A Haunting we will go in Two Guns, Arizona

It is that time of year that brings communities together. To laugh, to share, and to just find the joy in being alive.

It is October – and that can only mean one thing – Halloween.

Ghosts, goblins, witches, and cryptids do their best to scare us to an unpleasant place.

It is the month to mutilate the pumpkin and paint the cat black.

One of my favorite seasons.

As Laureen and I were driving west along Route 66, after visiting Winslow, Arizona – we decided to stop by a place that is so haunted, so scary, so unnaturally spooky that most humans would not dare to tread there.

Laureen Beyer standing on a street corner in Winslow, Arizona

Not being like most humans, we knew it was an experience we just had to visit on our very own.

Laureen is not that fancy on these spectral sorts of sites but since I was driving . . .

After pulling south off Route 66 by the ruins of the town of Two Guns, I was busy scanning my hand-held GPS looking for the scariest area near Two Guns.

“I don’t think this thing is working,” I told Laureen. “If I’m holding it correctly, we’re somewhere between Vienna and Salzburg.”

No reply from Laureen.

Suddenly I heard her from about 50 feet away. “It’s right here, I can feel it.”

The reason Laureen does not like to travel to many supposedly haunted places is due to the fact she actually ‘feels’ something. A sense or foreboding of what may have occurred in the past at such a place.

Me, I usually feel hungry or thirsty. 

As in earlier articles concerning ‘haunted places’ I tend to be a bit of a skeptic. Don’t really think folks from the afterlife are lingering around waiting for me to invade their space.

“Hey, you are now in my personal ghost space. So rude of you that I will throw this antique rocking chair at your head.”

Of course, I do have to admit I have heard or seen things that I can not explain while traveling here and there.

I once saw a boy scout escort an elderly woman across the street in Houston, and I thought that only happened in Hallmark films.

“What is right here that you can feel it?” I asked Laureen, finally giving up on the hand-held GPS which had me now somewhere east of Moscow.

“The cave, it’s right here,” she replied.

The Apache Death Cave in Two Guns, Arizona

The cave, Laureen was mentioning, was the famed Apache Death Cave located about 12 miles west of Meteor Crater in Arizona along Route 66.

The legend is terrifically sad.

In the late 19th century, the two dominate native tribes residing in the area were the Apache and the Navajo. These two groups did not get a long well together and often raided and killed each other over territory or perhaps because they did not like each other.

But in 1878 it is rumored that some Apaches entered two Navajo camps and killed everyone except three young girls whom they kidnapped.

Other Navajo warriors hearing of this diabolical action started to chase the Apache to seek their revenge and get the girls back.

The Navajo were closing the gap of the fleeing Apache but suddenly lost sight of them near the edge of the Canyon Diablo, a long arroyo that meanders through the territory.

Getting off their horses, the Navajo looked high and low and low and high but could not locate the Apache.

Just then, as the story goes, one of the Navajo thought he heard voices coming from somewhere below him and then found a deep cave carved into the Kaibab Limestone.

Sure enough, the Apache had ridden into the large cave with their horses and captives hoping to trick the tracking Navajo.

The ruse did not work.

Grabbing a lot of sagebrush, the Navajo decided to smoke the Apache out of the cave by lighting the bushes on fire.

Moments later, a few Apache ran from the cave but were immediately killed by the waiting Navajo.

It only took a few minutes to realize the captives had been murdered by the Apache, so the rest of the Navajo posse decided to finish the job and continued to throw large amounts of burning sagebrush into the mouth of the cave.

There was no chance for escape for any of the Apache trapped within the walls of the cave. 42 Apache succumbed to the smoke and fire.

Perhaps a memorial for the Apache who tragically died here

I wandered over to where Laureen was standing by a small rock border, and she pointed downward. Sure enough, there was a cave which seemed as though the walls may have been smoke damaged sometime in the past.

“The hairs are standing up on head,” she stated.

Looking at her perfectly quaffed hair, I did not know what to say. So, I said nothing.

An old wooden ladder type of bridge ran across the width of the cave allowing the visitor a chance to get closer into the cave.

The ladder was not truly stable looking

“You first,” I said.

“Me never,” Laureen replied.

After a few tense moments of rock scrambling and teetering on the wooden bridge, I found myself at the bottom of the cave. 

Laureen Beyer going very slowly toward the cave

It was dark inside the cave. 

“Do you feel anything?” 

“Yes,” I replied.

“Wow, what?”

“I think I dislocated my right shoulder.”

The cave was longer than I had thought it would be. I wandered a bit bumping into this wall or that wall, once nearly knocking off the top of my head on a low ceiling and thought that if the ghosts of the murdered Apache were not going to talk to me, it was time to call this adventure off.

Besides, it did seem rather spooky in that dark hole in the ground alone.

One needs to very careful exploring such places

“You want to come down, and see?”

“Nope.”

After dusting myself off and making sure my forehead was not bleeding, I noticed that Laureen was not looking quite herself.

She told me that there was something in the immediate surroundings she could sense. A sense of doom, of tragedy, of unmistakable horror.

“They were afraid to die in such a way.”

I do not question her feelings. I may do it inwardly but not outwardly.

But there was something different in that cave – I am not saying I felt what Laureen did, but it was rather oppressive in the cave. Almost suffocating, but that could be the close quarters and wandering around in a dark place by yourself.

New Reality paranormal investigators, Shawn and Cody, had visited the Apache Death Cave in the past and recorded their investigation for their hit series.

They felt and heard things while pulling their stint within that cave.

We spent time with them when they investigated a haunted ranch house in Lucerne. We all heard and experienced things that long haunting night.

These guys are experts in this paranormal field.

But I am still a skeptic. I am waiting for Casper to come sit next to me on the sofa and explain clearly why he is a ghost and why I need to believe.

In 1881, a bridge was built across Canyon Diablo by the Atlantic and Pacific Railroad and a small tent city, named Canyon Diablo was constructed for the workers.

But that little tent city grew up to be a rootin’-tootin’ full-time town which made Tombstone look like a children’s nursery school.

The population boomed to 2,000 folks overnight and there was at least one killing in the streets near the dozen saloons, gambling halls, and brothels each day.

Some of the ruins at Two Guns, Arizona

In fact, the first Marshall hired to protect the town was shot dead three hours later. It was a lawless town.

Boot Hill became so full that the undertaker ran out of room for any new customers.

One problem with this tale, according to the Republic Newspaper out of Arizona, is that this town probably never existed.

In an article written by Scott Craven, the town had been created by a fictional writer by the name of Gladwell Richardson who passed away in 1980 who had written nearly 300 western novels under various pseudonyms.

When the bridge was completed, the tent city moved on.

It was also Richardson who first wrote about the Apache Death Cave in his only non-fiction book about the town of Two Guns, Arizona. Prior to him writing about it in his book the tragic event had never seen print.

Seems, that both a town so wild Doc Holiday would have circumvented it and a horrific story such as the Apache Death Cave had occurred there should be more mention of it in the history books.

But, as with many historical records, things may get a bit exaggerated by those writing those histories.

Those silly writers. Who do they think they are embellishing here and there?

We walked around studying the layout, checking this out and checking that out and Laureen said she could still feel that something tragic had occurred here in the past.

Perhaps something had happened to the Apache and Navajo in the 19th century and perhaps not.

A town may have been here that was totally lawless but perhaps not.

That is the way with myths and legends, they grow stronger as the decades slip by.

Are they true or does it really matter?

For further information: https://azdot.gov/adot-blog/two-guns-sordid-history-i-40  

Folklife Festival and the Artisans

The White House - summer of 2025

“People are often curious about what it’s like to be different in the trade, but honestly, once you’re on site, it all comes down to what gets the job done,” Brianna said. “The stone doesn’t care who you are, as long as you show up, care about what you’re doing, and put in the effort.”

To be honest, I had no idea there were still stone masons in existence. I was under the mistaken belief that they had been phased out during the Industrial Revolution in the 19th century. But here I was being schooled by a modern-day stone mason.

Actually, Brianna Castelli is known as a Restoration and Conservation Mason or Heritage Stonemason, and she is very good at her trade.

Brianna Castelli taking questions from the audience

These are the craftsmen who focus their attention on repairing, preserving, and restoring historic or damaged stone structures. Their knowledge and expertise are not just in handling the various tools needed in stone masonry, but they have to understand the original construction techniques and methods used during the time of the structure they are repairing. It is as though they have to utilize their equipment as if that building were being built in the present day to exact specifications.

Lots of hands-on activities for guests at the Folklife Festival

My lovely wife, Laureen, and I had been walking through the Folklife Festival on the National Mall in Washington, D.C., during the week-long 4th of July celebration when we entered an area featuring the Building Trades. There were large exhibits discussing the history and current state of various hands-on trades, and it was fascinating.

Brianna was busy discussing her trade with a group of visitors. With a gentle nudge of a wooden mallet, she easily and cleanly chipped off a rough edge from a large piece of granite with a medium-sized chisel. The cut was perfect, and she talked the entire time.

Brianna Castelli showing off her skills at the Folklife Festival

I can’t talk while I shave, or Laureen may have to phone for the paramedics.

Not only did we find Brianna a very talented artist, but also an inspiration for anyone looking to go into the building trades.

It turns out that Brianna had never thought of going into a construction trade. No, her focus was on going to college.

“I was always told to go to college,” Brianna said. “I had no idea what I wanted as a career, but I knew college was the way to go.”

That did not turn out the way this young lady had planned. She moved to Philadelphia, where her brother was living, and took a job as a barista at a coffee shop. Then she learned that because she was from out of state, the college tuition was going to be based on that fact.

“When I found out that my tuition was going to be more expensive because I was not a resident of Pennsylvania, college was not a possibility,” she said. “Though I still had no idea what I wanted to do for a career.”

Working as a barista, Brianna came into a myriad of customers, and one day a fellow told her she should contact the Bricklayers and Allied Craftworkers union. She did and learned they had openings for an earn as you learn apprenticeship.

“Stone masonry,” Brianna said, “I never even heard of such a thing, but once I got into the union, which they paid for all my training, minus dues, I knew I was hooked. Forty-five hundred hours of internship taught me everything I needed to know about this wonderful craft of maintaining and repairing historical structures here and around the country.”

Turns out that the union that took Brianna on as an apprentice may not have known at the time that their pupil would soon be working on restoring the National Cathedral in Washington, D.C., after the devastating earthquake that shook the nation’s capital to its knees in 2011.

National Cathedral currently under reconstruction

“I have a five-year job here,” Brianna said. “What an honor to assist in repairing such an iconic structure. It is a privilege just to be climbing the scaffolds on a daily basis and using the skills I learned from my instructors to ensure this building will be here for many generations in the future.”

Scaffolds? I asked her about that.

“I have no fear of heights, and when I’m on top overlooking the gorgeous scenery surrounding our capital, I feel as though I have the best job in the world.”

Brianna, along with all the rest of the craftsmen working on the National Cathedral, deserves our respect and admiration.

There are a lot of various crafts on display at the Folklife Festival

It is these artists who will allow the rest of us to enjoy for decades what was built in the far past to remind us of our present.

For more information:

https://www.si.edu/250

https://nwfolklife.org/programs/

John can be contacted at: beyersbyways@gmail.com

Mrs. Orcutt's looong Driveway

 I have driven Interstate 40 east of Barstow more times than I can count, even using all my toes and fingers, but I had never heard of the longest personal driveway in the United States being just a few hundred feet north of the roadway.

Just a short section of the longest driveway in America 

While attending an event at Roy’s Hotel and Cafe in Amboy a few months ago, a gentleman asked me if I had ever visited Mrs. Orcutt’s driveway. I thought it was a personal question, but since I did not know any Mrs. Orcutt, I told him no.

He then went on to explain that in Newberry Springs, there is a four-mile-long driveway that runs parallel to Interstate 40 all the way to the remains of Mrs. Orcutt’s home.

This sounded intriguing, and I knew that it was a place to investigate - I like finding places to investigate.

According to author C.V. Wooster’s book, Mrs. Orcutt’s Driveway, recently published in June of 2025, Margaret ‘Bonnie’ Orcutt was not a woman to mess around with.

Born on September 7th, 1909, in Boone County, Indiana, to Wolford and Fern McMains, Bonnie would stay there until she was three years old and then moved with her family to Indianapolis, where her father owned a car dealership. In 1927, the family moved again to Richmond, Indiana, where her father’s new dealership was really taking off. This era was the true birth of America’s love affair with the automobile.

Watching her father’s work ethic made Bonnie realize that to be successful, she had to search out and go after things of interest for her. She was eclectic in those areas - botany, music, faith, science, and many other avenues.

In fact, she attended numerous schools of higher learning, including Earlham College, Butler University, DePauw University, and the Arthur Jordan Conservatory of Music. She was such a dedicated student of music that it was said she had reached a concert-level proficiency as a harpist.

And it was that harp playing in 1948 that introduced Bonnie to her future husband, Kenneth Orcutt.

He heard her play, and it was all over for him except for the church bells. Their courtship lasted just a short time, and they were married.

This research was going along well until I read that Kenneth had been killed in an air crash in 1953 in the state of Iowa at the young age of 33.

Margaret ‘Bonnie’ Orcutt was now a widow. And she moved west all the way to Newberry Springs the same year her husband had died.

She purchased a hundred acres just northeast of Newberry Springs, built a small but comfortable adobe home, and even hand-dug a 14-foot-deep, quarter-mile pond with a small island in the middle and filled it with fish.

A section of the adobe wall of Mrs. Orcutt's home

It was a quiet life, and that was the way she wanted it. Time to learn all the desert had to offer her.

Then, in 1964, government surveyors - yeah, the government - started putting boundary stakes across the southern end of her property.

“Interstate 40 is coming, Bonnie, and you'd better get out of the way,” one of the surveyors may have said.

So, Bonnie had a conundrum; the stakes for the new highway indicated that the road she used to drive into Newberry Springs would no longer be there. Lanes of newly poured asphalt would block her only exit from her home.

She did not want to sell, and she said so, but the stakes kept getting pounded into her beloved desert soil.

A typewriter seemed to always be clicking away inside Bonnie’s house, as she contacted this person and that person, demanding that the interstate not cut through her property. She wrote letter after letter and supposedly even wrote to President Lyndon Johnson and then Mrs. President Lady Bird Johnson - a rumor is she sent a few to Santa Claus.

It paid off, and the government agreed to pay $100,000 to build a four-mile private driveway from the new offramp at National’s Trails Highway to her house. Of course, the government men insisted that it was actually their driveway, but since Bonnie’s home was the only one at the end of the long black asphalt, she only nodded and smiled.

It was such a straight and wide road, and still is, that people started coming out and drag-racing on it - in the 1970s and 1980s, the magazine, Car and Driver, wrote about this driveway and folks started using it to test for speed.

In 1984, the magazine conducted the last test on the roadway with a modified Pontiac Trans Am, which reached the speed of 204 mph.

That is fast.

In 1986, Bonnie Orcutt passed away, and the property has fallen onto some pretty hard times with the sun beating down, and the winds blowing through sometimes with nearly hurricane force.

What is left of Mrs. Orcutt's home in Newberry Springs

After learning of the history of the property and the feisty, government-fighting woman, I knew a trip was needed to check things out.

No GPS is needed - head east on Interstate 40, take the National Trails Highway exit for Newberry Springs, make a stop at the end of the ramp, turn left, go around the Chevron Station to Pioneer Road, and there you are. Opposite if you are heading west, obviously.

The road, no matter the reports, is in pretty good shape and straight as an arrow for the whole four miles.

At the end is a large circular cul-de-sac, and to the right is what remains of Mrs. Orcutt’s adobe home. Not much, but with imagination, as you walk about the property, images of better days come to mind.

The end of the driveway in front of Mrs. Orcutt's home

It must have been a comfortable home with sidewalks, what looks like the possible remains of a front yard fountain, a couple of outbuildings, and, of course, the huge empty pool in the back yard.

As cars and trucks streaked by on Interstate 40 less than a hundred yards away, I wondered what it must have been like for this strong woman to live alone in what could be referred to as a pretty desolate stretch of desert.

Remains of Mrs. Orcutt's home showing the rear yard

Did she still play the harp? Did she write letters on her typewriter to friends and family back east? Did she have a fulfilling social life in the Mojave Desert?

I wandered and pondered - and hoped she had.

For further information:

https://www.amazon.com/Mrs-Orcutts-Driveway-Legendary-Unstoppable-ebook/dp/B0DN9R8KVN

John can be reached at beyersbyways@gmail.com