Meantime, the thirteen had passed along the word until it seemed that everyone was begging to be taken through the cave. Jim was at last obliged to fix a price of two dollars, since visitors to the then isolated spot had to be fed, and as the numbers increased, bunkhouses had to be built. As a moneymaker, Jim White’s Cave was not a success in those early days, since equipment and accommodations outran the income, even at two dollars per person for the guided tours. Then there were the days when Jim would greet some poor old farmer with a wife and bunch of kids. The family would want to take the trip through the Cavern, now beginning to achieve local fame, but who obviously could not afford that two-dollars-each admission price. Since it would seem unfair to admit them without charge while making others pay, Jim White would simply declare that day as “A Free Day”. [Illustration: _Graceful, Sheer Draperies of Pure Crystalline Cave Rock_] Jim White, the Guide, had the pleasure of taking the very poor and the very rich through the fairyland beneath the New Mexico desert. Jim White had fought for it so long he had become sentimental about the great Caverns. In time people throughout the world learned of the fantastic beauty of the Caverns, and good roads became the pathways for awe-stricken thousands who arrived to gaze at what no man could explain completely—miraculous caverns that defy mankind’s vocabulary to describe. By 1922 the scenic and scientific values of the caverns were of local and gradually expanding importance. Newspaper men and writers would always receive complimentary tours from Jim White, who realized that printed stories, in whatever publications, would have untold advertising value. The crowd read of the Caverns at Carlsbad—they heard of them from friends—and they gathered in increasing numbers to be lowered in the old guano-bucket. Jim White lifted nervous spinsters across narrow ledges, and pulled fat ladies up steep inclines. When his parties reached particularly dangerous spots, Jim’s body was always in a position to shield their eyes from the perils, so no one would become frightened, and make a misstep. In spite of the rickety and exciting descent in the old bucket, and the inadequacy of the trails, there was never an accident ... never so much as a broken arm or leg. There were some hairbreadth escapes, with Jim White’s firm hand grasping someone by the seat of the pants to prevent a sudden plunge into a pit.