History of the big bonanza

by Dan De Quille

At Carson trees are grown, and about the town are to be seen some very handsome private grounds. The plaza surrounding the State House, some ten acres in extent, is inclosed by a handsome wrought-iron fence, the successful bidder for the construction of which was an enterprising New England schoolmarm.

Although Carson is an oasis where something in the shape of verdure refreshes the eye, yet to the eastward, northward, and in all directions but westward—where the Sierras rise—all the landscape is made up of brown and sterile hills and mountains capped with piles of grey granite. These hills are not only barren and dreary in aspect, but are, in fact, as desolate as they appear. In travelling among the rocky hills and desert valleys there is apparent an absence of animal life that causes one to feel very lonely. Out in the great wilds all is silence. Not the note of a bird is heard—not a bird is seen. Although the wind may be blowing a gale, nothing is stirred by it, for there is nothing to stir. It seems strange to feel the force of the wind, yet hear no sound from it nor see anything moved by it. In these wild regions we find basking upon the rocks or gambolling over the barren ground great numbers of lizards. They are seen in great variety, and some of them are very handsome, being striped in red, yellow, black, white, brown, and many other colors. Some kinds are over a foot in length. All are very active, and it is a difficult matter to catch them. Some of the larger kinds have long and sharp teeth and know how to use them. I have never heard of anyone being bitten by one of them, but the Mexicans say that the bite of one variety, which has a black ring round its neck, is fatal.

On one occasion I assisted a gentlemen in catching a dozen or more of all kinds, the object being to preserve them in alcohol. They were placed in a sack as caught. On getting home with them, after carrying them about two miles, it was found that they had torn each other to ribbons.

A curious little reptile is found everywhere throughout the country, which is called a horned toad. It grows to be four or five inches in length and looks like a cross between a lizard and a terrapin. What are called its horns are nothing more than several diamond-shaped scales that grow on its head, and which it has the power to erect or depress. It is of a buff color, sprinkled with spots of dull red. Like the chameleon, it appears to live on air. Specimens have been kept for months in glass jars and have never been seen to eat, though flies and other insects in abundance were furnished them. Persons in Nevada sometimes send these pets to friends in the Atlantic States through the mails. They generally go through all right. Scorpions abound among the loose rock on the sides of the hills. They have a sting in the end of the tail with which they are very handy. Their sting is very painful, but not fatal. The antidote is ammonia, taken internally, and rubbed upon the wound. These unpleasant creatures are from three to five inches in length, and present much the appearance of a shrimp or a craw-fish. When the prospector is camped in the hills the scorpion is fond of crawling down his neck as he lies sleeping on the ground. When objection is made to this familiarity the scorpion uses his sting.

A few centipedes are found in the country, but they are not very large or venomous, and are not much boasted of. In the spring of 1875, a lady residing in Silver City awoke one night to find something crawling about in her bed, and getting a light discovered it to be a centipede about eight inches in length. She was stung in two or three places by the insect, but eventually recovered. In countries further south the centipede is more dreaded than the rattlesnake.

Tarantulas are abundant in Nevada, but persons are seldom bitten by them. They are sometimes so large that they stand three inches high when walking, and their legs and bodies covered with hair as long as that of a mouse. Their fangs are about the length of those of a rattlesnake, and the little, round mouth from which they project is blood-red. When the end of an iron ramrod is presented to them their fangs may be heard to grate upon it. They make a nest in the ground about four inches in diameter, which is lined by a fabric, spun by the creature itself, which is as fine and glossy as white satin. A lid, made of small bits of rock and soil glued together, covers the entrance to the nest. The under side of the lid is also lined with the satin-like substance, and is hung on a hinge of the same. Although the tarantula travels slowly, yet when it has reached its nest it darts within it and closes the lid so quickly that the eye can hardly follow its motions. When the lid of the nest has been closed it is a difficult matter to distinguish it, as its upper side presents precisely the same appearance as the pebbles and earth surrounding it. Once it is within its nest the tarantula is able to hold the lid down and to resist any small force used for the purpose of raising it. When the lid is raised the creature shrinks back in its nest and there sits with its malignant little eyes shining like two beads of jet.

By using great care the nest of the tarantula may be extracted from the ground, when it is found to be a ball about four inches in diameter composed of agglutinated pebbles, bits of clay, and other components of the soil in which it is built. In this shape they are sometimes placed in cabinets with the tarantula imprisoned within, a thread being tied over the lid of the nest. A tarantula, however, is not a very desirable pet. The tarantula has an enemy in a large wasp, of which he stands in mortal fear. When the tarantula goes out for a quiet stroll this wasp frequently finds him, and if he is more than a few feet away from his nest he never reaches it.

As vultures appear to drop out of the sky when an animal has fallen dead in the desert, so this wasp, the deadly enemy of the tarantula, comes upon the scene. Straight as an arrow from the bow, and as swift as light, he comes from the upper air and pierces the tarantula through the body. The tarantula turns upon his back and in mortal terror claws the air, but the wasp has disappeared—can nowhere be seen. After watching for a time, with his legs in the air, the tarantula gets upon his feet and travels at his best pace for his nest. Almost instantly there is a whiz, and the wasp has given him another thrust—perhaps two stabs, as he is quick as lightning.

Although I have called the enemy of the tarantula a wasp, it is not a wasp, though looking much like one. The lance which it thrusts into the tarantula is not a sting, but an ovapositor, and at each stab an egg is deposited in the body of the tarantula. All this appears to be well understood by the tarantula himself and from the time the first egg has been planted in his back he seems to feel that his days are numbered; as the egg will soon hatch a grub—a worm—that will devour his vitals. At each encounter the tarantula throws himself upon his back and tries to fend off or to grasp his antagonist with his claws, but the wasp patiently waits somewhere high in the air, till he gets upon his feet, then darts down and pierces him with his lance. The tarantula soon grows weak, and then the wasp thrusts into his body half a dozen eggs at each visit. Soon the tarantula is unable to move and after a few stabs is quite dead. The wasp then digs a hole in the ground two or three inches in depth, crams the dead tarantula down to the bottom of it, and then closes it up. When the eggs of the wasp hatch, the young grubs find their food at hand in the body of the dead tarantula.

Another agreeable insect found in the hills of Nevada is an ant that is armed with a sting. It is black in color, and has a few scattering orange-colored hairs on its back. It is seldom seen, and appears to lead even a more solitary and secluded life than does the tarantula.