Debbie Croft: Hornitos' history rooted in Wild West

As my daughter and I were walking through town once, a vehicle stopped. The driver got out, looked around (it was a gorgeous spring day), and then called out to us, "Do you folks actually live here in this beautiful place?"

"Yes, we do!" I replied.

Now, after five-and-a-half years, life in the country has become rather comfortable.

Debbie Croft -

Such was not the case over a century ago when this nameless community's population included mostly "less desirable elements" who had been evicted from nearby Quartzburg. Eventually people moved here, and Hornitos grew respectable, but lively with its interesting assortment of residents.

With thousands of immigrants from Germany, China, Mexico and Italy, by the late 1850s Hornitos was well known for its fiestas, fandangos, gambling and violence. Other entertainment included chicken races, cock fights and bull and bear fights. The infamous Joaquin Murietta frequented the dance halls and saloons, it's been said, and supposedly had a secret escape tunnel from his favorite hangouts.

By the 1870s the population reached near 15,000, and the town became incorporated -- the only one in Mariposa County at the time. By then there were a dozen hotels and 36 saloons, plus many businesses.

When mining slowed and people moved on, by the mid 1880s Hornitos had quieted down. The following comes from an unidentified 1884 newspaper clipping:

"The monotony of our existence was rudely disturbed last Sunday evening by the cry of 'fire!' Towards 9 p.m. ... after the day's thermometer was among the hundreds ... people were sitting their doors, chatting on various topics ... In a instant the whole town was in commotion. Men were running with hoses, tubs and buckets ...

"...fifty tons of baled hay was ablaze, and one single glance sufficed to reveal... that it was past redemption... efforts must be concentrated in keeping the fire from spreading. A difficult task indeed, with old tumble down buildings... roof made as dry as tinder by the summer heat...

"Luckily, the wind fell ... The moon rose and we were working in the dark no more ... Everyone worked with a will, even the ladies ... and by 2 a.m. in the morning the town was saved.

"As I write, three days after ... it is still smoldering... and I would suggest to our butcher, whose property it is, to kill a few of his hogs and smoke a few hams. In hard times let us... make the best we can of a calamity.

"... Otherwise our town is dull. Not even a dogfight or foot race... a band of tom cats is the only thing that disturbs the silence of the night. The solitary 'drunk' ... sang himself to sleep in jail, and the place has resumed its wonted calm ... leaving the street in full possession of a few emaciated pigs, who solemnly perambulate the (area)."

Nowadays, it's a flock of wild turkeys that roam the streets, but otherwise life here is still monotonous. Nice and peaceful like.

Debbie Croft writes about life in the foothill communities. She can be reached at composed@cwo.com.