8 He was a hulking man with a pie-plate-flat face, broad nose, and close-set eyes in a large head supported by no discernible neck. A wart on the side of his nose and gaps between tobacco-stained front teeth further marked his hard lot in life. His usual attire did little to improve the first impression of many who met him that Jim Milam was a galoot. A grayish fedora, grime stained around the band from years of soaking up sweat and the petroleum products he handled on the job, mixed with dust from countless sandstorms common to the region, topped the head that protruded between the shoulder straps of faded bibbed overalls. His wife, with skillfully applied patches, kept the oversized denim overalls in service long after they should have been retired. Getting the most use out of clothing was a necessity in a household supporting ten children in the waningyearsoftheGreatDepression.Idleyouths—andthereweremanyin thedeserttownsonhisdeliveryroute—regularlytauntedhimaboutgypsy bands camping in the seat of his pants. He chalked up their insults to jealousy over his having a steady job when most of their dads were on the dole. It was not necessarily due to poor hygiene that he appeared always in need of a bath. He was a loyal employee of the Pelton Oil Company of Wickett, Texas. Handling the gasoline, oil, and lubricants he delivered by tanker all over his sales territory kept him looking perpetually soiled. Unfortunately , the negative impression conveyed by his physical appearance was not improved by his personal demeanor. When it was convenient, he claimed he could neither read nor write. Now he wished he had also played dumb about what he saw four days earlier, along a desolate stretch of US Highway 80, between Van Horn and El Paso. If he had just kept his mouth shut, he would not be out here on his one day off, tromping around in the heart of the Chihuahuan Desert trying to avoid the fangs, stingers, and stickers of every plant, insect, reptile, and animal native to the area. For all his clumsiness, it was not his fault when he stumbled over the edge of the shallow gravel pit and landed painfully on his knees in a vi- murder in the desert 43 ciouslythornybush.Theslightfallrippedalargeholeinthealreadypatched knee of his overalls. His search companions were too far away to witness his embarrassment . Not that he needed an excuse for losing his footing. The last rays of the sunset would have blinded anyone to the approaching crevice. The setting fireball was directly in his eyes as he trudged west, and when it dipped behind the Sierra Diablo Mountains, it was impossible to see the old diggings in the gloom cast across the desert floor. Luckily, he tumbled only a couple of feet into the quarry, which had not been visible from the highway a half mile away when they started searching. The abandoned pit was actually little more than a scraping on the surface of the desert, from whichanenterprisingsoulhadtriedtoextractenoughgravellyrocktoearn a few dollars on some long-ago construction project for a house or road. Milam was picking himself up, with only a few thorn pricks from the tasajillo bush to show for his clumsiness, when he noticed the two bundles that looked like rag piles, several yards further down the depression. The truck driver, along with Culberson County sheriff Albert Anderson and a local volunteer named Joe Schneider, a service-station operator and ambulance driver, had been searching the desert six miles east of Van Horn for a couple of hours before he stumbled into the pit and made the gruesome discovery.44 Like all the others, they were hoping to find some trace of the two California socialites, or a sign that the wealthy matron and her sorority daughter had been in the area. In a twist of fate, this was not Milam’s first encounter with the women.45 Now he had come upon them for the second time. Their bodies were lying in the middle of the gravel quarry. Four days earlier, he had seen them in a fancy new car capering along the desert highway, apparently playing highspeed chase with one, then two, smaller and older-model cars. Assoonasthetrucker’seyesadjustedtotheshadowsinthepit,therewas no question about what he had discovered. His throat was so parched that his first outcry was only a croak, but he quickly found voice to summon his fellow searchers. His usually flat, staring eyes bulged at the sight of two nearly nude female bodies...