Page 26 - Ninety Miles From Nowhere

Years later when I taught school in El Paso, I lived with Dub’s mother.
When the Evans family gave this dance I attended, people came from as far away as Albuquerque and El Paso. Mr. Freeman brought his truck to Dad Moore’s and all of us in the two households rode in it over to the Evans Ranch. This was a New Year’s Eve dance so he weather was bitterly cold. We piled into the back of the truck wearing our warmest clothing and with blankets to shield us from the wind.
This was 1931, so when midnight came, we ushered in, not only a New Year, but Leap Year as well. The young men in our group were hanging around waiting for midnight so I could propose to them. It was all in fun and added to our frivolity. They were just trying to make me feel good, for not one of them entertained any romantic notions about me.
We danced all night, then had breakfast before we left.
I haven’t spent much time describing the countryside, but think right now is an appropriate time for it. I have explained how we traveled west from Magdalena on U.S. Highway 60 for about twenty miles, then turned left from the famous San Augustine Plains and went south-westerly down Railroad Canyon (a non-sequitur if I ever heard one!), past the turn-off to Dusty. My Dad’s cabin was off the road to the left just before the road entered a box canyon. Farther down the road there was another fork near Black Springs, the left side continuing on to Beaverhead and the right fork turning sharply west and leading to O- Bar-) Mountain. At the foot of this mountain
and across the road from I, were Dad Moore’s and Ed Moore’s ranches. The road on west of there led to the O-Bar-O ranger Station where Jewell Wyche and his family lived. Then the road curved. Then the road curved around to the left and passing through Willow Creek and Mogollon (pronounced Mo-go-yon), came out onto U.S. 180 near Alma.
Now back to the fork in the road at Black Springs. Just south of there and to the right of the road about a hundred yards, hidden from the road by a huge boulder, was the entrance to a prehistoric cave dwelling. A deep, deep passage way back into the rocky hillside had been blocked by a typical rock-and-mud wall. The entrance was so small that we had to get down on our hands and knees and crawl through the door, leading us to believe that the place was once inhabited by a pygmy race. Also, a hand print let in the mud over the doorway was about the size of a seven-year-old child’s hand.
Ed and Diana, when they discovered it years before had found ancient artifacts — some bowls, an axe, some beads, and a metate and mano used for grinding corn into meal. The mano was held in the hand and rubbed against the stone metate. At the time I saw the cave, nothing like that was present, but the walls were smoked and the floor was covered with about twelve inches of bat guano.
Imagine my disappointment and disgust upon visiting the same place several years later to discover that it had been vandalized — the front wall completely torn down.