Bisbee daily review., 1912-01-28
'Oh once I owned burro and

bought him for a song,
 He wasn't so very handsome but
 he carried me along"
 Dussard was in very merry mood and was singing. without much re- gard for metre or music. one of the old frontier songs that have passed from the memories of all except the pioneers who have survived the ravag- es of time and hardship. The song stopped abruptly; evidently some thing interesting had developed in Dussard's gold pan; it was only Of mOmentary interest, however, for the song was resumed again, though not st the point where the vocalist had left of.
 "Oh in some lonesome can-e-eyon
 my pan of dirt l try,
 There is not a color in it, twoJld
 cause the hardest heart to cry
 The song dwindled to 8 hum, and gradually increased again with the refrain:
 For my bronco's gone to San Si-
 mon to carry Curly Bill
 The blazing June sun in which we had ridden all day had set, the white. hot looking zenith assumed a deep blue. and the horizon, jagged with the spires of distant mountains took on a rosy tint. The cool. scentless breeze that follows sunset on the desert be- gan to blow, and l sat down with my hack against an old mesquite stump and fell to contemplating the scene that surrounded me. We mining en- gineers are prosaic creatures, and are little given to flights of imagination. Our trade is to make h7oney for others and there is little romance in money making lt is a matter of facts, and what imagination enters into mining ventures must be supplied by some enc other than the engineer; his business is 10 supply facts. But as the rude old compoSsT Of Dussard' s scng had observed, the hardest hearts sometimes cry, and so also may Q lonesome desert scene make the most practical sort oi d man reminiscent or sentimental
 The Deserted Camp
 The words of the old song. which I had often heard my father sing, brought back the past. and I soon fei into a reverie. Some thirty years be- 
 Of the old ruined town al which I was camped. But how changed was every thing. and how thoroughly was the old Arizona obliterated. in my fath- CTS time the Pinal Mill, whose ruins l was contemplating with half closed eyes, was in operation. IL crushed the ore from the famous Silver King mine, the tales of whose richness seem past belief in these days. Great masses of solid silver weighing into the hundreds of pounds had been talk en from this remarkable mine and during the course of active procuc- ton millions of dollars in buliiCn had gone through the little town Of Pinal, which was as sinful and care free as it was prosperous. ] was one of the toddling youngsters of the town repeating in imperfect accents the eloquent profanity of the teamsters and fondly looking forward to the time when l too would become a master of the jerk line, drive a twen. ty mule team and ''cuss a blue streak. Now nothing was left of the once magnificent mill except crumpled and Tusted machinery. The roofs of the houses had fallen, and the rabbits burrowed and played among the dis integrating walls. Gone were the last Of the cavaliers, the miner and the cowboy. Gone, too, were the gambler and his scarlet mistress. Gone were the days when men ignored law and arbtrated their difficulties with cold steel and hot lead All had followed to oblivion the Apache from whom they wrung the land
 Among the houses was one Of stone that had survived the onslaughts Oi the elements, in all probability the