Steve reigned up his horse as the path turned towards Greundyke’s cabin. He took off his hat and wiped his brow.
He hadn’t seen a single sign of life. Guess the old man could’ve gone to Blythe or Indio for some supplies. Or out prospecting, though Steve didn’t think he’d be out at this time of day—the hottest.
He flicked the reigns and covered the last 100 yards to the cabin. Tossing the reigns over a makeshift hitching post, he knocked on the door and waited.
He knocked again. No answer. He sat down with his back against the wall beside the door. He could wait. But how long? What if he was on an extended journey? Or proved up his claim, and left?
Steve stood and walked around the area. He went over to the well. Opposite the sunward side, where Greundyke would have lifted the bucket, he squatted down and felt the sand. Damp.
Back at the cabin door, he considered whether he should enter. He didn’t think the old prospected would mind–if anyway was aware of the importance of shelter in the desert, it would be Old Man Gruendyke.
Of course, Steve considered the man might have died. In which case, Steve ought to go in and take care of the body.
He entered the cabin and scanned the one room. Nobody, but signs of life. He went to the fire and placed his hands on the ashes. Warm.
Gruendyke had been here at least this morning. The question was, where did he go? Long or—
He heard a horse’s neigh. Back out on the rickety porch, he saw Greundyke plodding up the path on a tall steed. Empty bags lay across the beast’s back, behind the saddle.
As he drew near to Steve, peering intently through rheumy eyes, he suddenly sat upright. “Well, well. If it ain’t Mr. Model T the Cotton Farmer!”
“Hello, Mr. Greundyke. Hope an unannounced visitor is to your liking.”
“Ha!” The old man exclaimed as he dropped off the horse. “That’s the only kind I git! And It is to my liking, young man. Come on in.”
He brushed past, and Steve caught a whiff of body odor that nearly knocked him over. Greundyke had been on quite a journey.
“Lemme fix up some coffee for us, unless you wantin’ just water.”
“Water is fine. Thank you.”
They sat down at the old table. Greundyke took off his hat and let out a big sigh. “So what brings ya here? Hopin’ yer contraption ain’t broke down agin!”
Steve smiled. “No, not this time. And now, I carry all manner of repair materials in that jalopy. Larned my lesson, I did.” He took a sip of the lukewarm well water. “Where you coming’ from today?”
“Eh, jes’ haulin’ some stuff into Indio. What brings you this way?”
“Well, I am her to make a proposal to you. Man can’t make a livin’ on 7-cent cotton, not with the government taking much of what I make, even in tough times. I’ve had it in my mind there ought to be a stop here along this Chuckwalla Road—though callin’ it a road is mighty generous. I’m wanting’ to set up a petroleum station, a mechanic’s garage, and perhaps a café for a bite to eat. Don’t know how much of the land around here is yourn, but wonder if you’d be willin’ to sell a parcel.”
A big grin broke out on the man’s face—a viewing of yellow and missing teeth in a sand-and-sun blasted leather visage. “Well, well. When the Lord brings rain, it sometimes comes as a flood.” He cackled.
“Beg pardon?”
Old Man Greundyke leaned over towards Steve. “This is your lucky day, Mr. Ragson—“
“—Ragsdale—“
“—mainly because it’s my lucky day.” He leaned back in his chair. “Well, not today, but a few weeks ago. I finally hit a vein that paid off big. Proved up, and bought me a real house in Indio. Been moving my belongings bit by bit on my new horse.”
“You’re leaving the cabin?”
“Oh, yes. Gettin’ out of the dirt and sand and sun. Been worth it, though! Look at my new mare!” He gestured outside.
“I was going to ask you about her. Fine-looking animal.”
“Yes, indeed. Yes, indeed.” He seemed lost in thought for a while, perhaps reminiscing at the decade of hard life he’d lived here.
He finally stirred and slapped his hands on the table. “Tell you what, my good man. The Lord blessed me, I’m blessing others. Ain’t that what the good book say? You give me $100, and the whole claim is yours.”
“The whole claim?” Steve was taken aback. He was prepared to offer up to $900—everything he had. Except some kept back to feed the family and other expenses for the next few months.”
“Cabin, water well, land—yep, all of it. I’ll show you the boundaries. Bet that’ll fix you up nice for a little stop here. It’s a mighty fine idea you got there. Probably an average of four to six cars a day coming’ through. Fifty miles either direction is nothin’—as you well know!”
“Well, sir, that is mighty kind of you. $100? Are you certain that’s a fair price?”
“Naw, it ain’t fair! It’s a steal!” He guffawed. “Myself paid $200 so many years ago. Don’t matter now, I turned that $200 into a gold mine—almost literally!” He laughed. “That’s why I say it is your lucky day. I’m feeling generous. Take me up on the offer afore I get my senses back.”
Steve laughed. “Thank you, Mr. Gruendyke. It’s been a tough few years growing cotton—my own failures but just bad luck, too. You’re a messenger from God.”
“Well, well, don’t know about that. But I’ll take the compliment.” He got up and rummaged around in a cabinet, bring out a bottle, which he set on the table. “Guess it calls for a drink to seal the deal.” He popped open the cork, took Steve’ve cup and threw the water on the dirt floor. He filled both cups, then raised it. “To proving up a claim and foundin’ a small town!”
Steve took the cup and they toasted together. “I can draw up a bill of sale here. I’ll go file it back in Blythe and bring you a copy.”
“Papers. Hell. Didn’t need to such thing back in the day. But I guess we don’t want the govment to snoop around us for not doin’ things their way.”
“Mighty right, you are. I know first hand.” They toasted again.
Steve sat back and smiled. Everything was falling into place. This was his destiny. He just felt it. V
Coming in 2024
Desert. Sun. Sand. And no roads or human settlements within 50 miles in any direction. The perfect place to found a town?
That’s what Steve Ragsdale believed. So he and his wife bundled up their four kids in their 1915 Ford Model T, bought a local prospector’s shack and well, and built a fuel station (a 50-gallon drum), a repair garage, and café. He advertised “Free food on days the sun doesn’t shine” and “No drunks, no dogs—we prefer dogs.” He was the mayor, sheriff, rockhound, author, naturalist, desert guide, and Santa Claus at Christmastime. He became one of the local “Desert Rats” and earned the moniker “Desert Steve.” Along the way, he became part of history: the construction of the first State and National highways, the invention of prepaid healthcare, General Patton and World War II, the largest iron mine in the United States, flying saucer sightings, and much more.
Based on a true story, this is the tale of a quirky, clever, and bold man who pursued a dream, wrote bad poetry, and found ways to survive when many would have perished or packed it in.
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