Tall Tales Of An Old Ranch

Tall Tales of an Old Ranch Clyde’s Ranch has been around for quite a long time. For about 150 years...before the road was, it existed. Twenty five years before any other settlers appeared in Lone Pine Canyon, it was. First setted by the Swarthouts...members of the 1847 Mormon Battalion that was assigned to the Cajon Pass of San Bernardino Valley, it was later bought by Almon Clyde. The cattle claim turned ranch, and then famous Clyde Apple Ranch, was once the stomping grounds of the famous western lawmen/gunmen Virgil and Wyatt Earp. Just a short few miles to the east of Wrightwood, California, the famous ranch is owned by the Clyde Family. Over the decades, they have seen many, many changes. The drilling of petroleum oil had replaced coal gas, and the flickering of kerosene lamps within the lone house cast eerie shadows as evening and late night breezes caught the flame. When lamps were out, darkness was absolute. The light from the fireplace illuminated only part of the house. Out of the shadows appeared the arms of the Clyde family, reaching for a heat source and huddling together. Alone in a dark canyon, it was completely different from the family’s other life in the San Bernardino Valley, where population swelled and street lights helped you see the hand in front of your face. During harvest time in Lone Pine Canyon, darkness was full of the woman-like screams of a mountain cat prowling nearby, the banging of black bear scrounging around for a meal, the chirping of a family of raccoons searching under the house, the meaty thunk! sound of two Big Horn Sheep rams dueling in the orchard. As dawn breaks, the shadow figures of Indians making their way up a ridge for nuts from the pinon and pine. Silent in their walk, they seemed to float in a solemn column along the top of Pioneer Ridge to the west of Clyde Ranch. A sober looking horse thief shakes out a loop and captures a gelding, a rough hand covers its muzzle to prevent a whinny of fright. The outlaw, joined by some Ute who had their own stolen mounts, held a dirty finger to his lips as he threaten a little Indian boy assigned to watch the corral not to make a peep. Four years later, as a warm morning sun begins to paint the Cajon Pass and Lone Pine Canyon, a slow moving sheriff posse surrounds a make-shift corral in the same area and takes into custody bothersome thieves. One was an outlaw named Robert Graham. Even in present day the Clyde Ranch sits in silence. A single phone line stretches to the main house, and even though a generator sometimes brings power to it, the same eerie shadows cast by kerosene lamps so long ago can still be seen in the house today. The dark is still filled with the sound of wildlife passing through...and the screams of a mountain lion. One hundred and fifty years have passed, making the ranch a little spookier. Worn and warped outbuildings sway and creak in the wind. Tree branches scratch the main house roof and windows, creating sounds similar to those caused by someone-or something-from the ranch’s long past trying to get in. Imagine the many things that have happened at this quiet place over the last one hundred and fifty years. The good, the bad, and normal...and the strange. It’s a perfect area for the breeding ground of ghost stories. But, are they tall tales...or something else that had materialize into something real? It was October of 2007 when three men made conversation in the Wrightwood Historical Museum. One was your humble author, the other the caretaker of present day Clyde’s Ranch and the third a local respected retired fireman. The conversation centered on local history, and then our past occupations. The oldest of us was once a fireman in Fontana (now Rialto) his story of meeting an old

Paiute Indian was mighty interesting. The Indian would show up at the fire station now and then and he would share stories of his life and how as a little child he and his brothers and sisters were hired to herd stolen horses for local outlaws. His family lived at the old Muscupiabit Indian camp grounds near the present day Hwy 15 weight scales. Many decades previously, raiding Ute and Paiute parties had helped forced the Serrano Indians away. The old Paiute shared that for two bits (20 cents), a quarter, or even a dollar, the little ones were hired to move the stolen horses from Lytle Creek’s Sycamore Station, through present day Apple White Campground, north to Crowder Canyon and over to Horse Thief Trail. The outlaw’s ploy would work and they got away with the stolen horses scot-free most of the time. This happened around 1900 and at the same time another Paiute Indian boy, rumored to be known as "Two Bits", was hired to watch a horse corral between Clyde’s Ranch and Lost Lake. Being somewhere between 12 and 17 years of age, Two Bits wore his hair long in the old-fashioned way, down to his shoulders. Dressed in a long baggy shirt and worn pants, he was always seen with a leather medicine bag filled with small shinny pebbles that hung from his neck by a leather lace. One day he was seen guarding the empty horse corral...the next day he simply vanished! Was he killed by a threatening outlaw or wild Indian? Thirty eight years later many residents and road department employees were busy digging out after the Great Flood of 1938. Amongst the displacement of rocks, mud and trees of the terrible flood that washed out Camp Cajon, was found the bones of a small child. It is said that an old timer in the area identified those bones. Ancient hands gently removed a rotted pouch from the little bones, "This is Two Bits! My Lord, he came home." Did Two Bits come home, or is this simply a tale spread around a campfire? Maybe it would take sixty more years to answer that question. The three men continued to talk in the museum, but the finishing of the tale of "Two Bits" did not occur until after an astonishing revelation from the present caretaker of Clyde’s Ranch. Gary, a man of rare intelligence and a thirst for the Clyde Ranch’s long history, at first seemed hesitant to share his story. After some encouragement he finally did: It was about 1996 and he was alone at the main house of the ranch when the scarcest thing happened! it was cold that night and he decided he'd lay down in front of the comfortable wood stove to sleep. Suddenly, it got even colder! His hair raised on the back of his neck and a little touch of electric current was suddenly in the air! At first he thought his son had returned home and was standing behind him. As he turned and looked down the hallway towards the bedroom he saw just the upper portion of a small person staring at him! A figure was simply there… between solid and vapor, maybe? Gary wasn’t sure; at first he thought it was a little Indian girl, then a small Indian boy.. its hair kept in the old-fashioned way, down to its shoulders. The shape stared at him, and then it slowly drifted out the window and out of sight. Was it the imagination of a man staying by himself on an isolated ranch? Or was it something else? Gary remembers, "Ya know, I can't recall if he wore a small leather thingy around his neck, but it sure was unnerving." What has happened at Clyde’s Ranch, as well as Lone Pine Canyon over the last one hundred and fifty years is still being sorted out by local historians. Most of it has been hard ranch and farming life for the family. But some of it has been filled with laughter...and a little bit of music. Once again it is around 1996-97, the caretaker lives alone and working full time on the Clyde’s Ranch. Was it fatigue or loneliness that made him hear music in the house? It came from the basement, just under the aged floorboards of a creaky house. Chocking his head to the side to make sure he was hearing right, his

suspicions were confirmed. Yup, violin music...perhaps a touch of a fiddle. The caretaker quickly walked over and opened the doorway to the basement and the violin music immediately stopped! "Okay...I’m hearin’ things," he said out loud to himself. As he closed the basement door the music started up again! Repeated actions would confirm that he needed some alone time; open door-no music...close door-music; open-no violin music...close-oh boy! more violin! A little bit shaken, Gary took a walk around the ranch to see if he heard anything else out of the ordinary. Quiet...Ah...it was finally quiet. He barely had time for his blood pressure to go down as he returned to the main house. As he walked inside there was the violin music! And as he opened the basement door once again, it stopped! Gary never said if he heard the violin music since...or he just learned to live with it. Was it a case of fatigue or a wild imagination of a man living alone? Who knows. Two weeks later, he shared the incident of the music with ol’ Robert Clyde, owner of Clyde’s Ranch. Bob said, "That’s interesting that you would say that. My uncles used to play violins in the house all the time!" If you happen to drive by ol’ Clyde’s Ranch, ponder on this; are these mysteries two of many that are guarded by the quiet canyons of Clyde's Ranch, or are they simply tales tales of an old ranch? Terry Graham, Wrightwood, California