only.” The town boasted a band, a baseball team, and a Turkish Bath. Two new hotels were built—The Palmer House and the Pacific. New and larger homes were erected, more orchards planted. Trees, many of them maples, were planted along the streets. Because animals roamed into town, each tree was enclosed to the height of five or six feet. More saloons and gambling halls were added until they numbered fourteen. There was no “red light” district but “fancy ladies” came up from Silver City every pay day and two houses were their headquarters. Whenever a Mexican family could serve enchiladas a lantern would be hung outside. Mrs. Handy’s lantern would be out every Saturday night. Her enchiladas were considered the best made any where and her Arbuckle coffee was ambrosia.

So great was the influx of new arrivals during the ’80’s and ’90’s that two stages—and sometimes more, made regular round trips to Silver City to carry passengers and mail.

Chinese had been among the early settlers and they lived in dug-outs along the gulches. They foresaw that cooking for the miners and washing for them would be more profitable than placering so they discarded their gold pans for dish pans and wash tubs. Many stayed for years operating eating houses, laundries, and hop joints. See Hop was a general favorite. He loved children and was always ready to “baby-sit”. No baby was born but See Hop went to see it, bearing a gift. On the Chinese New Year he would distribute Chinese candy and lichee nuts to the children and Chinese lily bulbs to the mothers. He had a wife and children in China and his ambition was to make a fortune and return to them. He lost his first savings in the failure of a Silver City bank so would not trust his money to a bank again. He hid it in his house and was robbed. Later, in Santa Rita, trusting neither house nor bank, he buried it and a flood washed it away. Again he started saving and when he had enough for passage he went home to China—an old man. While he was in Pinos Altos he decided that he would like to give up his laundry and go into the chicken business. W. E. Watson bought the chickens to start him. All went well for a time then the chickens began to die. Nothing he did changed the situation. Papers with Chinese characters on them were posted on all gates and doors. The chickens continued to die. A Mexican came by and asked about the papers. See Hop told him they were notices to the evil spirits. The visitor laughed and told him to put crosses on every high point where they could be seen because the devils here could not read Chinese. Still, no desired results. In despair See Hop went to the one who had bought the stock in the first place and said, “You write letters to the bad spirits in English. Say they belong to Billy Watson. They do not know Chinese and they do not understand crosses. You tell them.”

With so many animals needed for power and transportation corrals were built at the edge of town. “Bob” wire had not come into use but there was plenty of bailing wire—“one of the two good things,” the Indians said, “that the White Man brought into the country.” Juniper posts in an upright position were set into the ground as closely as possible and wired together at the top. There were miles of such fences to enclose the oxen and burro trains. There were livery stables, carpentry shops, planing mills, dance halls, and from the very beginning, the necessary blacksmith shops. “The Pinos Altos Miner” made its appearance on July 11, 1888, with Mr. John C. Bayne (grandfather of Clarence Bayne of Silver City) as editor. Mr. Bayne had been attracted by reports of the mining activity and came expecting to mine, but having been a newspaper man he could not resist the appeal for a local paper. It was published for several years. Later “The Pinos Altos,” a strictly local and mining journal, of which Galloway and Warner were the proprietors, was published.

Mr. George D. Lincoln left Silver City to open a law office in Pinos Altos. One of his clients was a man known only as “Adobe Bill”. He had a Mexican wife and several children. Being unable to pay the lawyer’s fee in gold or cash, he gave his two sons to Mr. Lincoln who refused to accept them as payment. One day the sheriff came looking for “Dobe Bill”, and everyone thought the law had caught up with the man, but it turned out that he was William Ferris and he had inherited a large sum of money. “Dobe” sweated years of accumulated grime out in a Turkish bath, had a shave and a hair-cut, bought himself the loudest suit to be obtained, deserted his family, and departed.

Many nationalities were represented, and until the ’80’s they mingled freely. When Bell and Stephens advertised for “hard rock” miners, a Cornishman told Mr. Stephens he knew a good man, his “Cousin Jack in the Old Country”. “Send for him,” Mr. Stephens said. Cousin Jack came and he had a “Cousin Jack.” Soon the “Cousin Jacks” were flocking in. It was natural that they should get together. They built their homes up the hill to the southwest of town—seven or eight houses clustered about a large rooming and boarding house run by Mr. and Mrs. Noah Climo. People down town referred to it as “Cornishtown”. The Italians formed their group and selected a site to the west. It was known as Italian Town. The newer Mexicans were allowed to build only on the outskirts. They choose the Continental Divide and the ridge to the east of town where they had hand-ball courts and cock pits. No longer did the groups meet socially. The Mexicans had their bailes and fiestas, from which, unless he was there by special invitation, a “white man” was thrown out. The American group included all not Spanish-speaking. They had their balls in the new hotels, whist and sewing clubs, dramatic society, and lodges. Saturday night was “sluff” night at many saloons, and men who did not frequent saloons at other times enjoyed their weekly games. There were horseback rides, taffy pulls, tea parties, and picnics. Ladies of long residence, dressed in their best, raised their parasols and called on newcomers. Life, if not exciting by today’s standards, was very pleasant. On summer evenings parents sat rocking contentedly on the front porches with their daughters wistfully sitting on the steps listening to calls of “Lie low” and “Run, Sheep, Run” from the boys in all parts of town. In the winter they sat around sheet iron stoves, mending or reading, while the children did their home work around the dining room table.

Nathaniel Bell went to Wisconsin and married the girl he had left there years before. Red-haired Sue Bell was a welcomed addition to the town. She was friendly and had a knack of starting things and seeing them through—the first community Christmas tree, for example. Mr. Bell had lost a considerable sum in the first bank failure, and although he was distrustful, he deposited money in the second bank. When it, too, closed its doors, Mrs. Bell said, “The money is yours. Go and get it for I’m sure the bank president has it in his home. I’ll be standing by.” Bell went and was told by the wife that the president was ill and could see no one. Bell said, “I have come to see him and to get my money. Either he comes out or I go in.” The bank president came out, took one look at big Nat Bell, went to a wall safe and took out $10,000. Bell and Stephens were the only operators that met their payroll that month. But he was through with local banks. Thereafter he buried his money, keeping a record on the jamb of a pantry door. One day the storekeeper saw a Mexican, who was digging around the fruit trees in the yard, lean over and pick up something. He looked around, dropped his hoe and took off. The storekeeper leaped over the counter, called to a clerk that he was leaving, and sprinted after the man, overtaking him in an alley. The Mexican handed over his find—a large