|  | The following are some brief
            excerpts from the chapter "Freighting in the Desert"
            from "Illustrated Sketches of Death Valley" by John
            R. Spears. 
 The entire length of this desert road between Death Valley and
            Mojave is 164.5 miles. There was, of course, in all that distance
            no sign of human habitation. In case of sickness, accident or
            disaster, either to themselves or the teams, the men could not
            hope for help until some other team came along over the trail.
 .....
 
 The task he had set for himself was the building of ten wagons
            so large that any of them would carry at least ten tons. The
            reader who is familiar with railroads, in fact any reader who
            has traveled at all by rail, must have seen these legends painted
            on the sides of freight cars: " Capacity 28,000 lbs."
            "Capacity 40,000 lbs." (rarely) "Capacity 50,000
            lbs." With this in mind, consider that these wagons for
            hauling borax out of Death Valley were to haul ten tons, or half
            a car load each - that a train of two wagons was to carry a load,
            not for one of the old-style, but for one of the modern, well-built
            freight cars, and carry the load, too, not over a smooth iron
            20 tramway, but up and down the rocky defiles and canons of one
            of the most precipitous mountain ranges in the world, the Panamint.
            These were probably the largest wagons ever used.
 .....
 
 The teams consisted of eighteen mules and two horses. As was
            said, the man who handles four trained horses before a society
            coach, or eight huge Percherons before a safe-carrying track,
            may think himself a pretty good driver, but in the desert, to
            use the desert term, he would be a sick raw-hide beside the man
            who steers eighteen mules with a jerk-line. To compare the one
            with the other is like comparing a Corinthian yachtsman, or the
            deck-hand of a harbor scow, to the captain of a Black Ball liner,
            if we may use a nautical simile in a story of the desert.
 .....
 
 The horses and mules are harnessed up in pairs. The horses are
            attached to the wagon at the tongue, and a great handsome 2,800-pound
            team it is - gentle, obedient, and strong as a locomotive. Ahead
            of them stretch the mules, their double-trees geared to a chain
            that leads from a forward axle. The most civilized pair are placed
            in the lead and the next in intelligence just ahead of the tongue,
            while the sinful, the fun-loving, and the raw-hides fill in between.
            The nigh leader has a bridle with the strap from the left jaw
            shorter than the other, and from this bridle runs a braided cotton
            rope a half an inch m diameter, through fair-leaders on each
            mule to the hand of the driver, who sits on a perch on the front
            end of the wagon box just eight feet above the ground. That rope
            is known as the jerk-line, and its length is not far from 120
            feet. The team that draws the desert freight train stretches
            out for more than 100 feet in front of the wagon.
 .....
 
 It is wonderfully interesting, too, to watch the mules as they
            turn a sharp corner in a canon, or on a trail where it rounds
            a sharp turn on the mountain side. Span after span, near the
            end of the tongue, often without a word from the driver, will
            jump over the long chain and pull away on a tangent that the
            heavy load may be dragged around. Even then the novice wonders
            how they succeed, for some of the curves are so sharp that the
            leaders pull in one direction while the wagons are traveling
            very nearly in an opposite one.
 .....
 
 Quite as interesting as the teams and the freight trains of the
            desert are the men who handle them. The drivers receive from
            $100 to $120 per month, and the swampers about $75. They furnish
            their own food and bedding. The bill of fare served at a desert
            freight camp includes bacon, bread, and beans for a foundation,
            with every variety of canned goods known to the grocery trade
            for the upper strata. They carry Dutch ovens for their baking,
            pans for frying, and. tin kettles for stewing. On the whole,
            however, they do not eat much fancy canned stuff, and a cobbler
            made of canned peaches serves for both pie and cake.
 .....
 
 As one may suppose, the effect of desert life upon the teamsters
            is almost every way deteriorating. The men who drove from Mojave
            were out twenty days for each half day in the settlement, and
            the settlement itself was but a collection of shanties on as
            arid a part of the desert as can be found outside of Death Valley.
            They were not men of education or very wide experience. Their
            topics of conversation were few. The driver and his swamper had
            very little to say to each other. To all intents and purposes
            each lived a solitary life. Being thus alone they grew morose
            and sullen. Their discomforts by night and their misery by day
            in the desert heat added to their ill nature. They became in
            a way insane. It was necessary whenever a team came in to inquire
            of each man separately whether he was perfectly satisfied with
            the other, and whether a change was desired or would be objected
            to. If the least ill will was displayed by one toward the other,
            a new swamper was provided, lest a fight follow on the desert
            and one kill the other. Even the greatest precaution could not
            prevent murder. The soil at Saratoga Springs, in the Amargosa
            Valley, is stained with blood, a human corpse once swung from
            a telegraph pole in Daggett, and a rounded pile of stones in
            Windy Gap is marked "Grave of W. M. Shadley," all because
            human flesh and human brain could not endure the awful strife
            of life on the desert. Because these are phases, and illustrative
            phases, of life on the desert, the stories of these crimes should
            be told.
 
 
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