Call of the Wild Wolf, and Lost and Found Mines

By Richard Pickens Cobb

The book titled Call of the Wild Wolf gives a concept of some of the problems and policies of our wonderful national parks.

The book titled Lost and Found Mines, West of the Pecos and in Big Bend gives an insight of most of the mines in the area, and the hidden treasures therein.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: May 17, 2005
• ISBN: 9781463491710

Richard Pickens Cobb

Richard Pickens Cobb was born in Dallas, Texas in 1936 and has lived in Texas all his life.  He spent his early years in West Texas at Midland and San Angelo, he attended the University of Texas and Texas A&M University before going into the construction and ranch real estate business.   He now resides at his ranch in central Texas at Lampasas, where he raises cattle and quarter horses with a side line of lost treasure hunting and historical research.  He has written fourteen books, most of which are about early folklore of the southwest.

Book preview

Call of the Wild Wolf

001.jpg

by

Richard Pickens Cobb

Title_Page_Logo.ai

© 2005 Richard Pickens Cobb. All Rights Reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

First published by AuthorHouse 05/04/05

ISBN: 1-4208-4562-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4678-3659-3 (ebk)

Bloomington, Indiana

Contents

Call of the Wild Wolf

Preface

Chapter I

Ranch Life

Chapter II

Red Garter

Chapter III

Horse Whisper

Chapter IV

Trouble

Chapter V

Feelings

Chapter VI

Escape

Chapter VII

The Call

Glossary of Tex-Mex & Southwest Folklore Terms

LOST AND FOUND MINES WEST OF THE PECOS and in BIG BEND

Chapter I

Before the Beginning

Chapter II

In the Beginning

Chapter III

Lost San Vicente Mine

Chapter IV

Lost Padre Mine

Chapter V

Found and Lost Ben Sublett Mine

Chapter VI

Found The Shafter Silver Mine

Chapter VII

Found Hazel Mine

Chapter VIII

Found Plata Verde Mine

Chapter IX

Found Carmen Silver Mines

Chapter X

Found Quick-Silver Mines

Chapter XI

Found Signs and Lights

Chapter XII

Update Bill Kelley Gold Mine

Glossary of Tex-Mex & Southwest Folklore Terms

002.jpg

Preface

While I write mostly of searching for lost treasures of gold and silver, this manuscript is about searching for the greatest treasure of all, a lost person. Tales of human encounters with wolves, both good and bad, go back centuries, Native Americans called them Skin Walkers or Shape Shifters, early Europeans called them Werewolves. This manuscript also touches on some of our government polices regarding the management and control of our National Parks, National Forest and the Bureau of Land Management (BLM). The policy of only using about one percent of the acres of a National Park for the public, needs reviewing. Camping sites are crowded and bunched in too small of an area, and park personal are limited. It is not unusual to be told that the park is full or that you needed a one-year advance reservation for peek time camping. The usual excuse from the Department of Interior is that there is not enough money appropriated to handle these problems. Yet there is the policy to let thousands of forested acres burn to balance nature or to spend millions of dollars of tax money to put out a ragging forest fire in an area with no ingress roads. Management of our natural resources calls for common sense, roads and fire break strips should be in the back country of the forest. And this can be had with a revenue stream to the government by leasing on bid the logging of these strips on a controlled basis of good stewardship. The policy of relocating grizzle bears, lions and wolves into areas where they must kill deer, elk and livestock in order to eat in their natural way, also needs reviewing. We all like to view animals in the wild, but the personal safety of humans is paramount. Over the past ten years there have been numerous reports of missing humans in the mountains of Mexico and the United States where these animals habituate. We have not reached that point in time yet where the lion or wolf and the sheep can lay down together in peace.

Richard Pickens Cobb

Chapter I

Ranch Life

The 4x4 pickup pulled to the side as it went upon the hill, its back wheels spinning as it cleared the loose sand near the base and into the shelly gravel on the hillside. Once on top, Johnny Cole slowed the truck to a stop and pulled the four wheel lever back to normal for two wheel driving. He looked out over the vast desert country below the hill. It was his country now, well in a manner of speaking it was his country, he paid the lease on the twenty sections of ranchland. Most of the ranchland was actually BLM government lease with some being State of New Mexico lease, long term leases for him to run 100 animal units year long. 100 AUYL is what it showed on his BLM permit and in his case that means about 85 cows, 2 bulls and 10 horses. Ranchers in this part of the country consider a BLM lease ranch like it was theirs.

The ranch had been his Uncle Bill’s for forty five years and after his Uncle retired, Johnny had paid him for the small amount of improvements with the lease and became the new tenant. Seventy five to one hundred thousand dollars would have been the market price for a 100 AUYL ranch in this part of the world, but Uncle Bill had let him have it for fifty thousand on time with nothing down and forever to pay it out. Uncle Bill considered all the years that Johnny had helped him work the cattle and repair the fences on this place was worth something. Uncle Bill had kept the 40 acres deeded fee land with the old frame ranch house near the highway that controlled the access to the lease ranch lands, but with the promise when he died that Johnny would inherit that also. Johnny had been able to go to the bank up in Roswell, telling them that he had a twenty section ranch with the leases paid up, adjacent to the lower end of the Carlsbad Caverns National Park and the Lincoln National Forest, so he was able to borrow forty three thousand five hundred dollars to pay Uncle Bill for the livestock. A note against the livestock was the collateral for the bank loan. Johnny could have done much better price wise by just buying the cattle at the auction, but then he might not have the ranch, buying the cattle herd was part of the deal. Ten horses, a shiny red used pickup, and a twenty five foot travel trailer was all that Johnny really had in the way of true free and clear asset equity. His 30-30 deer carbine, the clothes in the closet and his inherited mineral interest from his dad in 120 acres of Howard County in Texas, did not seem to count for much on the financial sheet that he had to fill out for that weasel looking little narrow eyed banker. From the banker’s constant stare and many questions, Johnny thought, he was maybe stealing the last dollar in the bank. Going to a bank to beg for money was not Johnny’s cup of tea, Uncle Bill had warned him that begging bankers was part of the life of a young rancher and that little weasel was the man that his cousin, BJ, in Roswell had told Johnny to talk to. BJ was Uncle Bill’s step-son, he ran an insurance agency in Roswell and seemed to know the right people to get something done in that town.

Johnny smiled, he was finally obtaining to his goal and feeling more content. He was almost thirty years old and his own man now, a rancher and self employed. No more driving those broke down floppy wheeled big rig trucks to the West Coast or working in greasy dirty auto repair shops in town for some fat slob, who was forever bitching, while paying just peanuts. Maybe he could finally ask Jean Ann Welder to marry him in the near future. They had gone together on and off for the last thirteen years, since their high school days in Pecos.

She would come out to the ranch for the week-ends and stay with him in the travel trailer, where he lived on the back side of the ranch near the mountains and seep springs. She loved it back at his homestead, as she called it, against the pinion pine covered mountains away from the flat chaparral brush country that the ranch mostly consisted of. They could look out the front window of the trailer and see the mighty 8,078 foot peak of El Capitan and the nearby Guadalupe Peak, both down in Texas on the state border at the lower end of the Guadalupe Mountain Range.

Sometimes during the week, usually on Wednesdays, Johnny would drive down to Pecos to stay over in her neat little house in town. Jean Ann worked in the County Clerks office at the old Reeves County Court House in Pecos, Texas. It was a good steady job with the county with all the paid holidays, sick time, insurance, and all the other good benefits that go with government jobs. She was doing all right for herself now, despite all the time she had devoted to her mother. She had worked for years in the run down road side cafe that her mother leased next to a Gulf service station and repair shop. Johnny had worked at the station and later in the repair shop during his early years. Jean Ann’s mother, Betty Lou, seemed almost like his own mother. She had sort of taken him in like an old hen after his folks had died, in much the same way as his Uncle Bill had done up on the New Mexico ranch. Now Betty Lou had Alzheimer’s disease and she was in the nursing home for almost constant care. She did not even seem to remember her own daughter or Johnny most of the time now. On her better days, when Johnny would visit her with Jean Ann, she would remark to Jean that she sure liked her new beau. Jean Ann would joke to Johnny between the crying spells that her mother just had old-timers disease, but they both knew that it was a serious mental deterioration similar to senility, that would never improve with time.

As Johnny sat on the hill thinking of Jean Ann, he suddenly noticed in the distance near his ranch’s north line, a cloud of dust moving slowly through the creosote brush, followed closely by another smaller dust cloud. He could not tell just what it was. He reached for his binoculars off the dash board. Their ten power projection brought the dusty images closer. The first was a yellow maintainer cutting a road or fire break along the fence line on the national park side. The second was a dark green colored pickup, most likely a government national park truck. It would drive on the new cut road for a short distance and stop, and then a man would get out of the truck to put some kind of white sign on the fence before proceeding again to another stop one hundred yards up the new road.

The ranch road where Johnny was sitting, dropped below the hill and divided. One road led across the creosote chaparral flats before turning east down the north fence line of the ranch. If Johnny hurried, he could intersect with the green pickup near the fence and maybe find out just what the hay was going on. He put the truck in gear and started out. He did not know any government rangers or whatever they were called, but he was sure going to meet one now.

A large covey of Blue Quail flushed out from a small bush near the road to fly in a tight group over the front of Johnny’s pickup. Their short wings flashing in the sun in a fluttering whirling noise. He smiled, he would try to remember this location come fall and hunting season. A big mess of fried quail with brown gravy like Jean Ann could make, made Johnny’s mouth water. He was not much of a cook himself. A can of chili with crackers and plenty of catsup was his usual meal when he was the cook. A long eared jack rabbit ran across the road just as he made the east turn. It had been frightened by the approaching maintainer and now upon seeing Johnny’s pickup so close, it laid its ears back to weave through the heavy thrones of the chaparral brush until it disappeared from sight.

Johnny waved at the Mexican operating the maintainer along the fence line, as he went by. The dust boiled around the long blade as it cut through the creosote plants and into the dry earth. Johnny waited several minutes for the dust to clear, before he shut off the engine of his pickup and got out. He walked to the side of the pickup where he patted his Blue Healer dog, as the dog jumped from the pickup bed onto the tool box that was mounted at the front of the pickup bed.

What do you think is going on here? Johnny whispered to the dog as he rubbed his head. Stay in the pickup and no barking, I need to talk to these people. Lay down, go back to sleep, Blue. Jean Ann is bringing that Chihuahua dog, Taco, tonight and he is going to give you hell, so get some rest while you can.

Johnny walked toward the fence line. He lit a cigarette while he waited for the green pickup to come along. He had been trying to quit the habit of smoking, Jean Ann just could not stand cigarette smoke and would bitch to no end if she smelled any smoke in the trailer. Johnny had not been able to completely give the habit up yet, but he was trying. He was convinced that they were bad for your health. His old truck driving days had started that bad habit and it was hard to totally quit, even for a good looking little blonde haired hussy named Jean Ann. After a few more deep drags, he threw the cigarette to the ground and ground it out with the dusty worn toe of his cowboy boot as the green pickup approached.

Blue barked twice as the green pickup with the white government decal on the side door stopped. Johnny looked back at the dog and said, No, Blue, down. The dog sat down in the pickup bed with just his head showing above the side.

The driver got out. He was a very young clean shaven man that appeared to be just a yuppie just been shortly out of college. He was wearing the government forest green uniform of a park ranger. He carried a white sign with him as he approached. Ranger Jerry Blake, he said extending his right hand.

Johnny Cole, glad to meet you.

How can I help you, Mister Cole? asked the ranger.

It’s just Johnny, smiled Johnny. Mister Cole was my dad. I have this ranch here, it has been in the family for near fifty years now. I saw you fellows cutting this fire lane and putting up signs, so I moseyed on over to see what is going on.

Well, number one, this is not a fire lane. I doubt if that scrub creosote and sand would burn if we held a torch to it. This lane that we are cutting is for animal identification and count control.

Johnny looked startled, then laughed, Hell, I knew that.

This sign that I am putting up ever so often, may give the public an idea of just what we are doing, said the ranger as he tied a sign in place on the fence.

No one out here to read signs, but jackrabbits and me. The sign read, ‘Protected Area, US Government Property, Endangered Species Act, Lobo Timber Wolf Habitation’. The government moving wolves in here? asked Johnny.

That is correct, Mister Cole. Bringing in fifty of them from up north, some from as far away as Alaska. Big fellows like that once roamed these parts until they were indiscriminately killed by the ranchers. There will be five designated release areas in the southwestern states.

Well now, Mister Ranger Jerry Blake, said Johnny feeling his temper rising as he removed his old tan sweat stained western hat and scratching his head, Indiscriminately might just be the wrong word from the way I heard it told. I heard and read that those wolves were trapped and killed because they were killing livestock and the government placed a bounty on them so people would kill them out.

Well government policy has changed now, said Ranger Blake. They are now classified as an endangered animal and therefore protected by the US Government. There never has been any firm proof that they killed any livestock. The few reported cases of the sheep and goat kills were most likely already dead carcasses before the wolves got to them and there never have been any reports of wolves attacking cattle or calves.

Well I am not running any sheep or goats, just cattle, but I would think that a big wolf could run down a calf fairly easy if it could run down an adult sheep.

This country was been full of coyotes for years and they have never killed any livestock. Maybe a few rabbits, but they are mostly scavengers of dead things. The wolf is also considered a scavenger.

And what if I see a big lobo killing a calf? asked Johnny. Am I going to get fined or put in jail for putting a 30-30 slug into him to save the calf?

If you see that happen, I would suggest that you give us a call and we will make a filed report. It is against the law to kill or trap an endangered animal. We hope the wolves will stay on this side of the fence in the national park, we plan to feed them on this side. These wolves have been injected with high powered vitamins and steroids. The US Government has a lot of money invested in these wolves and this project. This lane that we are making will help us determine if any of the wolves have attempted to move out of the park. said Ranger Blake.

Hell, they will be all over the country, remarked Johnny. This fence and ten more like it, will not keep wolves away from livestock.

The government owns a big piece of the country right here, added the ranger. The wolves will be content here in the park and cause no problems or concerns.

I think that I read in some of Jack London’s books that those Lobo Timber Wolves would attack a human, when they were real hungry and they are hungry almost all the time.

Jack London’s books were written almost a hundred years ago about wolves in Alaska or in the Yukon and they were fiction to excite the reader.

Well they were based on true stories that London had actually seen or heard. If any of those big Lobos comes near me, they will excite this reader, that is for sure, said Johnny. I am sure not too happy about having a bunch of Lobo Wolves living next to me. Life is hard enough out here without some other problems being brought in by the government.

It could be much worse, smiled Ranger Blake. The government program of multi-use on BLM lands could have motor cycle trails cut over your ranch land like at the Jumping Springs Ranch near White City.

"You are right about that. I guess I can stand a few wolves much better than I could motor cycles trails. I have been on that old dentist’s ranch that you are referring to and I would venture to say that all those motor cycle trails bladed out on that