the people vied with each other
to welcome the wayfarer to the gates of their city. The town was then
young and isolated. The inhabitants had come by teams or horseback from
as far away as the State of Kansas, where the nearest railway
connection was eastward, or from California, via Yuma and Ehrenberg on
the Colorado River. Stages and freight teams made regular trips across
the arid desert to Ehrenberg. The first settlers of this region came
from California in search of gold. They first found it in the sands of
the Hassayampa, which is born of mighty Mount Union, the mother of four
living streams. From its deathbed in the hot sands of the desert, they
traced the precious waters to its source. Gold they found in plenty
with hardship and privation. They encountered a band of hostile
Indians, and hardest to bear, a loneliness made sufferable only by the
illusive phantasies of the golden fever. Their expectations realized,
the majority of these pioneers returned to the Golden State and
civilization with the burden of their treasure, saying they had not
come to Arizona for their health. Now in these present days there comes
a throng of people in quest of health solely, and many are they who
find its blessing in the sunny and bracing air of this climate, in hot
springs and the balmy breath of the fir and juniper of our mountains. I
found employment in a mercantile establishment of this little mining
town and grew up with the country, as the saying is. I formed new
acquaintances and made new friends. Among others, I met William Owen
O'Neill. I cannot now remember the exact time or year. Attracted by the
light-hearted, cheerful, and dare-devil spirit of this ambitious and
cultured young man, I joined a military organization, of which he was
then a lieutenant and later the captain, this was Company F of Prescott
Grays, National Guard of Arizona. Poor, noble-hearted, generous
Buckie--he knew it not, but this was his first step on the path of
glory leading to the altar of patriotism whereon he laid his life. It
was he who, with a poet's inspiration, first divined the mystery of the
mountain which I have before alluded to. He likened this beautiful
mound to a sleeping lion who guarded the destinies of the mountain
city. Poor friend, his glorious song stirred the dormant life in the
metallic veins of the Butte and, wonder of wonders, the sleeping lion
awoke, the poet's lay had brought the Sphinx to life--the die of fate
was cast an