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Updated: June 28, 2025
And there was a note of glad relief in her voice, for it was Brian Oakley who was bending over the camp-fire "Come," she continued to her companion, "and act as though nothing had happened." The Ranger, on his way down from somewhere in the vicinity of San Gorgonio, had stopped at the hunters' camp for a belated dinner.
From San Gorgonio, they followed the trail that leads down to upper Clear Creek halting, one night, at Burnt Pine Camp on Laurel Creek, above the falls. Then leaving the Laurel trail they climbed over a spur of the main range, and so down the steep wall of the gorge to Lone Cabin on Fern Creek.
As the artist obeyed, the Ranger continued, "I wrote the Sheriff all I knew and some things that I suspect. It's that automobile that sticks in my mind that and some other things. The machine must have left Fairlands before you did, unless it came over through the Galena Valley, from some town on the railroad, up San Gorgonio Pass way which isn't likely.
How he misunderstood, how he attempted to use his inheritance to carry out what he first thought was his mother's wish, and how he came at last to understand, is the story that I have to tell. The Woman with the Disfigured Face The Golden State Limited, with two laboring engines, was climbing the desert side of San Gorgonio Pass.
When he arrived at the San Gorgonio, he was glad to take refuge in his room and there, to relieve the tension of nerves strung almost unbearably high, he walked back and forth and, after his fashion, swore volubly and unintermittently.
But the man watching the ever-changing panorama of gorgeously colored and fantastically unreal landscape was not thinking of the scenes that, to him, were new and strange. His thoughts were far away. Among those mountains grouped about San Gorgonio, the real value of the inheritance he had received from his mother was to be tested.
The Gulf of California spread over the Colorado Desert, while from the west the water penetrated inland over the plain of Los Angeles to a point beyond San Bernardino, so that at the San Gorgonio pass only a narrow neck of land connected the San Jacinto Mountains and the Peninsula Range with the mainland.
Roused by these sounds, and by his growing hunger, which the cool purity of the air only augmented, Hanson turned to the boy. "Where's a place to stay?" he asked. "There ain't but one," replied the youth; "the San Gorgonio hotel. You walk right up this street until you come to it, on the left side. It's got a sign out, electric," he added with some pride.
Now and then, as the Express swung around the curves, he gained a view of the lonely, snow-piled peaks of the San Bernardinos; with old San Gorgonio, lifting above the pine-fringed ridges of the lower Galenas, shining, silvery white, against the blue. Again, on the southern side of the pass, he saw San Jacinto's crags and cliffs rising almost sheer from the right-of-way.
It was in 1774 that Captain Juan Bautista de Anza, of the presidio of Tubac in Arizona, was detailed by the Viceroy of New Spain to open this road. He made quite an expedition of it, 240 men, women, and Indian scouts, and 1050 animals. They named the San Gorgonio Pass the Puerto de San Carlos, and the San Bernardino Valley the Valle de San José.
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