Weekly independent. [volume] (Elko, Nev.) 1887-1914, 1913-08-15

Earle K Clemens, formerly editor
OF the paper at Ryholite. Glenn
mi is familiar with Death Valley
and was inspired to write this story
by the tragic death in the valley,
a short time ago, Of Peter Busch
with whom the writer had long
been friendly The article follows:
Death Valley has lost none of it's
terrors since 40, when the gold
hunters persisted in their attempt
to reach the boranza finds in Cali
fornia. The relics of that expedi-
ton yet remain on Salt Creek to
remind passers-by OF a heroic strug-
gle against great odds. Today
Death Valley is practically un-
changed. True, p]rospectors have
explored its remotest corners;
miners have dug for gold and sill
e and copper in the hills on
every side; camps have been made
and abandoned here and there;
water holes and stations establish
ed in times of cross-valley travel
between the Panamints and the
Funeral range; a ranch has been
developed on which figs and mel
ons and vegetables grow in great
abundance-the mecca for humid
reds of desert pilgrims and sight
seeing parties; a stamp mill and
an aerial tramway have been built
and operated. with a telephone
line reaching 10 civilization; twen-
ty mule teams have invaded the
depth and hauled out borax; yet
Death Valley, deep between the
towering gray hills, sunken treach-
erous, desolatc, isolated. is unalter-
ed by the coming of man. 1t is
still the valley of death, claiming
it victims n and one, and harbor-
ing many an unmarked grave.
These lines are prompted by the
recent news Of the death of an in
innate friend whose eight years of
desert experience were of no avail
in an encounter with the terrors
Of Death Valley in July. If we
think that San Joaquin valley is
torrid IN summer as compared with
other climes a visit to Death Valley
will dissipate the idea. Death
Valleys the hottest spot on earth
in summer and its near approach
to that other warm region was
aptly told on a sign-board which
the writer once saw in the valley
reading something like this:
Four miles to Keane Wonder,
eight miles to Stovepipe, forty
feet to hell.
One has no idea of the oppression
of the heat in Death Valley unless
he has a personal experience of it.
The sun rises hot and sets hot with
a night sky full of strange lights
like the flashing of FIRE flies the.
phosphoric phenomena Of wierd
spooky waste. The Light brings
some relief but when the day
dawns hotter, it seems, than the
day before. The water in your can
teen is %nauseating at it almost siz-
zless under the glare Of the mer-
ciless sun. The air pressure, hot
from above and hot from below
almost staggers you while your
thick tongue, swelling rapidly
from thirst, all but strangles you.
The sand dunes, marked only
BY mesquite, swallow you without
affording refuge from the heat;
the wind blows as il from out a
fiery furnace the sand shifts with
the wind and the trail is lost: the
burros may stampede and the last
Of your grub may be hoplessly scat
tered. Many have suffered horri-
BILE deaths in that far away and
lonely place; gone mad from thirst
and hunger, thrown away canteen,
grub and clothing, and wondered
aimlessly only to lie down and die,
the prey Of the coyotes and the
grief Of loved ones to whom their
resting place is unknown. Some
day, perhaps u more fortunate
pilgrim has found q skeleton,
and dug q grave, with an occas.
icnal find Of jewelry or papers b.
which the remains could be identi.
fed, but in the years in which the
writer vas familiar with the stories
of he lost in Death Valley but few
missing ones we're located. The