Weekly journal-miner., 1913-06-04

per, IHI, IHe WIiISI SIliOdi hCu d San Francisco on the good ship Orizaba, for Los Angeles via Sar Pedro. After a pleasant journey o two days and nights the vessel dis charged her passengers at tn, anchorage, and on payment of SZ.5( per capita we were taken aboard 1; lighter and landed on shore at Will mington, thence by rail to Lo: Angeles.
 My destination was Prescott, Ari. zona, bent on the pursuit of health wealth and happiness-to grasp ( goodly portion of Arizona's gold dust, which I had been led to believe could be scooped up readily for the pains, was my ultimate object.
 At Los Angeles, then small metropolis by itself, four of my fellow passengers chartered an extra stage to convey us to San Bernar- dino, sixty miles farther, the next day-Sunday. Arriving at that place after hot, dusty ride of ten hours we were safely landed at Starke's hotel in the hospitable southern town, the starting point of the stage for Arizona. On inquiry we were politely informed by the suave boni- face that the stage for Prescott had departed the previous day, and by him we were invited to make our selves at home at his hostelry until the following Saturday, when the next stage was scheduled to leave. Of course we all acquiesced as there was no alternative.
 Finally the eventful day arrived Saturday, December l6, 1871. Pay ing $S0 in gold for a first-class passage on Grants stage (the Pull man train of the day and date) we were seated ready for the journey. My fellow-passengers for Prescott were Mrs. A. D. Boren, wife of a San Bernardino capitalist, and Col. C. P. Head, capitalist looking for a business opening. l, being a callow youth was not entitled to the cognomen\ of capitalist. To tell the truth I was going to seek my fortune. intending then to return to San Francisco to claim the girl l loved. (How sentimental?) Needless to say, my ambition in that direction was never realized. The girl got wise, perhaps, and married another without even informing me of her intention.
 But to return to the story. Before Hank Brown (that was the drivers name) had been fairly seated in the box an agent of the stage company, surmising that was a tenderfoot, incurred If l had a shooting iron. l looked agape and replied in the negative. Handinp me a formidable looking Colts six-shooter he ad monished me not to let 1t out of my grasp after crossing the Colorado river. The Indians had been cutting up serious capers in Arizona about that time, hence the precaution on the part of the friendly stage agent. The driver, Hank Brown, then shouted: Gentlemen, are you all set," and we were off at mad pace on our journey that consumed six days and nights, stopping only to change horses and take refresh the route. Our first stop was short ly after noontime at a ranch house where an excellent meal and courte- ous treatment awaited us. The charge was 75 cents, and was worth the money-the good food and cordiality extended made lasting impression on my memory.
 The afternoon wore along without excitement and the passengers be- came intimately acquainted. Our lady passenger, Mrs. Boren, was on her way to visit her daughter, Mrs. L. B. Jewell, wife of a jeweler, subsequently, elected first mayor of Prescott. Col. Head was something of a mining man, possessed of means and an astute business man. He became associated with MT. Marks, formed the C. P. Head Co. and be- came the head of a successful mer- cantile establishment in Prescott, Henderson Bros~
 Early in the evening found us at Whitewater, at that time the first stage station on the western edge of the desert For a dollar we feasted, and proceeded through the night There was no danger then of being arrested for speeding and we were not chased as 'joy riders" so we'll known the present day. The stage horses could not travel faster than a walk through the desert sands, pulling their heavy loads.
 Indian Wells, another station, was where we obtained another bite, rusty bacon being the chief item on the menu. Dos Palms was larger and more pretentious wayside station, then presided over by French Joe" The Colorado river was not yet in sight and the passengers slept as best they could while in motion.
 At last, Chuckawalla, another abominable station along the road at that time, was reached and the stage driver said we could sleep unmolested till daybreak, as he did not want to arrive at the river be- fore the roosters began to crow, as the boatman would not be there before sunrise to ferry us across the stream. We sought friendly sand dunes at Chuckawalla and stretched out for the needed sleep and rest