climbed up on the platform—a +tall man, with a thick crop of hair +and a profile as clean cut as a cameo and +as mobile as an actor's, the face of a born +orator. He could talk, too, that preacher! +In language that was poetic without being +sloppy he paid a tribute to the spirit of +fraternity that fairly lifted us out of our +chairs. Every man there was touched, I +think—and deeply touched; no man who +believed in the brotherhood of man, +whether he practiced it or not, could have +listened unmoved to that speech. He spoke +of the absent ones. Some of them he said<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> +had answered the last rollcall, and some +were stretched upon the bed of affliction, +and some were unavoidably detained by +business in the East; and he intimated that +those in the last category who had been +away for as long as three weeks wouldn't +know the old place when they got back!—Applause.</p> + +<p>This naturally brought him round to the +subject of Los Angeles as a city of business +and homes. He pointed out its marvelous +growth—quoting freely from the latest issue +of the city directory and other reliable +authorities to prove his figures; he made +a few heartrousing predictions touching +on its future prospects, as tending to show +that in a year or less San Francisco and +other ambitious contenders along the Coast +would be eating at the second table; he +peopled the land clear back to the mountains +with new homes and new neighbors; +and he wound up, in a burst of vocal glory, +with the most magnificent testimonial for +the climate I ever heard any climate get. +Did he move his audience then? Oh, but +didn't he move them, though! Along<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span> +toward the close of the third minute of +uninterrupted cheering I thought the roof +was gone.</p> + +<p>On the day after my arrival I made one +very serious mistake; in fact, it came near +to being a fatal one. I met a lady, and +naturally right away she asked me the +customary opening question. Every conversation +between a stranger and a resident +begins according to that formula. Still it +seemed to me an inopportune hour for +bringing up the subject. It was early in +March and the day was one of those days +which a greenhorn from the East might +have been pardoned for regarding as verging +upon the chilly—not to say the raw. +Also, it seemed to be raining. I say it +seemed to be raining, because no true +Southern Californian would admit any +actual defects in the climatic arrangements. +If pressed he might concede that ostensibly +an infinitesimal percentage of precipitation +was descending, and that apparently +the mercury had descended a notch or two +in the tube. Further than that, in the +absence of the official reports, he would +not care to commit himself.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span></p> + +<p>You never saw such touching loyalty +anywhere! Those scoffing neighbors of +Noah who kept denying on there was +going to be any flood right up to the moment +when they went down for the third +time were rank amateurs alongside a seasoned +resident of Los Angeles. I was +newly arrived, however, and I hadn't acquired +the ethics yet; and, besides, I had +contracted a bad cold and had been taking +a number of things for it and for the +moment was, as you might say, full of +conflicting emulsions. So, in reply to this +lady's question, I said it occurred to me +that the prevalent atmospheric conditions +might for the nonce stand a few trifling +alterations without any permanent ill effects.</p> + +<p>I repeat that this was a mistake; for this +particular lady was herself a recent arrival, +and of all the incurable Californians, the +new ones are the most incurable. She gave +me one look—but such a look! From +a reasonably solid person I became first a +pulp and then a pap; and then, reversing +the processes of creation as laid down in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span> +Genesis, first chapter, and first to fifth +verses, I liquefied and turned to gas, and +darkness covered me, and I became void +and without form, and passed off in the +form of a vapor, leaving my clothes inhabited +only by a blushing and embarrassed +emptiness. When the outraged lady +abated the intensity of her scornful gaze +and I painfully reassembled my astral +body out of space and projected it back +into my earthly tenement again, I found +I'd shrunk so in these various processes +that nothing I wore fitted me any longer.</p> + +<p>I shall never commit that error again. +I know better now. If I were a condemned +criminal about to die on a gallows +at the state penitentiary, I would +make the customary announcement touching +on my intention of going straight to +Heaven—condemned criminals never seem +to have any doubt on that point—and then +in conclusion I would add that after Southern +California, I knew I wouldn't care for +the climate Up There. Then I would step +serenely off into eternity, secure in the belief +that, no matter how heinous my crime<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span> +might have been, all the local papers would +give me nice obituary notices.</p> + +<p>I'd be absolutely sure of the papers, because +the papers are the last to concede +that there ever was or ever will be a flaw +in the climate anywhere. In a certain city +out on the Coast there is one paper that +refuses even to admit that a human being +can actually expire while breathing the +air of Southern California. It won't go +so far as to say that anybody has died—"passed +away" is the term used. You read +in its columns that Medulla Oblongata, the +Mexican who was kicked in the head by +a mule last Sunday afternoon, has passed +away at the city hospital; or that, during +yesterday's misunderstanding in Chinatown +between the Bing Bangs and the Ok Louies, +two Tong men were shot and cut in +such a manner that they practically passed +away on the spot. When I was there I +traveled all one day over the route of an +unprecedented cold snap that had happened +along a little earlier and mussed up +the citrus groves; and, though I will not +go so far as to say that the orange crop<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span> +had died or that it had been killed, it did +look to me as though it had passed away +to a considerable extent.</p> + +<p>This sort of visitation, however, doesn't +occur often; in fact, it never had occurred +before—and the chances are it never will +occur again. Next to taxes and the high +cost of living, I judge the California climate +to be about the most dependable +institution we have in this country—yes, +and one of the most satisfactory, too. To +its climate California is indebted for being +the most extravagantly beautiful spot I've +seen on this continent. It isn't just beautiful +in spots—it is beautiful all over; it +isn't beautiful in a sedate, reserved way—there +is a prodigal, riotous, abandoned +spendthriftiness to its beauty.</p> + +<p>I don't know of anything more wonderful +than an automobile ride through one +of the fruit valleys in the Mission country. +In one day's travel—or, at most, two—you +can get a taste of all the things that +make this farthermost corner of the United +States at once so diversified and so individual—sky-piercing +mountain and mirage-<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span>painted +desert; seashore and upland; ranch +lands, farm lands and fruit lands; city and +town; traces of our oldest civilization and +stretches of our newest; wilderness and +jungle and landscape garden; the pines of +the snows, the familiar growths of the +temperate zone, the palms of the tropics; +and finally—which is California's own—the +Big Trees. All day you may ride and +never once will your eye rest upon a picture +that is commonplace or trumpery.</p> + +<p>Going either North or South, your +road lies between mountains. To the eastward, +shutting out the deserts from this +domain of everlasting summer, are the +Sierras—great saw-edged old he-mountains, +masculine as bulls or bucks, all rugged +and wrinkled, bearded with firs and +pines upon their jowls, but bald-headed +and hoar with age atop like the Prophets +of old. But the mountains of the Coast +Range, to the westward, are full-bosomed +and maternal, mothering the valleys up to +them; and their round-uddered, fecund +slopes are covered with softest green. Only +when you come closer to them you see<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span> +that the garments on their breasts are not +silky-smooth as they looked at a distance, +but shirred and gored, gathered and +smocked. I suppose even a lady mountain +never gets too old to follow the +fashions!</p> + +<p>Now you pass an orchard big enough to +make a hundred of your average Eastern +orchards; and if it be of apples or plums +or cherries, and the time be springtime, +it is all one vast white bridal bouquet; but +if it be of almonds or peaches the whole +land, maybe for miles on end, blazes with +a pink flame that is the pinkest pink in +the world—pinker than the heart of a ripe +watermelon; pinker than the inside of a +blond cow.</p> + +<p>Here is a meadowland of purest, deepest +green; and flung across it, like a streak +of sunshine playing hooky from Heaven, is +a slash of wild yellow poppies. There, +upon a hillside, stands a clump of gnarly, +dwarfed olives, making you think of Bible +times and the Old Testament. Or else it +is a great range, where cattle by thousands +feed upon the slopes. Or a crested ridge,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span> +upon which the gum trees stand up in long +aisles, sorrowful and majestic as the funereal +groves of the ancient Greeks—that is, +provided it was the ancient Greeks who +had the funereal groves.</p> + +<p>Or, best of all and most striking in its +contrasts, you will see a hill all green, +with a nap on it like a family album; and +right on the top of it an old, crumbly gray +mission, its cross gleaming against the skyline; +and, down below, a modern town, +with red roofs and hipped windows, its +houses buried to their eaves in palms and +giant rose bushes, and huge climbing geraniums, +and all manner of green tropical +growths that are Nature's own Christmas +trees, with the red-and-yellow dingle-dangles +growing upon them. Or perhaps it +is a gorge choked with the enormous redwoods, +each individual tree with a trunk +like the Washington Monument. And, if +you are only as lucky as we were, up +overhead, across the blue sky, will be drifting +a hundred fleecy clouds, one behind +the other, like woolly white sheep grazing +upon the meadows of the firmament.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span></p> + +<p>Everywhere the colors are splashed on +with a barbaric, almost a theatrical, touch. +It's a regular backdrop of a country; its +scenery looks as though it belonged on a +stage—as though it should be painted on +a curtain. You almost expect to see a +chorus of comic-opera brigands or a bevy +of stage milkmaids come trooping out of +the wings any minute. Who was the libelous +wretch who said that the flowers of +California had no perfume and the birds +there had no song? Where we passed +through tangled woods the odors distilled +from the wild flowers by the sun's warmth +were often almost suffocating in their +sweetness; and in a yellow-tufted bush +on the lawn at Coronado I came upon a +mocking-bird singing in a way to make +his brother minstrel of Mobile or Savannah +feel like applying for admission to a +school of expression and learning the singing +business all over again.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span></p> + +<p><a name="illustration_p115" id="illustration_p115"></a></p> +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/illustration_p115.png" +alt="OUT FROM UNDER A ROCK SOMEWHERE WILL CRAWL A REAL ESTATE AGENT" +title="OUT FROM UNDER A ROCK SOMEWHERE WILL CRAWL A REAL ESTATE AGENT" /><br /> +<span class="caption">OUT FROM UNDER A ROCK SOMEWHERE WILL CRAWL A REAL ESTATE AGENT</span> +</div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span></p> + +<p>At the end of the valley—top end or +bottom end as the case may be—you come +to a chain of lesser mountains, dropped +down across your path like a trailing wing +of the Indians' fabled thunder-bird, vainly +trying to shut you out from the next valley. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span> +You climb the divide and run through the +pass, with a brawling river upon one side +and tall cliffs upon the other; and then +all of a sudden the hills magically part +and you are within sight—almost within +touch—of the ocean; for in this favored +land the mountains come right down to +the sea and the sea comes right up to the +mountains. It may be upon a tiny bay that +you have emerged, with the meadows sloping +straight to tidemark, and out beyond +the wild fowl feeding by the kelp beds.</p> + +<p>Or perhaps you have come out upon a +ragged, rugged headland, crowned belike +with a single wind-twisted tree, grotesquely +suggesting a frizzly chicken; and away +below, straight and sheer, are the rocks +rising out of the water like the jaws of a +mangle. Down there in that ginlike reef +Neptune is forever washing out his shirt +in a smother of foamy lather. And he has +spilled his bluing pot, too—else how could +all the sea be so blue? On the outermost +rocks the sea-lions have stretched them<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span>selves, +looking like so many overgrown +slugs; and they lie for hours and sun +themselves and bellow—or, at least, I am +told they do so on occasion. There was +unfortunately no bellowing going on the +day I was there.</p> + +<p>The unearthly beauty of the whole thing +overpowers you. The poet that lives in +nearly every human soul rouses within you +and you feel like withdrawing to yon dense +grove or yon peaked promontory to commune +with Nature. But be advised in +season. Restrain yourself! Carefully refrain! +Do not do so! Because out from +under a rock somewhere will crawl a real-estate +agent to ask you how you like the +climate and take a dollar down as first +payment on a fruit ranch, or a suburban +lot, or a seaside villa—or something.</p> + +<p>Climate did it and he can prove it. +Only he doesn't have to prove it—you +admit it. I had never seen the Mediterranean +when I went West; but I saw the +cypresses of Del Monte, and the redwood +grove in the cañon just below Harry Leon +Wilson's place, down past Carmel-by-the-<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span>Sea; +and that was sufficient. I had no burning +yearning to see Naples and die, as the +poet suggested. I felt that I would rather +see Monterey Bay again on a bright March +day and live!</p> + +<p>And for all of this—for fruit, flowers +and scenery, for real-estate agents, and for +a race of the most persistent boosters under +the sun—the climate is responsible. Climate +advertised is responsible for the rush +of travel from the East that sets in with +the coming of winter and lasts until well +into the following spring; and climate realized +is responsible for the string of tourist +hotels that dot the Coast all along from +just below San Francisco to the Mexican +border.</p> + +<p>Both externally and internally the majority +of these hotels are singularly alike. +Mainly they are rambling frame structures +done in a modified Spanish architecture—late +Spanish crossed on Early Peoria—with +a lobby so large that, loafing there, you +feel as though you were in the waiting-room +of the Grand Central Terminal, and with +a dining room about the size of the state<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span> +of Rhode Island, and a sun parlor that has +windows all round, so as to give its occupants +the aspect, when viewed from without, +of being inmates of an aquarium; and +a gorgeous tea room done in the style of +one of the French Louies—Louie the +Limit, I guess. There are some notable +exceptions to the rule—some of the places +have pleasing individualities of their own, +but most of them were cut off the same +pattern. Likewise the bulk of their winter +patrons are cut off the same pattern.</p> + +<p>The average Eastern tourist is a funny +biped anyhow, and he is at his funniest +out in California. Living along the Eastern +seaboard are a large number of well-to-do +people who harken not to the slogan +of See America First, because many of +them cannot see America at any price; +they can just barely recognize its existence +as a suitable place for making money, +but no place for spending it. What makes +life worth living to them is the fact that +Europe is distant only a four-day run by +the four-day boat, the same being known +as a four-day boat because only four days<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span> +are required for the run between Daunt's +Rock and Ambrose Channel, which is a +very convenient arrangement for deep-sea +divers and long-distance swimmers desiring +to get on at Daunt's Rock and get off +in Ambrose Channel, but slightly extending +the journey for passengers who are less +amphibious by nature.</p> + +<p>These people constitute one breed of +Eastern tourists. There is the other breed, +who are willing to see America provided +it is made over to conform with the accepted +Eastern model. Those who can +afford the expense go to Florida in the +winter; but it requires at least a million in +small change to feel at home in that setting, +and so a good many who haven't quite +a million to spare, head for Southern California +as the next best spot on the map. +Arriving there, they endeavor to reproduce +on as exact a scale as possible the life of +the ultra fashionable Florida resorts; the +result is what a burlesque manager would +call a Number Two Palm Beach company +playing the Western Wheel.</p> + +<p>Up and down the Coast these tourists<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span> +traipse for months on end, spending a week +here and two weeks there, and doing the +same things in the same way at each new +stopping place. You meet them, part from +them, and meet them again at the next +stand, until the monotony of it grows maddening; +and always they are intently following +the routine you saw them following +last week or the week before, or the week +before that. They have traveled clear +across the continent to practice such diversions +as they might have had within two +hours' ride of Philadelphia or New York; +and they are going to practice them, too, +or know the reason why.</p> + +<p>Of course they are not all constituted +this way; I am speaking now of the impression +created in California by tourists +in bulk. They decline to do the things +for which this country is best adapted; +they will not see the things for which it is +most famous. Few of them take the roughing +trips up into the mountains; fewer still +visit the desert country. All about them +the tremendous engineering contracts that +have made this land a commercial Arabian<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> +Nights' Entertainment are being carried +out—the mighty reclamation schemes; the +irrigation projects; the damming up of +cañons and the shoveling away of mountains—but +your average group of Eastern +tourists pass these by with dull and glazed +eyes, their souls being bound up in the +desire to reach the next hotel on the route +with the least possible waste of time, and +take up the routine where it was broken +off at the last hotel.</p> + +<p>They tennis and they golf, and some go +horseback riding and some take drives; +and at one or two places there is polo in +the season. Likewise, in accordance with +the rules laid down by the Palm Beach +authorities, the women change clothes as +often as possible during the course of the +day; and in the evening all hands appear +in full dress for dinner, the same being +very wearing on men and very pleasing +to women—that is, all of them do except +a few obstinate persons who defy convention +and remain comfortable. After dinner +some of the younger people dance and +some of the older ones play bridge; but<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span> +the vast majority sit round—and then sit +round some more and wonder whether +eleven o'clock will ever come so they can +go to bed!</p> + +<p>A good many take the wrong kind of +clothes out there with them. They have +read in the advertisements that Southern +California is a land of perpetual balm, +where flowers bloom the year round; and +they pack their trunks with the lightest +and thinnest wearing apparel they own, +which is a mistake. The natives know +better than that. The all-wool sweater is +the national garment of the Western Coast—both +sexes and all ages go to it unanimously. +Experience proves it the ideal +thing to wear; for in Southern California +in the winter it is never really hot in the +sun and it is often exceedingly cool in the +shade. Besides, there is a sea wind that +blows pretty regularly and which makes +a specialty of working through the crannies +in a silk shirt or a lingerie blouse. +The chilliest, most pallid-looking things I +ever saw in my life were a pair of white +linen trousers I found in the top tray of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span> +my trunk when I reached the extreme +lower end of California. I had to cover +them under two blankets and a bedspread +that night to keep the poor things from +freezing stiff.</p> + +<p>The medium-weight garments an Easterner +wears between seasons are admirably +suited for the West Coast in the winter; +but the guileless tenderfoot who is making +his first trip to California usually doesn't +learn this until it is too late. If he is wise +he studies out the situation on his arrival, +and thereafter takes his overcoat with him +when he goes riding and his sweater when +he goes walking; but there are many others +who will be summer boys and girls though +they perish in the attempt.</p> + +<p>At Coronado I witnessed a mighty pitiable +sight. It was a cool day, cooler than +ordinary even, with a stiff wind blowing +skeiny shreds of sea fog in off the gray +ocean; and a beating rain was falling at +frequent intervals. The veranda was full +of Easterners trying to look comfortable in +summer clothes and not succeeding, while +the road in front was dotted with Western<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span>ers, +comfortable and cozy in their thick +sweaters. There emerged upon the wind-swept +porch a youth who would have been +a sartorial credit to himself on a Florida +beach in February or upon a Jersey board-walk +in August; but he did not coincide +with the atmospheric scheme of things on a +rainy March day down in Southern California.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span></p> + +<p><a name="illustration_p127" id="illustration_p127"></a></p> +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/illustration_p127.png" +alt="HE FELT HE WAS PROPERLY DRESSED FOR THE TIME, THE PLACE AND THE OCCASION" +title="HE FELT HE WAS PROPERLY DRESSED FOR THE TIME, THE PLACE AND THE OCCASION" /><br /> +<span class="caption">HE FELT HE WAS PROPERLY DRESSED FOR THE TIME, THE PLACE AND THE OCCASION</span> +</div> + +<p>To begin with, he was a spindly and +fragile person, with a knobby forehead and +a fade-away face. Dressed in close-fitting<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span> +black and turned sidewise, with his profile +to you, he would instantly suggest a neatly +rolled umbrella with a plain bone handle. +But he was not dressed in black; he was +dressed in white—all white, like a bride +or a bandaged thumb; white silk shirt; +white flannel coat, with white pearl buttons +spangled freely over it; white trousers; +white Panama hat; white socks; white +buckskin shoes, with white rubber soles on +them. He was, in short, all white except +his face, which was a pinched, wan blue, +and his nose, which was a suffused and +chilly red. If my pencil had had an eraser +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span> +on it I'm satisfied I could have backed him +up against the wall and rubbed him right +out; but he bore up splendidly.</p> + +<p>It was plain he felt that he was properly +dressed for the time, the place and the occasion; +and to him that was ample compensation +for his suffering. I heard afterward +that he lost three sets of tennis and had a +congestive chill—all in the course of the +same afternoon.</p> + +<p>The unconquerable determination of the +Eastern tourist to have Southern California +conform to his back-home standards is +responsible for the fact that many of the +tourist hotels out there are not so typical +of the West as they might be—and as in my +humble judgment they should be—but are +as Eastern as it is possible to make them—Eastern +in cuisine, in charges and in their +operating schedules. Here, again, there +are some notable exceptions.</p> + +<p>In the supposedly wilder sections of the +West, lying between the Rockies and the +Sierras, the situation is different. It is +notably different in Arizona and New +Mexico in the South, and in Utah, Mon<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span>tana +and Wyoming in the North. There +the person who serves you for hire is +neither your menial nor your superior; +whereas in the East he or she is nearly always +one or the other, and sometimes both +at once. This particular type of Westerner +doesn't patronize you; neither does +he cringe to you in expectation of a tip. +He gives you the best he has in stock, +meanwhile retaining his own self-respect +and expecting you to do the same. He ennobles +and dignifies personal service.</p> + +<p>Out on the Coast, however—or at least +at several of the big hotels out on the +Coast—the system, thanks to Eastern influence, +has been changed. The whole +scheme is patterned after the accepted +New York model. The charges for small +services are as exorbitant as in New York, +and the iniquities of the tipping system are +worked out as amply and as wickedly as +in the city where they originated.</p> + +<p>Somebody with a taste for statistics figured +it out once that if a man owned a +three-dollar hat and wore it for two +months, lunching every day at a New York<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span> +café, and if he dined four nights a week at +a New York restaurant and attended the +theater twice a week, his hat at the end of +those two months would cost him in tips +eighteen dollars and seventy cents! No, +on second thought, I guess it was a pair of +earmuffs that would have cost him eighteen-seventy.</p> + +<p>A hat would have been more.</p> + +<p>It would be more in Southern California—I'm +sure of that. There the tipping +habit is made more expensive by reason of +the prevalent spirit of Western generosity. +The born Westerner never has got used to +dimes and nickels. To him quarters are +still chicken-feed and a half dollar is small +change. So the tips are just as numerous +as in New York and for the same service +they are frequently larger.</p> + +<p>A lot has been said and written about +the marvelous palms of Lower California +and a lot more might be said—for they are +outstretched everywhere; and if you don't +cross them with silver at frequent intervals +you would do well to try camping out for +a change. Likewise a cursory glance at the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span> +prices on some of the menus is calculated +to make a New Yorker homesick—they're +so familiarly and unreasonably steep. And +frequently the dishes you get aren't typical +of the country; they are—thanks again be +to the Easterner—mostly transplanted imitations +of the concoctions of the Broadway +and the Fifth Avenue chefs.</p> + +<p>There are compensations, though. There +are some hotels that are operated on admirably +different lines, and there are abundant +opportunities for escaping altogether from +hotel life and seeing this Land of the Living +Backdrop where it is untainted and +unspoiled; where the hills are clothed in +green and yellow; where little Spanishy +looking towns nestle below the Missions, +and the mocking-birds sing, and the real-estate +boomer leaps from crag to crag, +sounding his flute-like note. And don't +forget the climate! But that is unnecessary +advice. You won't have a chance to +forget it—not for a minute you won't!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="IN_THE_HAUNT_OF_THE" id="IN_THE_HAUNT_OF_THE"></a><i>IN THE HAUNT OF THENATIVE SON</i></h2> + + +<p><a name="illustration_p133" id="illustration_p133"></a></p> +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/illustration_p133.png" +alt="p133" title="p133" /> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span> +</p> + +<h3><i>In the +Haunt of the Native Son</i></h3> + + +<p><span class="smcap">There</span> are various ways of entering +San Francisco, and the traveling +general passenger agent of any one +of half a dozen trunklines stands ready to +prove to you—absolutely beyond the peradventure +of a doubt—that his particular way +is incomparably the best one; but to my +mind a very satisfactory way is to go overland +from Monterey.</p> + +<p>The route we followed led us lengthwise +through the wonderful Santa Clara country, +straight up a wide box plait of valley +tucked in between an ornamental double +ruffle of mountains. I suppose if we passed +one ranch we passed a thousand—cattle +ranches, fruit ranches, hen ranches, chicken +ranches, bee ranches—all the known varieties +and subvarieties.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span></p> + +<p>In California you mighty soon get out of +the habit of speaking of farms; for there +are no farms—only ranches. The particular +ranch to which you have reference may +be a ten-thousand-acre ranch, where they +raise enough beef critters to feed a standing +army, or it may be a half-acre ranch, where +somebody is trying to make things home-like +and happy for eight hens and a +rooster; but a ranch it always is, and usually +it is a model of its kind, too. The +birds in California do not build nests. +They build ranches.</p> + +<p>Most of the way along the Santa Clara +Valley our tires glided upon an arrow-straight, +unbelievably smooth stretch of +magnificent automobile road, which—when +it is completed—will extend without +a break from the Oregon line to the +Mexican line, and will be the finest, costliest, +best thoroughfare to be found within +the boundaries of any state of the Union, +that being the scale upon which they work +out their public-utility plans in the West.</p> + +<p>Eventually the road changes into a paved +and curbed avenue, lined with seemingly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span> +unending aisles of the tall gum trees. Soon +you begin to skitter past the suburban villas +of rich men, set back in ornamental +landscape effects of green lawns and among +tropical verdure. You emerge from this +into a gently rolling plateau, upon which +flower gardens of incomparable richness +are interspersed with the homely structures +that inevitably mark the proximity of any +great city. There, rising ahead of you, +are the foothills that protect, upon its landward +side, San Francisco, the city that has +produced more artists, more poets, more +writers, more actors, more pugilists, more +sudden millionaires—cries of Question! +Question! from the Pittsburgh delegation—more +good fiction and more Native Sons +than any community in the Western Hemisphere.</p> + +<p>You aren't there yet, however. Next +you round a sloping shoulder of a hill and +slide down into a shore road, with the beating, +creaming surf on one side, and on the +other a long succession of the sort of architectural +triumphs that have made Coney +Island famous. You negotiate another<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span> +small ridge and there, suddenly spread out +before you, is the Golden Gate, with the +city itself cuddled in between the ocean +and the friendly protecting mountains at its +back. The Seal Rocks are there, and the +Cliff House, and the Presidio, and all. +New York has a wonderful harbor entrance; +Nature did some of it and man did +the rest. San Francisco has an even more +wonderful one, and the hand of man did +not need to touch it. When Nature got +through with it, it was a complete and satisfactory +job.</p> + +<p>The first convincing impression the newcomer +gets of San Francisco is that here is +a permanent city—a city that has found +itself, has achieved its own personality, +and is satisfied with it. Perhaps, because +they are growing so fast, certain of the +other Coast cities strike the casual observer +as having just been put up. I was told +that a man who lives on a residential street +of San Diego has to mark his house with +chalk when he leaves of a morning in order +to know it when he gets home at night. +A real-estate agent told me so, and I do<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span> +not think a Southern California real-estate +agent would deceive anybody—more particularly +a stranger from the East. So it +must be true. And Los Angeles' main +business district is like a transverse slice +chopped out of the middle of Manhattan +Island. It isn't Western. It is typically +New Yorky—as alive as New York and as +handsomely done. You can almost imagine +you are at the corner of Broadway and +Forty-second Street.</p> + +<p>San Francisco, it seems to me, isn't like +any city on earth except San Francisco. +Once you get away from the larger hotels, +which are accurate copies of the metropolitan +article of the East, even to the +afternoon tea-fighting mêlées of the women, +you find yourself in a city that is absolutely +individual and distinctive. It impresses +its originality upon you; it presents +itself with an air of having been right there +from the beginning—and this, too, in spite +of the fact that the ravages of the great fire +are still visible in old cellar excavations +and piles of débris. Practically every +building in the main part of the town has<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span> +been rebuilt within eight years and is still +new. The scars are fresh, but the spirit is +old and abides.</p> + +<p>This same essence of individuality tinctures +the lives, the manners and the conversations +of the people. They do not strike +you as being Westerners or as being transplanted +Easterners; they are San Franciscans. +Even when all other signs fail you +may, nevertheless, instantly discern certain +unfailing traits—to wit, as follows: +1—A San Franciscan shudders with ill-concealed +horror when anybody refers to +his beloved city as Frisco—which nobody +ever does unless it be a raw alien from the +other side of the continent; 2—He does +not brag of the climate with that constancy +which provides his neighbor of +Los Angeles a never-failing topic of congenial +conversation; and 3—He assures +you with a regretful sighing note in his +voice that the old-time romance disappeared +with the destruction of the old-time +buildings, the old-time resorts and the old-time +neighborhoods.</p> + +<p>It has been my experience that romance<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span> +is always in the past tense anyhow. Romance +is a commodity that was extremely +plentiful last week or last year or last century, +but for the moment they are entirely +out of it, and can't say with any degree of +certainty when a fresh stock will be coming +in. This is largely true of all the formerly +romantic cities I know anything +about, and it appears to be especially true +of San Francisco. Romance invariably +acquires added value after it has vanished; +in this respect it is very much like a history-making +epoch. An epoch rarely +seems to create any great amount of excitement +when it is in process of epoching, or +at least the excitement is only temporary +and soon abates. Afterward we look back +upon it with a feeling of longing, but when +it was actually coming to pass we took it—after +the first shock of surprise—as a matter +of course.</p> + +<p>No doubt our children and our children's +children will read in the text-books +that the first decade of the twentieth century +was distinguished as the age when the +auto and tango came into use, and people<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span> +learned to fly, and grown men wore bracelet +watches and carried their handkerchiefs +up their cuffs; and they will repine +because they, too, did not live in those +stirring times. But we of the present generation +who recently passed through these +experiences have already accepted them +without undue excitement, just as our forefathers +in their day accepted the submarine +cable, the galvanic battery and the congress +gaiter.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span></p> + +<p><a name="illustration_p143" id="illustration_p143"></a></p> +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/illustration_p143.png" +alt="EVEN THE PLACE WHERE THE TURKEY TROT ORIGINATED WAS TROTLESS AND QUIET" +title="EVEN THE PLACE WHERE THE TURKEY TROT ORIGINATED WAS TROTLESS AND QUIET" /><br /> +<span class="caption">EVEN THE PLACE WHERE THE TURKEY TROT ORIGINATED WAS TROTLESS AND QUIET</span> +</div> + +<p>Age and antiquity give an added value<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span> +to everything except an egg. In my own +case I know how it was with regard to the +Egyptian scarab. For years I felt that I +could never rest satisfied until I had gone +to Egypt and had personally broken into +the tomb of some sleeping Pharaoh or some +crumbly old Rameses, and with my own +hands had ravished from it a mummified +specimen of that fabled beetle which the +ancients worshiped and buried with them +in their tombs. But not long ago I made +the discovery that, in coloring, habits, customs +and general walk and conversation, +the scarab of the Egyptians was none +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span> +other than the common tumblebug of the +Southern dirt roads. Right there was +where I lost interest in the scarab. He +was no novelty to me—not after that he +wasn't. As a boy I had known him intimately.</p> + +<p>So, when I was repeatedly assured that +the old-time romance had vanished from +San Francisco, and with it the atmosphere +that bred Bohemianism and developed literature +and art, and kept alive the spirit of +the Forty-niner times, and all that, I made +my own allowances. Those who mourned +for the fire-blasted past may have been +right, in a measure. Certainly the old-time +Chinatown isn't there any more—or, at +any rate, isn't there in its physical aspects. +The rebuilt Chinatown of San Francisco, +though infinitely larger, isn't so picturesque +really or so Chinesey looking as New +York's Chinatown.</p> + +<p>I did not dare to give utterance to this +treasonable statement until I was well away +from San Francisco, but it is true all the +same. I cruised the shores of the far-famed +and much-written-about Barbary<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span> +Coast; and it seemed to me that in its dun-colored +tiresomeness and in its miserable +transparent counterfeit of joy it was up to +the general metropolitan average—that it +was just as tiresome and humdrum as the +avowedly wicked section of any city always +is.</p> + +<p>However, I was told that I had arrived +just one week too late to see the Barbary +Coast at its best—meaning by that its +worst; for during the week before the police, +growing virtuous, had put the crusher +on the dance-halls and the hobble on the +tango-twisters. Even the place where the +turkey trot originated—a place that would +naturally be a shrine to a New Yorker—was +trotless and quiet—in mourning for its +firstborn.</p> + +<p>The so-called French restaurants, which +for years gave an unwholesome savor to +certain phases of San Francisco life, had +likewise been sterilized and purified. I +wished I might have got there before the +housecleaning took place; but, even so, I +should probably have been disappointed. +What makes the vice of ancient Babylon<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span> +seem by contrast more seductive to us than +the vice of the Bowery is that Babylon is +gone and the Bowery isn't.</p> + +<p>Likewise the night life of San Francisco, +of which in times past I had read so much, +was disillusionizing, because it wasn't visible +to the naked eye. On this proposition +Los Angeles puts it all over San Francisco; +for this, though, there is an easy explanation. +Los Angeles boasts what is said to +be the completest trolley system in the +world; undoubtedly it is the noisiest in the +world. The tracks seem to run through +every street; there is a curve at every corner, +I think, and a switch in the middle of +every block. Every thirty seconds or so a +car comes along, and it always comes at top +speed and takes the curve without slackening +up; and the motorman is always clanging +his gong in a whole-souled manner that +would entitle him to membership in the +Swiss Bellringers.</p> + +<p>Naturally the folks in Los Angeles stay +up late—they can't figure on doing much +sleeping anyhow; but either San Francisco +has fewer trolley cars to the acre or else<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span> +the motormen are not quite so musically +inclined, and people may get to bed at a +Christian hour. Most of them do it, too, if +I am one to judge. At night in San Francisco +I didn't see a single owl lunch wagon +or meet a single beggar. Newsboys were +remarkably scarce and taxicabs seemed to +be few and far between. These things +help to make any other city; without them +San Francisco still manages to be a city—another +proof of her individuality.</p> + +<p>The old romance of the Old San Francisco +may be dead and buried—the residents +unite in saying that it is, and they +ought to know; but, even so, New San +Francisco may well brag today of a greater +romance than any it ever knew—the romance +of achievement. Somebody said +not long ago that the greatest of all monuments +to American pluck was San Francisco +rebuilt; but if there was pluck in it +there was romance too. And there is romance, +plenty of it, in the exposition these +people have planned and are now carrying +out to commemorate the opening of the +Panama Canal.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span></p> + +<p>To begin with, citizens of San Francisco +and of the state of California are paying +the whole bill themselves—they did not +ask the Federal Government to contribute +a red cent of the millions being spent and +that will be spent, and to date the Federal +Government has not contributed a red cent +either. Climatic conditions are in their favor. +Other expositions have had to contend +with hot weather—sometimes with beastly +hot weather; those other expositions could +not open up until well into the spring, and +they closed perforce with the coming of +cold weather in the fall. But San Francisco +is never very hot and never really +cold, and California becomes an out-of-door +land as soon as the rains end; so this +fair will be actively and continuously in +operation for nine months instead of being +limited to four or five months as the period +of its greatest activities.</p> + +<p>Then, again, there is another advantage—the +exposition grounds are situated well +within the city; the site is within easy riding +distance of the civic center and not +miles away from the middle of town, as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span> +has been the case in certain other instances +in this country where big expositions were +held. It is a place admirably devised by +Nature for the purposes to which it is +now being put—a six-hundred-acre tract +stretching along the water-front, with the +Presidio at its farther end, the high hills +behind it, and in front of it the exquisite +panorama of the Golden Gate, with emerald +islands rising beyond; and Berkeley +and Oakland just across the way; and on +beyond, northward across the narrowing +portals of the harbor, the big green mountain +of Tamalpais, rising sheer out of the +sea.</p> + +<p>Moreover, the president of the exposition +and his aides promised that the whole +thing, down to the minutest detail, would be +completed and ready months before the +date set for opening the gates—which furnishes +another strikingly novel note in expositions, +if their words come true; and +they declared that, for beauty of conception +and harmony of design, their exposition of +1915 would surpass any exposition ever seen +in this country or in any other country.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span> +Probably they are right. I know that, +when I was there, the view from the first +rise back of the grounds, looking down +upon that long flat where men by thousands +were toiling, and building after building +was rising, made a picture sufficiently inspiring +to warm the enthusiasm and brisken +the imagination of any man, be he alien or +native.</p> + +<p>There isn't any doubt, though, that the +people of San Francisco are going to have +their hands full when the exposition visitors +begin to pile in. By that I do not mean +that the housing and feeding accommodations +and the transit facilities will be deficient; +but it is going to be a most overpoweringly +big job to educate the pilgrims +up to the point where they will call San +Francisco by its full name. All true San +Franciscans are very touchy on this point—touchy +as hedgehogs, they are; the prejudice +extends to all classes, with the possible +exception of the Chinese.</p> + +<p>I heard a story of a seafaring person, +ignorant and newly arrived, who drifted +into a waterfront saloon, called for a sim<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span>ple +glass of beer and spoke a few casual +words of greeting to the barkeeper—and +woke up the next morning in the hospital +with a very bad headache and a bandage +round his throbbing brows. It developed +that he had three times in rapid succession +referred to the city as Frisco, and on being +warned against this practice had inquired:</p> + +<p>"Well, wot do you want me to call her—plain +Fris?"</p> + +<p>That was the last straw. The barkeeper +took a bung-starter and felled him as flat +as a felled seam—and all present agreed +that it served him right.</p> + +<p>An even worse breach of etiquette on the +part of the outlander is to intimate that an +earthquake preceded the great fire. That +is positively the unforgivable sin! In any +quarter of the city you could get many subscriptions +for a fund to buy something +with silver handles on it for any man who +would insist upon talking of earthquakes. +To make my meaning clearer, I will state +that there are only two objects of general +use in the civilized world that have silver +handles on them, and one of them is a lov<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span>ing +cup; but this article would not be a +loving cup. A native will willingly concede +that there was a fire, which burned +its memories deep into the consciousness +of the city that recovered from it with +such splendid courage and such inconceivable +rapidity; but by common consent +there was nothing else. It does not take +the stranger long to get this point of view, +either.</p> + +<p>If I were in charge of the publicity +work of the San Francisco Fair I should +advertise two attractions that would surely +appeal to all the women in this country, +and to most of the men. In my press work +I would dwell at length upon the fact that +in this part of California a woman may +wear any weight and any style of clothes—spring +clothes, summer clothes, fall +clothes or winter clothes—and not only be +perfectly comfortable while so doing, but +be in the fashion besides; and to be in the +fashion is a thing calculated to make a +woman comfortable whether she otherwise +is or not.</p> + +<p>To see a group of four women prome<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span>nading +a San Francisco street on a pleasant +morning is to be reminded of that ballet +representing the Four Seasons, which +we used to see in the second act of every +well-regulated extravaganza. The woman +nearest the walls has on her furs—it is always +cool in the shade; the one next to her +is wearing the very latest wrinkles in +spring garniture; the third one, let us say, +is dressed in the especially becoming frock +she bought last October; and the one on the +outside, where the sun shines the brightest, +is as summery in her white ducks and +her white slippers as though she had just +stepped off the cover of the August number +of a magazine. There is something, +too, about the salt-laden breezes of San +Francisco that gives women wonderful +complexions; that detail, properly press-agented, +ought to fetch the entire female +population of the United States.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span></p> + +<p><a name="illustration_p155" id="illustration_p155"></a></p> +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/illustration_p155.png" +alt="THE WOMAN NEAREST THE WALL HAS ON HER FURS—IT IS ALWAYS COOL IN THE SHADE" +title="THE WOMAN NEAREST THE WALL HAS ON HER FURS—IT IS ALWAYS COOL IN THE SHADE" /><br /> +<span class="caption">THE WOMAN NEAREST THE WALL HAS ON HER FURS—IT IS ALWAYS COOL IN THE SHADE</span> +</div> + +<p>For drawing the men, I would exploit<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span> +the great cardinal fact that nowhere in the +country—not even in Norfolk or Baltimore +or New Orleans—can you get better things +to eat than in San Francisco. For its size, +I believe there are more good clubs and +more good restaurants right there than in +any other spot on the habitable globe. Particularly +in the preparation of the typical<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span> +dishes of the Coast do the San Francisco +cooks excel; their cuisine is based on a sane +American foundation, with a delectable +suggestion of the Spanish in it, and sometimes +with a traceable suggestion of the +best there is in the Italian and the Chinese +schools of cookery.</p> + +<p>To one whose taste in oysters has been +developed by eating the full-chested bi-valve +of the Eastern seaboard and the +deep-lunged, long-bodied product of the +Louisiana bayous, the native oyster does +not greatly appeal. A lot has been written +and printed about the California oyster, +but in my opinion he will always have considerable +difficulty in living up to his press +notices. It takes about a thousand of him +to make a quart and about a hundred of +him to make a taste. Even then he doesn't +taste much like a real oyster, but more like +an infinitesimal scrap of sponge where a +real oyster camped out overnight once.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span></p> + +<p>There is a dream of a little fish, however, +called a sand dab—he is a tiny, flounder-shaped +titbit hailing from deep water; +and for eating purposes he is probably the +best fish that swims—better even than the +pompano of the Gulf—and when you say +that you are saying about all there is to be +said for a fish. And the big crabs of the +Pacific side are the hereditary princes of +the crab family. They look like spread-eagles; +and properly prepared they taste +like Heaven. I often wonder what the +crabsters buy one-half so precious as the +stuff they sell—which is a quotation from +Omar, with original interpolations by me. +The domestic cheese of the Sierras is not +without its attractions also, whether you eat +it fresh or whether you keep it until its +general aspect and prevalent atmosphere +are such as to satisfy even one of those +epicurean cheese-eaters who think that no +cheese is fit to eat until you can't.</p> + +<p>Another thing worthy of mention in connection +with this California school of cookery +is that you can pay as little as you +please for your dinner or as much as you<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span> +please. There are three standbys of the +exchange editor that may be counted upon +to appear in the newspapers about once in +so often. One is the hoary-headed and +toothless tale regarding the artist who was +hired to renovate religious paintings in a +church in Brussels, and turned in an itemized +account including such entries as—"Correcting +the Ten Commandments"; +"Restoring the Lost Souls"; "Renewing +Heaven"; and winding up with "Doing +Several Odd Jobs for the Damned."</p> + +<p>The second of the set comes out of retirement +at frequent intervals—whenever some +trusting soul runs across a time-stained +number of the Ulster Gazette giving details +of the death of George Washington—I +wonder how many million copies of that +venerable counterfeit were printed—and +writes in to his home editor about it.</p> + +<p>And the third, the most popular clipping +of the three, concerns the prices that used +to govern at the mining camps in the days +of the early gold rush. The story that is +most commonly quoted has to do with the +menu of the El Dorado Hotel, at Placer<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span>ville, +where bean soup was a dollar a plate; +hash, lowgrade, seventy-five cents; hash, +eighteen-carat, a dollar—and so on down +the list to seventy-five cents for two Irish +potatoes, peeled.</p> + +<p>The cost of living may have gone down +subsequently in those parts, but it has gone +back up again—at certain favored spots. +If the Argonauts, those hardy adventurers +who flung their gold round so regardlessly +and were not satisfied unless they paid outrageously +big prices for everything, could +come back today they would have no cause +to complain at the contemptible paucity of +the bill after they had dined at any one of +half a dozen ultra-expensive hotels that are +to be found dotted along the Coast.</p> + +<p>I append herewith a few items selected +at random from the price card of a fashionable +establishment in one of the larger +Coast cities: caviar impérial d'Astracan, +two dollars for a double portion; buffet +Russe—whatever that is—ninety cents; +German asparagus, a single helping, one +dollar and forty cents; blue-point oysters, +fifty cents; fifty cents for clams; Gorgon<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span>zola +cheese, fifty cents a portion; and, in a +land where peaches and figs grow anywhere +and everywhere, seventy-five cents +for an order of brandied peaches and fifty +cents for an order of spiced figs. Even seasoned +New Yorkers have been known to +breathe hard on receiving a check for a +full meal at certain restaurants in Los Angeles +and San Francisco.</p> + +<p>On the other hand, you can step round +any corner in San Francisco and walk into +that institution which people in other large +cities are forever seeking and never finding—a +table-d'hôte restaurant where a perfect +meal is to be had at a most moderate price. +The best Italian restaurant in the world—and +I wish to say, after personal experience, +that Sunny Italy itself is not barred—is a +little place on the fringe of the Barbary +Coast.</p> + +<p>There is another place not far away +where, for a dollar, you get a bottle of +good domestic wine and a selection from +the following range of dishes: Celery, ripe +olives, green olives, radishes, onions, lettuce, +sliced tomatoes, combination salad<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span> +or crab-meat salad; soup—onion or consommé; +fish—sole, salmon, bass, sand dabs, +mussels or clams; entrées—sweetbreads +with mushrooms, curry of lamb, calf's +tongue, tripe with peppers, tagliatini a +l'Italienne, or boiled kidney with bacon; +vegetables—asparagus, string-beans and +cauliflower; roast—spring lamb with green +peas, broiled chicken or broiled pig's feet; +dessert—rhubarb pie, ice cream and cake, +apple sauce, stewed fruits, baked pear or +baked apple, mixed fruits; cheese of three +varieties, and coffee to wind up on.</p> + +<p>The proprietor doesn't cut out his portions +with a pair of buttonhole scissors, +either, or sauce them with a medicine-dropperful +of gravy. He gives a big, full, +satisfying helping, well cooked and well +served. There is some romance in the San +Francisco cooking, too, if the oldtimers +who bemourn the old days only realized it.</p> + +<p>If this seeming officiousness on the part +of a passing wayfarer may be excused there +is one more suggestion I should like to +throw off for the benefit of the promoters +of the exposition. Living somewhere in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span> +California is a man who should be looked +up before the gates are opened, and he +should be retained at a salary and staked +out in suitable quarters as a special and +added attraction. He is the most magnificent +fish-liar in the known world! I +do not know his name—he was so busy +pouring fish stories down a party of us +that he didn't take time to stop and tell his +name—but no great difficulty should be experienced +in finding him. There is only +one of him alive—these world's wonders +never occur in pairs. That would cheapen +them and make them commonplace.</p> + +<p>He swam into our ken—if a mixed metaphor +may be pardoned—on a train leaving +Oakland for the East. We were sitting +in the club car—half a dozen or so of +us—when he drifted along. At first look no +one would have suspected him of being so +gifted a creature as he proved himself to +be. He was a round, short, tub-shaped +man, with a button nose, and a double chin +that ran all the way round and lapped over +at the back. But, though his appearance was +deceiving, anybody could tell with half an<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span> +eye that he excelled in extemporaneous +conversation. Right off he began shadow-boxing +and sparring about, waiting for an +opening. In a minute he got it.</p> + +<p>The tall man with the long face and the +stiff white pompadour, who looked like a +patent toothbrush, gave him his chance. +The tall man happened to look out of the +car window and see in an inlet a fleet of +beached fishing boats, and he remarked on +their picturesqueness. That was the cue.</p> + +<p>"Speaking of fishing," said the button-nosed +man, "I'll tell you people something +that'll maybe interest you. You may not +believe it, either, me being a stranger to +you; but it's the Gospel truth or I wouldn't +be sitting here a-telling it. I reckon I've +done more fishing in my day and more different +kinds of fishing than any man alive. +I come originally from a prime fishing +state—Michigan—and I've lived in Colorado +and Montana and Oregon and all the +other good fishing states out West. But, +take it from me, friends, California is the +best fishing state there is. Yes, sir; when +it comes to fishing, old California lays it<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span> +over 'em all—she takes the rag right off +the bush! I'm the one that oughter know +because I've fished her from end to end +and crossways—sea fishing, creek fishing, +lake fishing and all.</p> + +<p>"Down at Catalina they'll tell you, if +you ask 'em, that I'm the man that ketched +the biggest tuna that ever come out of that +ocean. It took me fourteen hours and +forty-five minutes to land him, and during +that time he towed me and an eighteen-foot +boat, and the fellow I had along for +boatman, over forty-four miles—I measured +it afterward to be sure—and the friction +of the reel spinning round wore my +line down till it wasn't no thicker in places +than a cobweb. But tunas ain't my regular +specialty—trouts and basses are my +special favorites; and up in the mountains +is where I mostly do my fishing.</p> + +<p>"I'm just sort of hanging round now +waiting for the snow to move out so's I can +go up there and start fishing.</p> + +<p>"Well, sirs, it's funny, ain't it, the way +luck will run fishing? Oncet when I was +living up there I fished stiddy, day in and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span> +day out, for two seasons and never got a +bite that you could rightly call a bite. And +then all of a sudden one afternoon the luck +switched and in exactly forty-five minutes +by the watch—by this here very watch I'm +carrying now in my pocket—I ketched +seventy-two of them big old black basses +out of one hole; and they averaged five +pounds apiece!"</p> + +<p>We looked at one another silently. A +total of seventy-two five-pound bass in +three-quarters of an hour seemed a little +too much to be taken as a first dose from a +strange practitioner. And it was hard to +believe they had all been basses; if only +for the sake of variety there should have +been at least one barytone. We felt that +we needed time for reflection—and digestion.</p> + +<p>Evidently realizing this, one of our number +undertook to throw himself into the +breach. As I recollect, this volunteer was +the fat coffin drummer from Des Moines +who had the round, smooth face and the +round, bald head, and wore the fuzzy +green hat with the bow at the back. I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span> +think he wore the bow there purposely—it +simplified matters so when you were trying +to decide which side of his head his +face grew on. He heaved a pensive sigh +out of his system and remarked upon the +clearness of the air in these parts.</p> + +<p>"You're right there, mister," broke in +the button-nosed man, snapping him up +instantly. "The air is tolerable clear here +today; but you oughter to see the air up in +the mountains! Why, it's so clear up there +it would make this here hill-country air +look like a fog. I remember oncet I was +browsing along a cliff up in that country, +toting my fishpole, and I happened to look +over the bluff—just so—and down below I +saw a hole in the creek that was just crawling +with them big trouts—steel-head trouts +and rainbow trouts. I could see the spots +on their sides and their fins waving, and +their gills working up and down.</p> + +<p>"I figured out that it was fully a hundred +feet down to the water and the water +would natchelly be tolerable deep; so I let +all my line run off the reel, a hundred and +sixty feet of it; and I fished and fished and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span> +fished—and didn't get a strike, let alone a +nibble. Yet I could look over and see all +these hungry trouts down below looking up +with expectant looks in their eyes—I could +see their eyes—and jumping round regardless; +and yet not a bite! So I changed bait—changed +from live bait to dead bait, and +back again to live—and still there wasn't +nothing doing. So I says to myself: 'Something's +wrong, sure! This thing'll stand +looking into.'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span></p> + +<p><a name="illustration_p169" id="illustration_p169"></a></p> +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/illustration_p169.png" +alt="IT'S A GREAT THING OUT THERE TO BE A NATIVE SON" +title="IT'S A GREAT THING OUT THERE TO BE A NATIVE SON" /><br /> +<span class="caption">IT'S A GREAT THING OUT THERE TO BE A NATIVE SON</span> +</div> + +<p>"So I snoops round and finds a place<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span> +where there's a sort of a sloping place in +the bluff; and I braces my pole in a rock +and leaves it there; and I climbs down—and +then I sees what's the matter. It was +that there clear air that had fooled me! +It was three hundred feet if it was an inch +down from the top of that there bluff to +the creek, and the hole was fully a hundred +feet deep—maybe more; and away +down at the plumb bottom all them trouts +was congregated in a circlelike, looking up +mighty greedy and longing at my bait, +which was a live frog, dangling two hundred +and forty-odd feet up in the air. But, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span> +speaking of clear air, that wasn't nothing +at all compared to some other things I +could tell you about. Another time——"</p> + +<p>At this point I rose and escaped to the +diner. When I got back at the end of an +hour the other survivors told me that, up +to the time he got off at Sacramento, the +button-nosed man had been getting better +and better all the time. He certainly +ought to be rounded up and put on exhibition +at the Fair to show those puny and +feeble Eastern fish-liars what the incomparable +Western climate can produce.</p> + +<p>I almost forgot to mention San Francisco's +chief product—Native Sons. A Native +Son is one who has acquired special +merit by being born in the state. You +would think credit would be given to the +subject's parents, where it belongs; but, no—that +is not the California way. It's a +great thing out there to be a Native Son. +It counts in politics, and in society, and at +the clubs.</p> + +<p>And, after that, the next best thing is to +be a Southerner, either by birth or descent. +People who have Southern blood in their<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span> +veins are very proud of it and can join a +club on the strength of it; and some of +them do a lot of talking about it. The +definition is rather elastic—anybody whose +ancestors worked on the Southern Pacific +is eligible, I think.</p> + +<p>Of course, there are a lot of real Southerners; +but there are a whole lot more who—so +it seemed to me—are giving remarkably +realistic imitations of the type known +in New York as the Professional Southerner. +San Francisco excels in Southerners—the +regular kind and the self-made kind +both.</p> + +<p>I was out there too early in the year to +meet the justly celebrated San Francisco +flea. He's a Native Son, too; but there +isn't so much bragging being done on his +account.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="LOOKING_FOR_LO" id="LOOKING_FOR_LO"></a><i>LOOKING FOR LO</i></h2> + +<p><a name="illustration_p173" id="illustration_p173"></a></p> +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/illustration_p173.png" +alt="p173" title="p173" /> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span> +</p> + +<h3><i>Looking for Lo</i></h3> + + +<p><span class="smcap">If</span> it is your desire to observe the Red +Indian of the Plains engaged in his +tribal sports and pastimes wait for the +Wild West Show; there is sure to be one +coming to your town before the season is +over. Or if you are bloodthirsty by nature +and yearn to see him prancing round upon +the warpath, destroying the hated paleface +and strewing the soil with his shredded +fragments, restrain your longings until next +fall and then arrange to take in the football +game between Carlisle and Princeton. +But, whatever you do, do not go journeying +into the Far West in the hope of finding +him in great number upon his native +heath, for the chances are that you won't +find him there in great number; and if you +do he will probably be a considerable disappointment +to you; because, unless he is<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span> +paid for it, the red brother absolutely declines +to be picturesque.</p> + +<p>I am reliably informed that he is still reasonably +numerous in Oklahoma, in North +and South Dakota, and in Montana and +Washington; but my itinerary did not include +those states. I did not see a live +Indian—that is to say, a live Indian recognizable +as such—in Nevada or in Colorado +or in Utah, or in a four-hour run across +one corner of Wyoming.</p> + +<p>In upward of a thousand miles of travel +through California I saw just one Indian—a +bronze youth of perhaps twenty summers +and, I should say, possibly half that +many baths. He was wearing the scenario +of a pair of overalls and a straw hat in an +advanced state of decrepitude, and he was +working in a truckpatch; if a native had +not told me what he was I would have +passed him by for a sunburnt hired hand.</p> + +<p>I saw a few Indians in New Mexico and +a few more in Arizona, but not a great +many at that; and these, as I found out +later, were mainly engaged to linger in the +vicinity of stations and hotels along the line<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span> +for the purpose of adding a touch of color +to the surroundings and incidentally selling +souvenirs to the tourists.</p> + +<p>Mind you, I'm not saying there are not +plenty of Indians in those states; but they +mostly stay on their reservations and the +reservations unfortunately are not, as a +rule, near the railroad stations. A traveler +going through the average small Southern +town sees practically the entire strength of +the colored citizenry gathered at the depot +and jumps at the conclusion that the population +is from ninety to ninety-five per cent. +black. In the West he sees maybe one little +Indian settlement in a stretch of five or +six hundred miles, and he figures that the +Indian is practically an extinct species.</p> + +<p>Of course, though, he is not extinct. In +these piping commercial days of acute competition +he has no time to be gallivanting +down to the depot every time a through +train rolls in, especially as the depot is frequently +eighty or ninety miles distant from +his domicile. He is closely confined at home +turning out souvenirs. It is a pity, too, that +he cannot spare more of his time for this<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span> +simple and inexpensive pleasure. In one +week's study of the passing tourist breed he +could see enough funny sights and hear +enough funny things—unintentionally funny +things—to keep his family entertained +on many a long winter's evening as they +sit peacefully in the wigwam making +knickknacks for the Eastern trade.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span></p> + +<p><a name="illustration_p179" id="illustration_p179"></a></p> +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/illustration_p179.png" +alt="EACH NAVAJO SQUAW WEAVES ON AN AVERAGE NINE THOUSAND BLANKETS A YEAR" +title="EACH NAVAJO SQUAW WEAVES ON AN AVERAGE NINE THOUSAND BLANKETS A YEAR" /><br /> +<span class="caption">EACH NAVAJO SQUAW WEAVES ON AN AVERAGE NINE THOUSAND BLANKETS A YEAR</span> +</div> + +<p>No, sirree! Those Southwestern tribes<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span> +are far from being extinct—especially the +Navajos. You can, in a way, approximate +the tribal strength of the Navajos by the +number of Navajo blankets you see. From +Colorado to the Coast the Navajo blanket +carpets the earth. I'll bet any amount +within reason that in six weeks' time I saw +ten million Navajo blankets if I saw one. +As for other things—bows and arrows, for +example—well, I do not wish to exaggerate; +but had I bought all the wooden bows +and arrows that were offered to me I could +take them and build a rustic footbridge +across the Delaware River at Trenton, +with a neat handrail all the way over. +Taking the figures of the last census as a +working basis I calculate that each Navajo +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span> +squaw weaves, on an average, nine thousand +blankets a year; and while she is +so engaged her husband, the metal worker +of the establishment, is producing a couple +of tons of silver bracelets set with turquoises. +For prolixity of output I know of +no female in the entire animal kingdom +that can compare with the Navajo squaw—unless +it is the lady Potomac shad.</p> + +<p>Right here I wish to claim one proud +distinction: I went from the Atlantic to +the Pacific and back again—and I did +not buy a single blanket! Since the return +of the Lewis & Clark expedition I am +probably the only white person who has +ever done this. Goodness knows the call +was strong enough and the opportunities +abundant enough; blankets were available +for my inspection at every railroad station, +at every hotel, and at every one of two +hundred thousand souvenir stores that I +encountered—but I was under orders from +headquarters.</p> + +<p>As we were bidding farewell to our +family before starting West, our wife said +to us in firm, decided accents: "I have<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span> +already picked out a place where we can +hide the Cheyenne war-bonnet. We can +get rid of the moccasins and the stone +hatchets and the beadwork breastplates by +storing them in a trunk up in the attic. +But do not bring a Navajo blanket back +to this already crowded establishment!" So +we restrained ourselves. But it was a hard +struggle and took a heroic effort.</p> + +<p>I recall one blanket, done in gray and +black and red and white, and decorated +with the figures of the Thunder Bird and +the Swastika, the Rising Sun and the Jig +Saw, and other Indian signs, symbols and +emblems. It was with the utmost difficulty +that I wrenched myself away from +the vicinity of this treasure. And then, +when I got back home, feeling proud +as Punch over having withstood temptation +in all its forms, almost the first words +I heard, spoken in tones of deep disappointment, +were these: "Well, why didn't +you bring a Navajo blanket for the den? +You know we've always wanted one!" +Wasn't that just like a woman?</p> + +<p>Though I refrained from seeking bar<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span>gains +in the blankets of the aborigine, I +sought diligently enough for the aborigine +himself. I had my first glimpse of him +in Northern New Mexico just after we +had come down out of Colorado. Accompanied +by his lady, he was languidly reposing +on the platform in front of a depot, +with his wares tastefully arranged at +his feet. As a concession to the acquired +ideals of the Eastern visitor he had a red +sofa tidy draped round his shoulders, and +there was a tired-looking hen-feather +caught negligently in his back hair; and +his squaw displayed ornamented leggings +below the hems of her simple calico walking +skirt. But these adornments, I gathered, +constituted the calling costume, so to +speak.</p> + +<p>When at home in his village the universal +garment of the Pueblo male is the +black sateen shirt of commerce. He puts +it on and wears it until it is taken up by +absorption, and then it is time to put on +another. These shirts do not require washing; +but, among the best Pueblo families, +I understand it is customary—once in so<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span> +often—to have them searched. And thus +is the wild life of the West kept down.</p> + +<p>Farther along the line, in Arizona, we +met the Hopi and the Navajo—delegations +from both of these tribes having been imported +from the reservations to give an +added touch of picturesqueness to the principal +hotel of the Grand Cañon. The +Hopi, who excels at snake dancing and pottery +work, is a mannerly little chap; and +his daughter, with her hair done up in +elaborate whorl effects in fancied imitation +of the squash blossom—the squash being +the Hopi emblem of purity—is a decidedly +attractive feature of the landscape.</p> + +<p>The Hopi women are industrious little +bodies, clever at basket weaving—and the +men work, too, when not engaged in attending +lodge; for the Hopis are the ritualists +of the Southwest, and every Hopi +is a confirmed joiner. Their secret societies +exist to-day, uncorrupted and unchanged, +just as they have survived for +hundreds and perhaps thousands of years. +In the Hopi House at Grand Cañon there +is a reproduction of a kiva or underground<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span> +temple. It isn't underground—it is located +upstairs; but in all other regards it is +supposed to conform exactly to one of the +real ceremonial chambers of the Hopis. +The dried-mud walls are covered thickly +with symbolic devices, painted on; and +there is an altar tricked out with totems +of the Powamu clan, one of the biggest of +these societies.</p> + +<p>Just in front of the altar, with its wooden +figures of the War God, the God of Growing +Things, and the God of Thunder, is +a sand painting set in the floor like a +mosaic. When one of the clans is getting +ready for a service the official high priest +or medicine man of that particular clan +sprinkles clean brown sand upon the flat +earth before the altar and upon this foundation, +by trickling between his thumb and +forefinger tiny streams of sands of other +colors, he makes the mystic figures that he +worships. After the rites are over he obliterates +the design with his hand, leaving +the space bare for the next clan.</p> + +<p>In the Hopi House at Grand Cañon a +sand painting sacred to the Antelope clan<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span> +is preserved under glass for the benefit of +visitors. The manager of the establishment, +a Mr. Smith, who has spent most +of his life among the tribes of Arizona, +told us a story about this.</p> + +<p>Two years ago this summer, a party of +Mystic Shriners on an excursion visited +the cañon. Mr. Smith chaperoned one +group of them on their tour through the +Hopi House. In the sand painting of the +kiva they seemed to find something that +particularly interested them. They put +their heads together, talking in undertones +and pointing—so Smith said—first at one +design and then at another. An old Hopi +buck, a priest of the Antelope clan, was +lounging in the low doorway watching +them. What the Shriners said to one another +could have had no significance for +him, even admitting that he heard them, +for he did not understand a word of English; +but suddenly he reached forth a withered +hand and plucked Smith by the sleeve. +I am letting Smith tell the rest of the tale +just as he told it to us:</p> + +<p>"The Hopi pointed to one of the Shrin<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span>ers, +an elderly man who came, I think, +from somewhere in Illinois, and in his +own tongue he said to me: 'That man with +the white hair is a Hopi—and he is a +member of my clan!' I said to him: 'You +speak foolishness—that man comes from the +East and never until to-day saw a Hopi +in his whole life!' The medicine man +showed more excitement than I ever saw +an Indian show.</p> + +<p>"'You are lying to me!' he said. 'That +white-haired man is a Hopi, or else his +people long ago were Hopis.' I laughed +at him and that ruffled his dignity and he +turned away, and I couldn't get another +word out of him.</p> + +<p>"As the Shriners were passing out I +halted the white-haired man and said to +him: 'The Hopi medicine man insists that +you are a Hopi and that you know something +about his clan.' 'Well,' he said, 'I'm +no Hopi; but I think I do know something +about some of the things he seems to revere. +Where is this medicine man?'</p> + +<p>"I pointed to where the old Indian was +squatted in a corner, sulking; he walked<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span> +right over to him and motioned to him, +and the Hopi got up and they went into +the kiva together. I do not know what +passed between them—certainly no words +passed—but in about ten minutes the +Shriner came out, and he had a puzzled +look on his face.</p> + +<p>"'I've just had the most wonderful experience,' +he said to me, 'that I've ever had +in my whole life. Of course that Indian +isn't a Mason, but in a corrupted form he +knows something about Masonry; and +where he learned it I can't guess. Why, +there are lodges in this country where I +actually believe he could work his way +in.'"</p> + +<p>Not being either a Mason or a Hopi, +I cannot undertake to vouch for the story +or to contradict it; but Smith has the reputation +of being a truthful man.</p> + +<p>The Navajos are the aristocrats of the +Southwestern country. They are dignified, +cleanly in their personal habits, and orderly; +and they are wonderful artisans. +In addition to being wonderful weavers +and excellent silversmiths, they shine at<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span> +agriculture and at stock raising and sheep +raising. They are born horse-traders, too, +and at driving a bargain it is said a buck +Navajo can spot a Scotchman five balls +any time and beat him out; but they have +the name of being absolutely honest and +absolutely truthful.</p> + +<p>This same Mr. Smith, who has lived +several years on the Navajo reservation and +who is an adopted member of the tribe, +took several of us to pay a formal call +upon a Navajo subchief, who spends the +tourist season at the Grand Cañon. The +old chap, long-haired and the color of a +prime smoke-cured ham, received us with +perfect courtesy into his winter residence, +the same being a circular hut contrived +by overlapping timbers together in a kind +of basket design and then coating the logs +inside and out with adobe clay.</p> + +<p>The place was clean and free from all +unpleasant odors. In the middle of the +floor a fire burned, the smoke escaping +through a hole in the roof. At one side +was the primitive forge, where the head +of the house worked in metals; and against<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span> +the far wall his squaw was hunkered down, +weaving a blanket on her wooden loom. +A couple of his young offspring were +playing about, dressed simply in their little +negligee-strings. The mud walls were +hung with completed blankets. Long, +stringy strips of dried beef and mutton—the +national dishes of the tribe—were +dangling from cross-pieces overhead; and +on a rug upon the earthen floor lay a glittering +pile of bracelets and brooches that +had been made by the old man out of +Mexican dollars. When we came away, +after spending fifteen minutes or so as their +guests, the whole family came with us; +but the old man tarried a minute to fasten +a small brass padlock through a hasp upon +his wattled wooden door.</p> + +<p>"Up on the reservation, away from the +railroads and the towns, there are no locks +upon the doors," Smith said.</p> + +<p>"Why is that?" I asked.</p> + +<p>Smith grinned. "I'll tell the old man +what you said and let him answer."</p> + +<p>He clucked in guttural monosyllables to +the chief, and the chief clucked back<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span> +briefly, meanwhile eyeing me with a whimsical +squint out of his puckered old eyes. +And then Smith translated:</p> + +<p>"Why should we lock our doors in the +place where we live? There are no white +men there!"</p> + +<p>I will confess that as a representative of +the dominant Caucasian stock I had, for +the moment, no apt reply ready. Later I +thought of a very fitting retort, which undoubtedly +would have flattened that impertinent +Indian as flat as a flounder; +unfortunately, though, it only came to me +after several days of study, and by that time +I was upward of a thousand miles away +from him. But I am saving it to use on +him the next time I go back to the Grand +Cañon. No mere Indian can slander our +race, even if he is telling the truth—not +while I'm around!</p> + +<p>Down in Southern California I rather +figured on finding a large swarm of Mission +Indians clustering about every Mission; +but, alas! they weren't there, either. +We saw a few worshipers and plenty of +tourists, but no Indians—at least, I didn't<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span> +see any personally. There is something +wonderfully impressive about a first trip +to any one of those old gray churches; +everything about it is eloquent with memories +of that older civilization which this +Western country knew long before the Celt +and the Anglo-Saxon breeds came over the +Divide and down the Pacific Slope, filled +with their lust for gold and lands, craving +ever more power and more territory over +which to float the Stars and Stripes.</p> + +<p>The vanished day of the Spaniard now +lives only within the walls of the early +Missions, but it invests them with that +added veneration which attaches to whatever +is old and traditional and historic. +We haven't a great deal that is very old +in our own country; maybe that explains +why we fuss over it so when we come +across it in Europe.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span></p> + +<p><a name="illustration_p193" id="illustration_p193"></a></p> +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/illustration_p193.png" +alt="AS SHE LEVELED THE LENS A YELL WENT UP FROM SOMEWHERE" +title="AS SHE LEVELED THE LENS A YELL WENT UP FROM SOMEWHERE" /><br /> +<span class="caption">AS SHE LEVELED THE LENS A YELL WENT UP FROM SOMEWHERE</span> +</div> + +<p>There is one Mission which in itself, it<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span> +seemed to me, is almost worth a trip clear +across the continent to see—the one at Santa +Barbara. It is up the side of a gentle +foothill, with the mountains of the Coast +Range behind it. Down below the roofs +and spires of a brisk little city show +through green clumpage, and still farther +beyond the blue waters of the Pacific may +be seen.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span></p> + +<p>Parts of this Mission are comparatively +new; there are retouchings and restorations +that date back only sixty or seventy years, +but most of it speaks to you of an earlier +century than this and an earlier race than +the one that now peoples the land. You +pass through walls of solid masonry that +are sixteen feet thick and pierced by narrow +passages; you climb winding stairs to +a squat tower where sundry cracked brazen +bells, the gifts of Spanish gentlemen who +died a hundred years ago perhaps, swing +by withes of ancient rawhide from great, +worm-gnawed, hand-riven beams; you walk +through the Mission burying-ground, past +crumbly old family vaults with half-obliterated +names and titles and dates upon +their ovenlike fronts, and you wander at +will among the sunken individual graves +under the palms and pepper trees.</p> + +<p>Most convincing of all to me were the +stone-flagged steps at the door of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span> +church itself, for they are all worn down +like the teeth of an old horse—in places +they are almost worn in two. Better than +any guidebook patter of facts and figures—better +than the bells and the graves and +the hand-made beams—these steps convey +to the mind a sense of age.</p> + +<p>You stand and look at them, and you +see there the tally of vanished generations—the +heavy boot of the conquistador; the +sandaled foot of the old padre; the high +heel of a dainty Spanish-born lady; the +bare, horny sole of the Indian convert—each +of them taking its tiny toll out of +stone and mortar—each of them wearing +away its infinitesimal mite—until through +years and years the firm stone was scored +away and channeled out and left at it is +now, with curves in it and deep hollows.</p> + +<p>Given a dime's worth of imagination to +start on, almost any one could people that +spot with the dead-and-gone figures of that +shadowy past; could forget the trolley cars +curving right up to the walls; the electric +lights strung in globular festoons along the +ancient ceilings of the porticoes; the roofs<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span> +of the new, shiny modern bungalows dotting +the gentle slopes below—could forget +even that the brown-cowled, rope-girthed +father who served as guide spoke with a +strong German accent; could almost forgive +the impious driver of the rig that +brought one here for referring to this place +as the Mish. But be sure there would be +one thing to bring you hurtling back again +to earth, no matter how far aloft your fancy +soared—and that would be the ever-present +souvenir-collecting tourist, to whom no +shrine is holy and no memory is sacred.</p> + +<p>There is no charge for admission to the +Mission. All comers, regardless of breed +or creed, are welcomed; and on constant +duty is a gentle-voiced priest, ready to lead +the way to the inner rooms where priceless +relics of the day when the Spaniards first +came to California are displayed; and into +the church itself, with its candles burning +before the high altar and the quaint old +holy pictures ranged thick upon the walls; +and through the burying-ground—and to +all the rest of it; and for this service there +is nothing to pay. On departing the vis<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span>itor, +if he chooses, may leave a coin behind; +but he doesn't have to—it isn't compulsory.</p> + +<p>There is a kind of traveler who repays +this hospitality by defiling the walls with +his inconsequential name, scratched in or +scrawled on, and by toting away as a souvenir +whatever portable object he can confiscate +when nobody is looking. Up in the +bell tower the masonry is all defaced and +pocked where these vandals have dug at it +with pocketknives; and as we were coming +away, one of them—a typical specimen—showed +me with deep pride half of a brick +pouched in his coat pocket. It seemed that +while the priest's back was turned he had +pried it loose from the frilled ornamentation +of a vault in the burying-ground at the +cost only of his self-respect—admitting that +he had any of that commodity in stock—and +a broken thumbnail. It was, indeed, +a priceless treasure and he valued it accordingly. +And yet, at a distance of ten +feet in an ordinary light, no one not in the +secret could have said offhand whether +that half-brick came out of a Mission tomb<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span> +in California or a smokehouse in Arkansas.</p> + +<p>We didn't see any Indians when we ran +down into Mexico. However, we only +ran into Mexico for a distance of a mile +and a half below the California state +boundary, and maybe that had something +to do with it. By automobile we rode +from San Diego over to the town of Tia +Juana, signifying, in our tongue, Aunt +Jane. Ramona, heroine of Helen Hunt +Jackson's famous novel, had an aunt called +Jane. I guess they had a grudge against +the lady; they named this town after her.</p> + +<p>Selling souvenirs to tourists, who come +daily on sightseeing coaches from Coronado +Beach and San Diego, is the principal +pastime of the natives of Tia Juana. +Weekdays they do this; and sometimes on +a Sunday afternoon they have a bullfight +in their little bullring. On such an occasion +the bullfighting outfit is specially imported +from one of the larger towns farther +inland. Sometimes the whole troupe comes +from Juarez and puts on a regular metropolitan +production, with the original all-star +cast. There is the gallant performer<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span> +known as the armadilla, who teases the bull +to desperation by waving a red shawl at +him; the no less daring parabola, sticking +little barbed boleros in the bull's withers; +and, last of all, the intrepid mantilla, who +calmly meets the final rush of the infuriated +beast and, with one unerring thrust +of his trusty sword, delivers the porte-cochère, +or fatal stroke, just behind the +left shoulder-blade, while all about the +assembled peons and pianolas rend the ambient +air with their delighted cry: <i>"Hoi +Polloi! Hoi Polloi! Dolce far niente!"</i></p> + +<p>Isn't it remarkable how readily the seasoned +tourist masters the difficulties of a +foreign language? Before I had been in +Mexico an hour I had picked up the intricate +phraseology of the bullfight; and I +was glad afterward that I took the trouble +to get it all down in my mind correctly, +because such knowledge always comes in +handy. You can use it with effect in company—it +stamps you as a person of culture +and travel—and it impresses other people; +but then I always could pick up foreign +languages easily. I do not wish to boast—but +with me it amounts to a positive gift.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span></p> + +<p>It was a weekday when we visited Tia +Juana, and so there was no bullfight going +on; in fact, there didn't seem to be much +of anything going on. Once in a while +a Spigotty lady would pass, closely followed +by a couple of little Spigots, and +occasionally the postmaster would wake up +long enough to accept a sheaf of postcards +from a tourist and then go right back +to sleep again. We had sampled the tamales +of the country, finding them only +slightly inferior to the same article as sold +in Kansas City, Kansas; and we had drifted—three +of us—into a Mexican café. It was +about ten feet square and was hung with +chromos furnished by generous Milwaukee +brewers and other decorations familiar to +all who have ever visited a crossroads bar-room +on our own side of the line. Bottled +beer appeared to be the one best bet in +the drinking line, and the safest one, too; +but somehow I hated—over here upon the +soil of another country—to be calling for +the domestic brews of our own St. Louis! +Personally I desired to conform my thirst +to the customs of the country—only I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span> +didn't know what to ask for. I had learned +the bullfighting language, but I hadn't +progressed very far beyond that point. +While I was deliberating a Mexican came +in and said something in Spanish to the +barkeeper and the barkeeper got a bottle +of a clear, almost colorless fluid out from +under the counter and poured him a sherry +glassful of it. So then, by means of a gesture +that is universal and is understood in +all climes, I indicated to the barkeeper +that I would take a little of the same.</p> + +<p>The moment, though, that I had swallowed +it I realized I had been too hasty. +It was mescal—an explosive in liquid form +that is brewed or stilled or steeped, or +something, from the juices of a certain +variety of cactus, according to a favorite +family prescription used by Old Nick several +centuries ago when he was residing +in this section. For its size and complexion +I know of nothing that is worthy to be +mentioned in the same breath with mescal, +unless it is the bald-faced hornet of the +Sunny South. It goes down easily enough—that +is not the trouble—but as soon as it<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span> +gets down you have the sensation of having +swallowed a comet.</p> + +<p>As I said before, I didn't see any Indians +in Old Mexico, but if I had taken one more +swig of the national beverage I am satisfied +that not only would I have seen a great +number of them, but, with slight encouragement, +might have been one myself. For +the purpose of assuaging the human thirst +I would say that it is a mistake on the +part of a novice to drink mescal—he should +begin by swallowing a lighted kerosene +lamp for practice and work up gradually; +but the experience was illuminating as +tending to make me understand why the +Mexicans are so prone to revolutions. A +Mexican takes a drink of mescal before +breakfast, on an empty stomach, and then +he begins to revolute round regardless.</p> + +<p>On leaving Tia Juana we stopped to view +the fort, which was the principal attraction +of the place. It was located in the outskirts +just back of the cluster of adobe +houses and frame shacks that made up the +town. The fort proper consisted of a mud +wall about three feet high, inclosing per<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span>haps +half an acre of bare clayey soil. Outside +the wall was a moat, upward of a foot +deep, and inside was a barrack. This barrack—I +avoid using the plural purposely—was +a wooden shanty that had been whitewashed +once, but had practically recovered +from it since; and its walls were pierced—for +artillery-fire, no doubt—with two windows, +to the frames of which a few fragments +of broken glass still adhered. Overhead +the flag of the republic was flying; +and every half-minute, so it seemed to us, +a drum would beat and a bugle would +blow and the garrison would turn out, looking—except +for their guns—very much like +a squad of district-telegraph messengers. +They would evolute across the parade +ground a bit and then retire to quarters +until the next call to arms should sound.</p> + +<p>We could not get close enough to ascertain +what all the excitement was about, +because they would not let us. We were +not allowed to venture within fifty yards of +the outer breastworks, or kneeworks; and +even then, so the village authorities warned +us, we must keep moving. A woman cam<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span>era +fiend from Coronado was along, and +she unlimbered her favorite instrument +with the idea of taking a few snapshots +of this martial scene.</p> + +<p>As she leveled the lens a yell went up +from somewhere, and out of the barrack +and over the wall came skipping a little +officer, leaving a trail of inflammatory +Spanish behind him in a way to remind +you of the fireman cleaning out the firebox +of the Through Limited. He was not +much over five feet tall and his shabby +little uniform needed the attention of the +dry cleanser, but he carried a sword and +two pistols, and wore a brass gorget at his +throat, a pair of huge epaulets and a belt; +and he had gold braid and brass buttons +spangled all over his sleeves and the front +of his coat, and a pair of jingling spurs +were upon his heels. There was a long +feather in his cap, too—and altogether, for +his size, he was most impressive to behold. +He charged right up to the abashed camera +lady and, through an interpreter, explained +to her that it was strictly against the rules +to permit a citizen of a foreign power to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span> +make any pictures of the fortifications whatsoever. +He appeared to nurse a horrid +fear that the secret of the fortifications +might become known above the line, and +that some day, armed with this information, +the Boy Scouts or a Young Ladies' High +School might swoop down and capture the +whole works. He explained to the lady, +that, much as he regretted it, if she persisted +in her suspicious and spylike conduct, +he would have to smash her camera for +her. So she desisted.</p> + +<p>The little officer and his merry men had +ample reason for being a mite nervous just +then. Their country was in the midst of its +spring revolution. The Madero family had +just been thinned out pretty extensively, +and it was not certain yet whether the Diaz +faction or the Huerta faction, or some other +faction, would come out on top. Besides, +these gallant guardians of the frontier were +a long way from headquarters and in no +position to figure out in advance which +way the national cat would jump next. All +they knew was that she was jumping.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span></p> + +<p><a name="illustration_p207" id="illustration_p207"></a></p> +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/illustration_p207.png" +alt="AS THE OCCUPANTS SPILLED SPRAWLINGLY THROUGH THE GAP, A FRONT TIRE EXPLODED WITH A LOUD REPORT" +title="AS THE OCCUPANTS SPILLED SPRAWLINGLY THROUGH THE GAP, A FRONT TIRE EXPLODED WITH A LOUD REPORT" /><br /> +<span class="caption">AS THE OCCUPANTS SPILLED SPRAWLINGLY THROUGH THE GAP, A FRONT TIRE EXPLODED WITH A LOUD REPORT</span> +</div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span></p> + +<p>Every morning, so we heard, they were +taking a vote to decide whether they would +be Federalists that day or Liberalists, or +what not; and the vote was invested with a +good deal of personal interest, too, because +there was no telling when a superior force +might arrive from the interior; and if they +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span> +had happened to vote wrong that day there +was always the prospect of their being +backed up against a wall, with nothing +to look at except a firing squad and a row +of newmade graves.</p> + +<p>We were told that one morning, about +three or four weeks before the date of our +visit, the garrison had been in the barrack +casting their usual ballot. They were +strong Huertaists that morning—it was +Viva Huerta! all the way. Just about the +time the vote was being announced a couple +of visiting Americans in an automobile +came down the road flanking the fort. +There had been a rain and the road was +slippery with red mud. As the driver took +the turn at the corner his wheels began +skidding and he lost control. The car +skewed off at a tangent, hurdled the moat, +and tore a hole in the mud wall; and, as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span> +the occupants spilled sprawlingly through +the gap, a front tire exploded with a loud +report. The garrison took just one look +out the front door, jumped to the conclusion +that the Villa crowd had arrived and +were shooting automobiles at them, and +unanimously adjourned by the back way +into the woods. Some of them did not get +back until the shades of night had descended +upon the troubled land.</p> + +<p>Such is military life in our sister republic +in times of war, and yet they sometimes +have a very realistic imitation of the real +thing over there. Revolution before last +there were two separate engagements in +this little town of Tia Juana. A lot of +belligerents were killed and a good many +more were wounded.</p> + +<p>In an iron letter box in front of the +post-office we saw a round hole where a +steel-jacketed bullet had passed through +after first passing through a prominent +citizen. We did not see this citizen. It +became necessary to bury him shortly after +the occurrence referred to.</p> + +<p>In vain I sought the red brother on my<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span> +saunterings through California. In San +Francisco I once thought I had him treed. +On Pacific Street, a block ahead of me, I +saw a group of pedestrians, wrapped in +loose flowing garments of many colors. +Even at that distance I could make out +that they were dark-skinned and had long +black hair. I said to myself: "It is probable +that these persons are connected with +Doctor Somebody's Medicine Show; but +I don't care if they are. They are Indians—more +Indians than I have seen in one +crowd at one time since Buffalo Bill was +at Madison Square Garden last spring. I +shall look them over."</p> + +<p>So I ran and caught up with them—but +they were not Indians. They were genuine +Egyptian acrobats, connected with a +traveling carnival company. When Moses +transmitted the divine command to the +Children of Israel that they should spoil +the Egyptians, the Children of Israel certainly +did a mighty thorough job of it. +That was several thousand years ago and +those Egyptians I saw were still spoiled. +I noticed it as soon as I got close to them.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span></p> + +<p>In Salt Lake City I saw half a dozen +Indians, but in a preserved form only. +They were on display in a museum devoted +to relics of the early days. In my opinion +Indians do not make very good preserves, +especially when they have been in stock +a long time and have become shopworn, as +was the case with these goods. Personally, +I would not care to invest. Besides, there +was no telling how old they were. They +had been dug out, mummified, from the +cliff-dwellers' ruins in the southern part of +the state, along with their household goods, +their domestic utensils, their weapons of +war and their ornaments; and there they +were laid out in glass cases for modern eyes +to see. There were plenty of other interesting +exhibits in this museum, including +several of Brigham Young's suits of clothes. +For a man busied with statecraft and military +affairs and domestic matters, Brigham +Young must have changed clothes pretty +often. I couldn't keep from wondering how +a man with a family like his was found the +time for it.</p> + +<p>To my mind the most interesting relic<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span> +in the whole collection was the spry octogenarian +who acted as guide and showed us +through the place—for he was one of the +few living links between the Old West and +the New. As a boy-convert to Mormonism +he came across the desert with the second +expedition that fled westward from Gentile +persecution after Brigham Young had +blazed the trail. He was a pony express +rider in the days of the overland mail service. +He was also an Indian fighter—one +of the trophies he showed was a scalp of +his own raising practically, he having been +present when it was raised by a friendly +Indian scout from the head of the hostile +who originally owned it—and he had lived +in Salt Lake City when it was a collection +of log shanties within the walls of a wooden +stockade. And now here he was, a man +away up in his eighties, but still brisk and +bright, piloting tourists about the upper +floor of a modern skyscraper.</p> + +<p>We visited the museum after we had inspected +the Mormon Tabernacle and had +looked at the Mormon Temple—from the +outside—and had seen the Beehive and the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span> +Lion House and the Eagle Gate and the +painfully ornate mansion where Brigham +Young kept his favorite wife, Amelia. The +Tabernacle is famous the world over for +its choir, its organ and its acoustics—particularly +its acoustics. The guide, who is +a Mormon elder detailed for that purpose, +escorts you into the balcony, away up under +the domed wooden roof; and as you wait +there, listening, another elder, standing +upon a platform two hundred feet away, +drops an ordinary pin upon the floor—and +you can distinctly hear it fall. At first +you are puzzled to decide exactly what it +sounds like; but after a while the correct +solution comes to you—it sounds exactly +like a pin falling. Next to the Whispering +Gallery in the Capitol at Washington, I +don't know of a worse place to tell your +secrets to a friend than the Mormon Tabernacle. +You might as well tell them to a +woman and be done with it!</p> + +<p>In Salt Lake City I had rather counted +upon seeing a Mormon out walking with +three or four of his wives—all at one time. +I felt that this would be a distinct novelty<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span> +to a person from New York, where the +only show one enjoys along this line is the +sight of a chap walking with three or four +other men's wives—one at a time. But +here, as in my quest for the Indian, I was +disappointed some more. Once I thought +I was about to score. I was standing in +front of the Zion Coöperative Mercantile +Establishment, which is a big department +store owned by the Church, but having all +the latest improvements, including bargain +counters and special salesdays. Out of the +door came an elderly gentleman attired in +much broadcloth and many whiskers, and +behind him trailed half a dozen soberly +dressed women of assorted ages.</p> + +<p>Filled with hope, I fell in behind the +procession and followed it across to the +hotel. There I learned the disappointing +truth. The broadclothed person was not a +Mormon at all.</p> + +<p>He was a country bank president from +somewhere back East and the women of +his party were Ohio school-teachers. Anywhere +except in Utah I doubt if he could +have fooled me, either, for he had the kind<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span> +of whiskers that go with the banking profession. +For some reason whiskers are +associated with the practice of banking all +over this country; hallowed by custom, +they have come to stand for financial responsibility. +A New York banker wears +those little jib-boom whiskers on the sides +of his head and sometimes a pennon on +his chin, whereas a country banker usually +has a full-rigged face. This man's whiskers +were of the old square barkentine cut. +I should have known who he was by his +sailing gear.</p> + +<p>And so, disappointed in my dreams of +seeing Indians on the hoof and Mormon +households taking the air in family groups, +I left Salt Lake City, with its fine wide +streets and its handsome business district +and its pure air and its background of +snow-topped mountains, and started on the +long homebound hike. It was late in the +afternoon. We had quit Utah, with its flat +plains, its garden spots reclaimed from the +desert, and its endless succession of trim +red-brick farmhouses, which seem to be +the universal dwelling-places of the prosperous +Mormon farmer.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span></p> + +<p>We had departed from the old trail that +Mark Twain crawled over in a stage-coach +and afterward wrote about in his +immortal Roughing It. The Limited, +traveling forty-odd miles an hour, was +skipping through the lower part of Wyoming +before turning southward into Colorado. +We were in the midst of an expanse +of desolation and emptiness, fifteen miles +from anywhere, and I was sitting on the +observation platform of the rear car, watching +how the shafts of the setting sun made +the colors shift and deepen in the cañons +and upon the sides of the tall red mesas, +when I became aware that the train was +slowing down.</p> + +<p>Through the car came the conductor, +with a happy expression upon his face. +Behind him was a pleased-looking flagman +leading by the arm a ragged tramp who +had been caught, up forward somewhere, +stealing a free ride.</p> + +<p>The tramp was not resisting exactly, but +at every step he said:</p> + +<p>"You can't put me off the train between +stations! It's the law that you can't put +me off the train between stations!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span></p> + +<p>Neither the conductor nor the flagman +said a word in answer. As the conductor +reached up and jerked the bellcord the +tramp, in the tone and manner of one who +advances an absolutely unanswerable argument, +said:</p> + +<p>"You know, don't you, you can't put me +off the train between stations?"</p> + +<p>The train halted. The conductor unfastened +a tail-gate in the guard-rail, and +the flagman dropped his prisoner out +through the opening. As the tramp flopped +off into space I caught this remark:</p> + +<p>"You can't put me off the train between +stations."</p> + +<p>The conductor tugged another signal on +the bellcord, and the wheels began to turn +faster and faster. The tramp picked himself +up from between the rails. He brushed +some adhering particles of roadbed off +himself and, facing us, made a megaphone +of his hands and sent a message after our +diminishing shapes. By straining my ears +I caught his words. He spoke as follows:</p> + +<p>"You can't put me off the train between +stations!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span></p> + +<p>In my whole life I never saw a man who +was so hard to convince of a thing as that +tramp was.</p> + +<div class="tnote"> +<p>Transcriber's Note:</p> + +<p>Minor spelling, hyphenation, and punctuation errors have been corrected.</p> +</div> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Roughing it De Luxe, by Irvin S. 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