Evening Star Newspaper, November 17, 1929, Page 111

THE SUNDAY STAR, WASHINGTON, Inside Death Valley’s Washington Woman Travels 800 Miles Through Bad Lands to See the Four- Million-Dollar Desert Home of “‘Scotty,”’ the Source of Whose Income Has Been K’épi‘ a Secret for More Than a Quarter of a Century. BY ISABEL LIKENS GATES. IGHT HUNDRED MILES by auto, across deserts and mountains, in four days! Why? To see the Mystery Mansion at the end of the trail. Eight hundred miles on a wild goose chase, perhaps, for.who could tell in what mood Scotty would be upon our arrival? ‘Would he be cordial and chatty, or sullen and repelling? Possibly we would be driven away after all the miles traversed without even a Jook-in, for Scotty has his days—on and off. Then, too, Scotty has his troubles, like the rest of us. The inquisitive public annoys him. He threatens to move bag and baggage and to erect his mansion upon the top of one of the towering peaks not far away. Perhaps he will move his mansion and place it upon a lovely mountain that stands back of the present site. This mountain top would be an ideal place— such an inaccessible place. No one could pos- sibly reach it, except by invitation. Of course, a cable would have to be utilized for entrance and exit; indeed, for moving the mansion itself. This is a good idea and perhaps Scotty will accept it, for what's money to Scotty? He has a gold mine where he picks up gold nuggets as big as hen’s eggs, and no one knows where it is. Sure, he has been followed, but somewhere along the trail he has disappeared, and it is said that even an Indian expert enough to trail a butterfly through a cyclone. could not possibly track Scotty to his treasure trove. SUC!-! were our thoughts as, early in the morn- ing, we left Reno over a wonderful road. What a beautiful morning! One wished for wings—the auto was not fast enough—for the air was so rare, clear and invigorating. Around the base of the Sierra Nevada led our trail Through green fields and forest, past Steam- boat Springs, the steam from its underground caldrons rising like a white veil in the light morning air, through a dark canyon with wooded sides for a few miles, then to emerge in full view of Washoe Lake, nestling in peace in the shadow of a mighty monument to the early days of Nevada. Through Carson City, the State’s capital, hidden in a forest of poplars. Then, mile after mile into the sparsely settled country at any desired speed, for the road was hard and smooth and traffic did not impede. NIGHT passes and morning finds us again on our way. Through the town and over the ridge, and a wonderful road lies straight ahead; a long black arrow, down grade into a bowl of Nature's fashioning; on and on, miles and miles along the hollow, then straight up an opposite grade to Goldfield, a ghost camp, almost deserted. Then out into the open again; but where is the road? The entire face of the earth hereabouts seems covered by travel tracks, but which is the road? Various tracks lead somewhere evidently—desert roads, terribly cor- rugated, uncared for—but which one leads to Scotty’s? No matter, all seem going toward Death Valley, and if one took the wrong road it would make no difference, for a cross-cut at any angle would lead into another and so on and on until the right one was found. Ninety-five miles to Scotty’s—95 miles of impressive solitude and grandeur, awe-inspiring and entrancing. A dead white floor, gleaming and vast, falls upon the vision—Mud Flats— and at the far end straight ahead a beautiful lake encircled by tall trees. Refreshing after the hot dry desert. Twenty-six miles of white, caked, hard, dry earth, traversed by auto tracks converging toward the lovely lake that recedes and recedes as the distance lessens, and at the end—nothing—no lake, no trees—only a few clusters of sage brush that would scarcely shelter a horned toad or a desert snipe—a mirage, that illusive fairy that has led to death 80 many fortune-seeking men. At last Grapevine Ravine winding between two mountain ranges. High cliffs and steep slopes. Only one road now, rocky but clearly de- fined, curling in and out among boulders and clumps of trees. At last something green. No mirage this time. An acre or more of tall trees, grass, a spring, a river winding down, the road beside it, and at the end Scotty’s house, the Mansion of Mystery! In a moment we are knocking at the portals—a one-story lodge with gates wide open, as if inviting the traveler to come in and rest awhile. “Is Mr. Scott at home?” graciously. “No, away for a week.” A week! A week in which to spend some of the fabulous wealth taken from his mysterious gold mine perhaps. Regret or relief? Scotty has his moods, so we had been told. “Could we see the mansion? One of the party has come clear from Wash- ington, D. C.” Washington! Magic word and open sesame here and abroad! The place waz ours! STRANGE that now we are here at the Man- sion it _does not receive our first attention, for the mighty lone mountain towering as a Many stories have been told of the wealth of “Death Valley Scotty,” whose $3,800,000 desert home is described in this article, but the true source of his fabulous income has been a mystery for years. Scotty, whose real name is Walter Scott, has kept the secret of his millions locked in his rugged heart for more than a quarter of a century. He spends money lavishly wherever he goes, and never fails to create attention. Several years ago he chartered a special train to take him to Chicago on a pleasure jaunt. More recently he announced that he had spent $75,000 to build a telephone line to the desert castle of which he is uncrowned king. One theory about his fortune is that he has a gold mine in the desert and that he alone knows its location. background and standing like a silent watch- man impresses us most. Who can escape the influence of a mountain? What a view from the front of its slopes! What a beautiful set- ting for the Spanish architecture of the build- ings! To the right of the gates and above the entrance is a long one-story building removed from the main structure—this is the guests’ quarters—and a couple of hundred feet away, reached by a path strewn with brick, tile, mor- tar and debris (the mansion is not completed), stands the Mystery Mansion itself. Yellow it is, and Spanish in architecture. A patio, en- tered through arched openings, separates the two parts of the structure on the first floor, but a covered passageway connects them on the second. In the building to the right, on the first floor, is the dining room, the kitchen, re- frigeration plant and storage rooms. The build- ing on the left is the real mansion and beau- tiful it is indeed. One enters a large central rcom two stories in height with a great fire- place at one end, on either side of which are doors leading into master bedrooms—Scotty’'s sanctuary from e crowds that annoy him when he's in an unsociable mood. At the opposite end to the left of the entrance is a fountain—a fountain and a fireplace—to cool and to heat. The fountain, a mnovel innovation, is most beautiful and made of polished variegated jas- per. The panei of jasper is ten or more feet in height and arches at the top. Over the jasper mosaic runs a curtain of water, spurting up several feet from -the basin. The rim is made of red jasper with mosaic inlays of the streaky stone set in a regular pattern. The whole effect is wery beautiful. At the left side D. C., NOVEM BER 17, 1929. m— Palace of Mystery ‘A recent photograph of “Death Valley Scotty.” The question of where he ob- tains his gold has puzzled his friends and enemies for many years. Copyright by P. & A. Photos. of the fountain and extending behind it is a broad stairway that leads to the second floor. From there a balcony runs along the side and both ends, giving access to the bedrooms and to the archway entrance of the second floor of the opposite building. Here is the concert hall, wherein one of the finest of pipe organs is being installed. There are several passageways and stairs lead to the tower which looks down toward Death Valley, some six miles away. Here again one gets a thrill, for the scene is magnifi- cent—{fully worth the trip. Scotty has an eye for scenic as well as architectural beauty. The finest, most novel and beautiful furniture money can purchase is being made to place in this wonderful home, a mansion that in the building has seen portions torn down and re- built many times to suit the whim of its owner. The latest addition is a great swimming pool across the broad side of the mansion facing Death Valley. Underneath this swimming pool near the center will be a passageway from the basement of the mansion to the sunken gar- dens. The bathrooms, of which there are many, are lovely in color and decoration—tiles, mosaic and other necessaries have been imported at great cost for the purpose of beautifying these rooms. WHY all this grandeur and magnificence for a home so far away from civilization? Why? That is the question. Who knows? Speculation runs rife, but no one knows. Some say it is td be a home for aged ministers; some that it is a hunting lodge for a wealthy Chi=- cago business man (for at either side of the chimney are gun racks holding improved fire- arms), and cthers say—but silence the thought —this is a deep, dark secret like Scotty’s mine. Yet some have their ideas as to the location of this treasure mine, and it has been remarked: “What if Scotty’s mine be under the mansion, else why the tunnel under the swimming pool?” An hour or so spent most entertainingly as we became more and more interested in the man- sion. Then the back track, for the hour grows late. What's that? A rattler in the road. Oh, run over it and kill it. “No,” says a friend, “I always drive around those boys. Last Summer a lady did just as you suggest and before she knew what was happening there was a big snake beside her on the seat. They say she¢f left so quickly that she jumped out of her shoes. No running over snakes for me.” Night closed and shut out the scene of our investigation and left us only memories of & beautiful mystery mansion lying snugly in #s setting of mountains,