The San Francisco call., 1896-08-30
Where There Are
Names Without
Places
Life in the Isolated
Mountain Towns
Of Trinity and
Siskiyou

YSISlll6Q III oh0 odAAoSO bhoS ~ 10
like small world with all the different
types. Half of it knows not how the
other half lives.
In the northern part of the State,
among the eastern spurs of the Coast
Range, is a true unknown land. The
world unknowing and by the world un-
known, its scattered people live out their
isolated lives in content, sinking into their
graves in the rocky hillsides, sure that
heaven will be something like a mining
country hid in the mountains.
The mountains and the beds of the
many forks of small rivers are full of gold.
The mines are worked in primitive way,
necesstated by their position. They can
not be phenomenally rich or they would
cause roads to be built and towns to spring
up, but 1 am persuaded were they taken
in hand by men used to spending wealth
to gain wealth the result would surprise
some OF those who have shoveled and
drifted lifetime for the food and clothes
demanded by nature.
There used to be a greater population
. than there is now. the only evidence of
which are names without places. In the
middle of desolate fat will be a pile of
chimney. That, the people will say, is
Peterstown, or Ladyslipper, or Lakeview,
or Hallway, or half dozen other names,
as the case may be; they all look alike.
and are alike desolate and abandoned.
In ''early days" there were at each
store, blacksmith-shop and saloon.
Now there are three of these deserted
villages between every two settlements.
The settlements themselves could hardly
be called extensive. There will be two
houses In one somebody lives, and the
other is store, postofice and saloon in one.
Sometimes the mail gets dropped behind
the whisky barrel and lies there like
Ginevra in the chest until the barrel is
moved.
The mail comes in two or three times
week on horseback. The law sits loosely
on the carrier, and if he forgets to come
no one does more than growl little.
Each mine of any importance has its
own little store. so the people need go to
the ''town" only for mail.
All the goods, all the -four, all the min
ing machinery come in during the sum-
mer by pack trains. The merchants of the
nearest towns, often sixty miles away,
have trains of from twenty to fifty mules,
and all through the months from June to
e October these trains wind in and out
among the hills, leaving part of the load
at each mine Or settlement.
During the other months there is no
communication with the world except by
mail, and a deep snow will often keep
that out mon .h or two.
The winters are bitterly cold, with snow
piled up to the Uindows and keen winds
sweeping down from icy peaks. But the
people know what TO expect, and all sum-
mer may be heard the beat of the wood
mans ak and the whiz of his saw to fill
the sheds with storedup sunshine.
The houses are rough, sometimes of logs,
but oftener of boards slowly cut by the up
and down mill turned by mountain
stream. Every house has big, iron cook
stove to heat red and glowing, and besides
a deep fireplace with a back log and plenty
of pitch knots.
What the men do during the long, dark
winter, when there is no mining, no gar
den work and no woodcutting I could
never find out. Perhaps they sleep, like
the bears.
The little ones slide down hill, make
snow men and throw snowbalIs like little
Eskimos, while their mothers make quilt
patches, braid rugs and knit.
Children there have never seen a four
wheeled vehicle. The little hay cut is
taken to the barn in rude carts. L remem-
Der once that a big green and yellow Stude-
baker wagon was brought up in sections
and put together. 1t was to be used be-
tween two mines, but proved failure.
The children looked at it with dmiration,
almost awe.
They asked me if didn't think it just
lovely. said did. The spectacle of a
circle of boys and girls in ecstasies over a
big ugly freight wagon was unique. 1t
was from this land the girl came who. the
first time she saw. telegraph wires,
wondered why folks had their clothes
lines up so high.
There are schoolhouses about thirty
miles apart. Each gathers in nearly
score of pupils, while those who live be-
tween do without. Many of the children
are part white and part Indian. Many
learn an Indian iargon at home, and the
teachers irst few weeks is spent in learn
ing to understapd it.
One who takes as a matter of course all
the privileges and luxuries of contact and
civilization can hardly imagine the life of
these mountain people, so near to the
heart of nature and so far from the arts of
men. Just so the children who have not
been outside the circling ranges cannot
imagine the life of those who dwell in the
crowded town.
Do not imagine. though, that the noun
tain boy is envious of his city cousin.
Rather he pities him the lack of sky
touching peaks to climb, miles and miles
of creek to fish in and preserves of deer
free to every owner of gun.
1t has puzzled me, this perfect content.
have tried cruelty to distarb it by pic
lures and word pictures of ocean. park
and town, and tales of the sights and
sounds of city life. Interested2
Yes - just as you used to be
interested in fairy tales, calling
for more, yet knowing they were only
stories. l have known them to be re-
moved, to be taken into the centers of
life, ana they pined for home. knew one,
sent away to school. who could hardly
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