"Not many people now living in Las Vegas are able to realize the difficulties residents of the town endured during the first few years of its existence as they tried to be comfortable. No, I should not use the world 'comfortable,' because no one could be really comfortable what with the heat, flies, dust and wind. It would be more truthful to say that we were 'miserable' while trying to put up with our discomforts, and to manage to exist, after a fashion.

However, we had one thing for which we were truly thankful and that was an ample water supply of almost 100% pure water, piped into town from the 'Big Springs,' two and one-half miles to the south. Our other public utilities consisted of a puny electric current and 49 telephones (with no night service), which a group of us had started in 1905 and 06, with the hope that better service might be established as soon as possible. At that time these things - electricity and telephone service - just whetted our appetites for all those things we dreamed would sometime come to Las Vegas.

A number of us, neighbors and friends, seemed drawn closer together by this common desire for better things for our town. It seemed to be a good idea that as long as we were going to be miserable we might as well be miserable together and be happy about it. So, we decided to meet occasionally and to enjoy an evening meal together and, that was how 'our picnics' were started.

When I was in Los Angeles buying the equipment for our lumber yard here in Las Vegas in 1905, among the other things I acquired was a team of beautiful black draft horses, a delivery wagon and a buckboard. The latter was purchased in a sudden moment of a feeling of affluence. But, at the time I was unaware of the pleasure we were to receive from the team and the buckboard. (I later sold the lumber, team and wagons at the good profit to a man in Rhyolite when that camp was booming).

Nature had provided us with several delightful spots which were near enough for get-together suppers, and the first one we visited was the Kyle Ranch, just two weeks after Delphine and the children were settled in the Fremont Street home.

It was held on the Fourth of July and as there was a big celebration in Vegas, it was late in the afternoon before we arrived at the ranch with well filled lunch baskets. The early days of this ranch read just like a western novel just reeking with guns and gore, and just in case you have never heard of all the intimate details, I'll reminisce a little.

Once this ranch had been a hideout for cattle rustlers. They would remain there until their latest escapade faded from the minds of the authorities and then they would dare to show themselves in the open again. It was also at this ranch that Archibald Stewart, who came to the Old Las VegasRanch in 1882, was shot and killed by Hank Parrish in 1883. His wife, Helen, with the help of an Indian farm hand, carried him home and made a casket out of the outside doors of her ranch house and lived all the remainder of the summer, in that lonely place, without even the protection of outside doors. And it was here that the Kyle Brothers, after a quarrel each pulled the trigger at the same second and hit a bull's eye.

When we drove up to the house it seemed very peaceful with no one in sight, but out knock brought the tenant from whom we bought vegetables. He seemed glad to have visitors and invited us in as he said 'the flies were pestiferous.' We asked him to have supper with us and he seemed quite pleased.

The ranch at that time was far different from what it is today. Then there were just two houses on it. One, the old Kyle ranch house, built of boards, which had been moved a little to the rear to make room for the home built by John S. Park when he purchased the ranch and the other - an old adobe - the first floor of which was used as a granary and the cellar as a chicken house.

While we were eating our supper the tenant entertained us with a step by step account of each killing, pointing out the separate bullet holes in the front door (it was just riddled with them), which had accompanied each 'accident.' Later he led the way over a hill back of the ranch house to a little plot where the Kyle family is sleeping their last sleep. It certainly was a peaceful spot in which to rest after their turbulent lives: Hedged in by purple mountains on every side and touched, at the moment, by the golden rays of the setting sun.

As we were gathering up pour belongings, the shades of night were falling and we could almost feel shadowy fingers clutching at us from out the past. We were glad to get back to town and real live people and the noise of exploding firecrackers.

Another place we enjoyed visiting was the 'Big Springs' about two and and a half miles south of Vegas. Not a vestige of the spot now remains. The springs have been covered by heavy planks and the water is being pumped into the big reservoir. The noisy little creek that used to rumble over the mesa on its way to the old ranch is dried up. It was such a friendly little creek, with its banks lined with willows and here and there a cottonwood tree and great patches of watercress. It crossed Main Street opposite the Woodward Cabins, and just to the right of the road there were many big trees, under which there were a number of cabins and tent houses where railroad men, who had to stay over here between trips, used to live. I remember there used to be a sign which read, 'Quite, please. Men sleeping.'

In those days there was an old adobe house out at the springs, which was built for the man who had been appointed herder for the Missionaries who built the old fort in 1855. The roof was gone, but the fireplace was intact. You could trace the old irrigation ditch, which had led to a field, by the roots of trees that had been cut down. It didn't take long for the old house to go, as vandalism was as rampant then, as now, among the juveniles. Nothing seems sacred or worth preserving.

This place was especially a favorite spot on Sunday as its distance from town made it seem quieter and more restful. It was such a place as Big Springs that was probably given us as compensation for some of our other troubles. John C. Fremont spent the night in May, 1844, by the Big Springs and described them in his memoirs.

It was out team and buckboard that transported the many little children, plus the lunch, to these gatherings, and it sometimes required several trips."