The Mojave Heathen by Robert F. Clifton (book recommendations website txt) 📕

comfortable took his copy of Hopkins journal and read it again.

“On the night that Hopkins heard what he called thunder and the flash of a long streak of lightning he said that he looked towards the water. Now, looking at a recent map of the Park, I see

a place called, Stove Pipe Wells. This could be the water source that Hopkins used, not water from the creek. This means that his claim site is located a shorter distance then what I thought was the creek. From what I’ve ascertained, Stove Pipe Wells was originally a water hole and it was located at the junction of two Indian trails. So, we have Hopkins working in an area that is between a place at the foot of the Funeral Mountains and now, Stove Pipe Wells, a much smaller area then from the mountain to the creek. I’ll check the area tomorrow,” he thought to himself.

That evening, at dinner Ben told Edith and George of his change of location, mentioning the fact that in all probability Chester Hopkins had used Stove Pipe Wells as his water source, thus making his camp site on or near it. He would look for the new location in the morning.

“I would like to join you,” said Bingham.

“No problem, we’ll go after breakfast,” said Ben.

The next morning, Ben and George took highway 190 past Stove Pipe Wells. As he drove Ben watched for signs of rock and soil. Finally he stopped the car and got out. George followed him. “Do you mind telling me just what we are supposed to be looking for?,” he asked.

Ben looked at him and said, “From what I’ve learned, all prospectors coming in here first looked for veins of quartz or seams of red or yellow stained rock. They followed those veins and broke the ore loose with pick and shovel. I’m looking for two things. First, a place where there is soil under rock, no sand.

Second, a red or yellow vein in those rocks on that hill”, he said pointing to an old pile of pulverized rock.

“You look for the soil. I’ll climb up there and see what I can find. Yellow or red stain you say?,” asked Bingham.

“Correct,” Ben answered.

As Bingham made his way to the top of the rocky hill Ben

gazed at the ground he was standing on. Using his foot and the side of his shoe he began scraping away the sand and pebbles.

He stopped when he had a patch of black soil. He began to smile.

Bingham called to him. “I think I’ve found something. I’ll bring it down for you to see. Reaching the bottom of the hill

George handed Ben two rocks. “I noticed two things. First, each rock has yellow stains. The other thing is, notice how they are shaped. Each rock is ragged on one end, but appears to have been sliced on the other end. What do you make of it?, asked Bingham.

Ben examined the rocks carefully, then said, “I’d say that these rocks have been sliced with a blow from a pick that had a point on one end and a wide blade on the other. When the blade end was used it sliced through the rock material. As for the yellow stain. We might just be in the right area.”

“Then we can start work tomorrow,” said George.

“I don’t know. Something is not right. If this was the site of Hopkins digs then there should be tall grass in the area. Look around. All that’s growing in this place is mesquite and prickly pear. At the same time there’s now the Village of Stove Pipe Wells, which wasn’t here in 1849.”

“Then what do we do? Keep in mind everyday we’re not where we’re supposed to be is costing me a lot and a waste of money,” said Bingham.

“No more than if we dug one large hole and had to fill it the next day. Let me ask some questions,” said Ben.

“From who?”

“Anyone who knows the history of mining in this place,”

said Cortland.

The next day, Ben Cortland sat in the office of the Park Rangers. After telling the ranger about the information he needed he was told to see and speak with a Mr. Henderson

Calder, a local resident of the Valley who had a vast knowledge of the Furnace Creek area and mining in Death Valley. At that time six hundred people resided in Death Valley. Cortland only wanted to speak to one.

Fortunately, Calder had a telephone and after a long conversation agreed to meet with Ben at the Ranch Hotel the next day.

When they met Ben shook hands with a fifty year old, tall, thin man who had white hair and wore eyeglasses. The two men made their way to a table in the corner of the dining room and after small talk and ordering their lunch began to converse.

“Now, I understand your problem Mr. Cortland and from what you have told me so far, to be perfectly frank with you, it doesn’t mean a damn thing. Did you bring the written pages with you?,” asked Calder.

“Yes sir,” answered Ben, handing the man a copy of the journal. “I marked the pages that I thought might shed some light on the question of the location,”he continued.

Calder leaned back in the dining room chair, removed his glasses and wiped the lens with the cloth napkin that had been on the table. Replacing his glasses he opened the journal and began to read. Ten minutes later he handed the journal back to

Ben and said, “You’ve been way off. I can see the mistake you made. First of all those rocks you found with yellow stains are left over rubble dumped there fifty years ago. So, actually, there is no evidence of gold or ore mining of any kind where you stood.

Like most people not knowing the valley you assume that since there is a lot of sand and a desert there can only be a few sources of water. However, you are correct in assuming that this Hopkins fellow mined in the Funeral Mountains, but I’m willing to go out on a limb and say that his claim was in Monarch Canyon. You see, in that canyon water falls from one hundred and ten feet into a permanent spring. So knowing how prospectors lived and worked here, he probably camped and mined next to or near the spring. It is also a place where tall grass grows. Monarch Canyon is where you want to be.”

“Then that’s where we’ll go and dig,” said Ben.

“No, I don’t think so. The Park Service is not going to allow you to dig and uproot the grass. It’s been growing there for over hundreds of years,” said Calder.

“Damn, then what do I do?”

“First of all, don’t jump to conclusions. Your man Hopkins

mentioned water and tall grass. He also said that, “ He went to his diggings and removed soil and rock.” That’s your clue. Grass grows in soil and Hopkins gold was in rock. Ignore the grass areas. Concentrate on the rock formations. You already know how the old timers looked for gold deposits. that’s about all I can tell you and advise you on your project Mr. Cortland,” said Calder.

“What’s the easiest way to get there?’, asked Ben.

“Use Beatty Cutoff Road. It will be three miles to the base

of the falls, three and a half miles to the spring,” Calder instructed.

“Thank you. you’ve been a big help,” said Cortland.

“My pleasure. If I was you I’d run your change of plans with the Park Service. They don’t like surprises,” warned Calder.

“Thank you. I will,” Ben replied.

That evening, at dinner, Ben apologized for leading the expedition on the wrong course. “I misinterpreted the place where Hopkins wrote about. I’m sorry. Because of me we have wasted forty eight hours. Time we could have used looking for artifacts.”

“Nonsense. Anyone could have made the same mistake.

The only problem I see is convincing the Park Service to allow us to move from point A on the permit to point B. that’s my problem and I’ll take care of it the first thing in the morning.

Fortunately, the students have spent this down time sight seeing and using the hotel pool. I know that they are anxious to get to work,” said Edith.

The next morning while Edith met with the National Park staff in order to explain the need to move to a different location for research, Ben and George traveled Beatty Cutoff Road. When they came to the base of the waterfall Ben got out of the automobile then stood, looked around and said, “This has to be the place. Look for yourself. There is Hopkins water source.

Over there is a pile of yellow and red stained rock. If you look

down the canyon there is what appears to be an old abandoned mine. Now, look towards the upper canyon. See the tall grass?”, asked Ben.

“I agree, but where do we begin work. Here, or in the abandoned mine area?”, asked Bingham.

“Right here. Hopkins never mentioned a mine. Besides

a mine had to be supported with timbers. Those timbers you see

at the entrance of the mine in the distance were brought in here much later than when Hopkins worked this spot.

“Then, it’s up to just how successful Edith is in changing the location on the permit,” said George.

Two days later Ben and Edith laid out the roped area boundaries and set up a protective canopy over

where the digging would take place. Most of the area was covered in yellow, white and gray rocks and stones. At that time no one knew how deep the rock layer would be. The students began moving the material. Rocks were carried away by hand. Stones were placed in plastic buckets carried and dumped, made into a pile.

After two days of removing rocks and stones Emma Blake called out, “There’s soil, black soil, black soil under all of that rock and stone!”

Ben dropped the rock sample he held in his hand and went to where Emma now stood pointing to the black spot in the stone covered ground. He then bent down and took a large pinch of the soil, stood erect and rubbed his fingers together. “It’s soil alright, damp and cool, black as night and fertile. It’s what makes the tall grass grow. In all probability this is where Chester Hopkins lived and worked one hundred and sixty seven years

ago,” he said.

Edith smiled. “Alright, let’s keep working. I want to see nothing but black soil. When I do we start looking for artifacts, not before,” she said.

Twenty four hours later the four students, Edith and George Bingham working on their hands and knees began gently scraping the black soil placing it in buckets that would be carried away and put through a fine screen as they looked for anything pertaining to Chester Hopkins and the place where he lived and worked. Alex Green moved the sieve that was attach to two, two by fours back and forth looking carefully for anything that wasn’t soil, rock, or stone. His keen eyes found a brass eyelet thought to be from a shirt or coat. That was put aside, photographed cataloged and placed in a safe place.

Late in the day Helen Kempt called out. “I found something. Edith got up and went to where Helen was working.

Looking down she saw a red, rust, colored outline that appeared to be where a long, metal needle had rested under the rocks, stones and soil. “Ben, I think you had better look at this,” said Edith.

Ben left the place where he had been working, walked to where the two women stood looking down at the red/orange mark in the black soil. He looked at it, studied it for a moment and said, “That’s where a steel moil chisel laid for over a hundred years and rusted away. Nothing we can do but take photographs of it and mention it in our report.”

The next thing brought up from the dig was an old,