ALLISON TO CALVIN 1898............................................................JIM WHARFF Dec. 3rd 1896 Uncle Calvin, I take pen in hand in hopes your new life of leisure is treating you well. I got a letter from Jeannette explaining you had finally retired. She also sent along a clipping from the Chronicle; I didn't realize you knew so many folks. But I guess when you've been in the law business for 51 years you meet a lot of people. She appreciated that you thought enough of her to invite her to the ceremony. If I recall, I was working the Northern Star in Wickenburg at the last letter. As you can see by the postmark I'm no longer there. Headed back into California on the October past. I am now setting up a new location about 10 miles south of a small camp called Dale. On the map it is sometimes called Burt's Well, but the occupants call it Dale. It is about 100 miles east of San Bernardino. I had been working the Northern Star for little over a year when George told me he thought the location was about to play out. The vein we had been chasing was pinching down to nothing and not worth the money to keep working. According to him, all signs told him it weren't going to open back up. Well sir, I have always said when it's deep enough, there ain't no reason to keep going. So we started shutting down about the first week in September and by the middle of October, the equipment was sold and all the boys had hired on somewhere else. Now, Si Drouillard over at Randsburg, had been writing to me telling of his new location, the St. Elmo and said I should come on over there and have a look around. So, while George finished closing the Northern Star, I made arrangement for Mule and me to ride the train over that way. Yes, you read it right. I rode the train. We rode the new line from Wickenburg north to Ash Fork then changed to the AT&SF to continue west. Just past the bridge over the Colorado River the engine blew out some sort of steam valve and broke down about 15 or so miles short of The Needles. Being it was going to be a while, I saddled up Mule and rode him in the rest of the way to the stationhouse. When I got there I persuaded the stationmaster to refund the difference. He weren't too happy about it, but blast it, ten cents is ten cents. While I'm thinking of it, ran into Wyatt and Josephine at the stationhouse there and Wyatt said he'd come visiting when they got to San Francisco. Fact is he should be there just about the 6  time of this writing. Said he wanted to see the Sharkey and Fitzsimmons boxing match on the 2nd of December. We left The Needles that night and stopped at a siding called Bagdad to take on more water and fuel in the morning. There was a Harvey eating place there, so while I was eating some breakfast I overheard a couple fellows talking about some new district to the south and some of the loads were paying 18 to 20 dollars a ton. Well an ounce of gold per ton is pretty good in my book so I started talking to these boys. After the talking was done I decided to postpone my trip to Si's location and go have a look at this district called the Virginia Dale. Well one of them boys is in the freighting business by the name of Sabathe and he was taking a shipment of dry goods to Dale on the morn. He said if I wanted to tag along with him, he'd enjoy the company. So, I went and got Mule off the train and separated out what gear I would need and stored the rest. At 5 A.M., mule and me were at the freight office when Mr. Sabathe came rolling by and we fell in along side. We crossed the tracks and went due south for several miles. At the west end of a large dry lake we turned southeast a few miles and cut the Amboy to Dale road. From there we started a long slow climb up to a stop known as the Lake View Hotel. It's not really a hotel, just a small place to rest the stock. Mr. Sabathe told me the Amboy to Dale stage makes the turn around twice a week and the passengers will usually get out and walk up to the hotel. Says it's faster and the passengers can wait on the stage with a drink or two. We stopped there about an hour to let his stock take a breather. The road is good enough for 1000 lbs per animal and he usually hauls around three ton and a water wagon, but it's a hard pull even for a ten animal team. Past the hotel, it's a few miles downhill to the valley floor. From there it's eight or so miles south by southwest to Dale and we arrived there about three in the afternoon. Total from Bagdad to Dale is about 35 or so miles. Dale sits on the north side of a small hill and is a typical desert mining camp. There are some adobe structures, but most everyone is living out of tents. At present this camp has a store and a Post Office. The latter opened on the 19th of last month and operates from the store. It has a right fine Blacksmith and stockyard. The man who owns the saloon is also co-owner of a couple load locations south of here. A five stamp mill was set up on the west end the hill last April. A well was dug about seven or eight years ago, which the camp was built around and everyone has to come to here for water. All the mine operators in the district bring their ore to Dale for milling cause the water is here, unless they have built an Arrastra on site. All the inhabitants have big expectations for this place and I've been told the county sent out two supervisors to report on the activity here. As I write this, a petition is being circulated for the county to create a judicial district. It remains to be seen if that will happen. As soon as I arrived I started asking questions and right away I get all the usual replies. "Thousands, no, millions of dollars to be made here. Just so happens I got this location and am willing to part with it say for..." Or "I got this great location, all I need is a little capital to get started, say about..." Well, as near as I can tell most folks are placering and there has been no real development started yet. There are five or six load locations, the largest being the Virginia Dale, the OK group, Ore Fino, the Brooklyn group and a few others. But they are still fairly small operations as operations go. 7  Two days after arrival I decided to look around the district, so I rented a pack animal and purchased a week's worth of provisions at the store. I might add they extorted a hefty portion from my bankroll. Following the Dale to Mecca road into the district, I looked at a couple locations along the road. Took Mule as far south as the district was and dropped into a flat known as the Pinto Basin. Turned east then north into the Brooklyn area, continued north to the OK group then west over to the Oro Fino. From there we turned south again and visited several locations on the western side of the district. There is lots of activity here and not a day passed where I didn't come across someone doing something somewhere. Guess I talked to about 50 folks and traveled close to 70 miles the week I was looking the area over. Even ran across into a couple boys I'd known from other districts. Anyway, had seen some areas that looked good, but nothing I thought would be worth sinking money into, so headed Mule back to Dale camp. Well, a bit later back at Dale this old codger comes up to me in the Saloon and asked if I was a developer and if I'd be interested in looking at a good location. I told him I was and he says, "I'm John Wilson. Some call me Johnny Quartz Wilson." I had heard tell that Wilson had held the original papers on several of the good paying loads in the area. Had been partners with Lyons at the Virginia Dale, founder of some others. Anyway, he goes on to tell me of a location he has been holding as sort of a retirement, but he was running low on money and was ready to sell. So after talking a bit we decided to meet in the morning and go out and have a look. Next morning I met Wilson with an ore wagon and goods for a week's stay at the site. I guess I gave myself away that I had more than just a casual interest in his location. Wilson climbs aboard and at the question "which way?" He says "south" and his mouth never closed again. In the time I was with him I regrettably learned of his, his relatives and all his friends entire life history up to that very moment. I learned the meaning of life according to Wilson, liberty and the pursuit of his happiness. His predictions for the future, Dale camp and life in general. I think the only time he didn't have something to say was when he was drinking, but do recall hearing a gurgle once or twice. About three hours later, just before we entered the mountains at the south end of the district, Wilson directs me west off the Dale to Mecca road and we go cross-country for about a 1/4 mile. At the rim of a large wash we dismount and he takes me to a small quartz outcrop. Now, this outcrop weren't much to look at and I told him so. Well, that didn't bother him none and said it'll get better. We commenced to setting up camp; with Wilson talking the whole time and about 12 o'clock I start punching into the outcrop. About 20 or so minutes later I notice something was different. No talking, Wilson had wandered off somewhere. I continue to dig in relative silence for the rest of the afternoon until, just before sundown I heard it. Faintly at first then growing ever louder, Wilson was returning from wherever he'd disappeared to and talking all the way. Seems he'd been out hunting Chuckawalla and had about 15 dead ones in his pack. Well, that night Wilson lives up to the another name he has acquired. I declined his generous offer of roasted Chuckawalla with a can of salted beef and stewed tomatoes. Chuckawalla Allison does not have the same ring to it as Chuckawalla Wilson does. After four days of digging into the vein, I'm down about 12 feet and have been separating the ore into two foot intervals, crushing measured samples and panning them out each night. I found gold at each level and my rough figuring showed from 12 to 16 dollars a ton. Well that was 8  good enough for me and I told Wilson to pack up; we're heading back to Dale. On the way back we worked out an agreement that I would temporarily lease the location from him, hire a crew to punch down another twenty feet or so and if the gold held I'd buy him out. To this he agreed. Well to make this letter a little shorter, I hired five men, bought enough equipment to sink a shaft down to 35 feet and provisions for two weeks. Well the gold held; fact is it increased a little. On the average, the 35 feet of ore assayed in at 13 dollars a ton or a little over 3/4 an ounce per ton. No great bonanza, but workable with a profit. So now it came to negotiations with Wilson, who had sense and wandered back to an oasis located 15 miles west of the Dale camp. He knew what my figuring had been, but he didn't know what the final assay report was. There was a good chance that he figured if I was interested in buying him out, the assay report stayed close to or went over what I estimated the value of tonnage was. When I arrived at the oasis I found a small adobe cabin back under the palms and figured this was where Wilson stayed. But when I knocked on the door a woman answered and remembering what Wilson said about marriage "Never have been, never will be," was a little taken back. I asked for Wilson and she told me "He's out back, follow the path to the dugout; that's where he is." I thanked her, started down the path and her voice trailed up from behind. "You tell that old coot, if he wants any dinner from me he'd best not come to my table smelling of Mr. Booze." "Yes Ma'am, I'll tell him." I believe she must have been one of them temperance type women. I lead Mule down the path and shortly found the dugout she spoke of. Outside lying in a hammock stretched between two palm trees was Wilson. Right leg dangling over the side, right hand resting on a wood table and within reach of a jug of what I assumed to be refreshments for the negotiations. Two tin cups flanked the jug. Well I stationed Mule near Wilson so he could let me know when he woke up and I took a look around. Although he lived in a dugout, the area around it was fairly clean. No sign of the trash that tends to build up around most miners' places. The dugout was well constructed and looked to be cool in the summer, warm in the winter. Not the typical miner's shack by any means. Well, shortly I hear Mule braying, Wilson cussing, and figured it was time to get down to business. Wilson tells me he's been expecting me for a couple days and wants to know what the assay reports have to say. I tell him it's good enough for me to work it and I'd like to buy him out. To this he smiles and says, "Good, I want 100,000 dollars and 2 and 1/2 per cent in royalties." I sit down in the chair across for him, pour out a cup of the refreshments and push it toward him. "It's good Mr. Wilson, but it ain't that good" and tell him the report states 13 dollars a ton and then push the report to him also. Wilson sat up in the hammock and grabbed his cup, with both legs hanging over the edge reads the report. Then he says he was hoping for better and wants to hear my offer. I say 2,000 dollars and no royalties. To this he grabs his chest as if he was in pain, says something about not being born yesterday and drinks down the contents of the cup. Well, I go on to tell him she ain't worth more and it'll take 7,000 just to get started and 10 to 12,000 to go to full production. "It ain't like I'm taking over someone else's operation, I'm starting from nothing". To this, Wilson scratches his head then takes the jug fills both cups and 9  says, "OK, 50,000 dollars then." I could see this was going to take some time and I drink up the contents of the cup. Now, I'm here to tell you, I've drank some pretty bad whisky in my time but that was the worst rot gut I think I'd ever tasted and told him as much. "Indians make it, only stuff I can get round here," he says. Well sir, I get up and walk over to Mule, dig into the saddlebag and produce a bottle of Kentucky bourbon, some of the finest made. Something I keep around especially for occasions just like this. Wilson's eyes got big when he saw the bottle and I poured out a quarter cup full. "Here try this," I say. Eyes closed as he sniffed, then sipped, then poured it down. A low appreciative moan was all that could be heard. 25,000 were the next words out of his mouth as he pushed his cup to toward me. "2,100 dollars." I said and poured out another quarter cup. Well, three hours and 3/4 of the bottle later I bought out Wilson's location for the sum of 5,235 dollars in gold coin, five girlie pictures and a jug of Kentucky's finest every time I passed by the Oasis. First time I've ever agreed to royalties the royalties being the bourbon that is. Well Uncle, that brings you up to the present. This night I'm set up across the street from Ingersoll's place and I'm interviewing for a crew. I have sent for George Stillwell, my engineer and for Big Sweed Larson, the best blacksmith and mechanic in the country. They both should be here by next week. So I'm going to end now and start a letter to Jeannette and then believe I'll go across the street for a bit. Take care of yourself and I will write again once things are underway. Your nephew J. C. Allison P. S. Have named the new location the Morning Star Mine.