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Reavis renamed himself "Peralta-Reavis," and for a while had headquarters for his "barony" at Arizola, a short distance east of Casa Grande, where he maintained his family in state, with his children in royal purple velvet, with monogrammed coronets upon their Russian caps. He arrogated to himself ownership of all the water and the mines and sold quit-claim deeds to the land's owners.
Naturally something approximating a panic for a while was known by the farmers of the valleys affected. Meanwhile, very largely from moneys obtained as above noted, Reavis was spending royally at many points. At Madrid, Spain, he had a gorgeous establishment, whereat he even entertained the American Legation.
There were some among that little band of cowmen who yelled for action, others who were disgusted enough to quit, and others yet who said nothing, riding by themselves or exchanging furtive glances with Creede. The Clark boys, Ben Reavis, and Juan Ortega these were the men whom the rodéo boss knew he could trust, and none of them spoke a word.
Reavis had first claimed by virtue of a deed from one Willing, of date 1867, but there was switching later, Reavis thereafter claiming as agent for his wife, said to have been the last of the Peralta line, but in reality a half-breed Indian woman, found on an Indian reservation in northern California, and one who had no Mexican history whatever.
About 1898 there was establishment of the United States Court of Private Land Claims, especially for adjudication of many such claims in the Southwest. Reavis' elaborately prepared case tumbled almost from the day it was brought into court. Government agents found bribery, corruption and fraud all along his trail.
These ruins are known to the Hopi as "Homolobi," and much is the information concerning them to be had from the historians of the present hilltop tribes. The Great Reavis Land Grant Fraud For about ten years from 1885 all the lands of the Salt and Gila valleys of Arizona lay under a serious cloud of title.
Ben Reavis rose up on one elbow, rolled his eyes warily, and passed a jet of tobacco juice into the hissing fire. "Not f'r me," he said, with profane emphasis. "No, ner f'r me, either," chimed in Charley Clark. "A man stays dead a long time in this dry climate."
"You fellers wouldn't back me up when it come to fightin' none except Ben Reavis and the Clark boys so I told the old judge we might as well lay down, and to send up some smooth hombre to try and jockey 'em a little. Well, Hardy's the hombre; and bein' as you fellers won't fight, you might as well look pleasant about it. What's that you say, Bill?"
"Me and Ben Reavis and a couple of the boys had gone over toward the Pocket to catch up our horses. They turned back on us and finally we run 'em into that big redondo up in the middle fork.
Of all the many rich and racy things the writer has run across in his explorations in the literature of American cities, the richest and raciest is a book called St. Louis: The Future Great City of the World, by L.U. Reavis. The very title-page gives an inkling of the nature of the contents by its motto, savoring somewhat of cant: "Henceforth St.
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