If you’ve ever driven through the Mojave National Preserve, you know the feeling. The heat ripples off the asphalt. The silence is heavy. Then, seemingly in the middle of nowhere near the old Kelso Depot, you see them. Two graves in the desert, fenced off with simple white pickets, standing as a lonely testament to a time when the railroad was the only heartbeat in this scorched landscape.
They aren't grand monuments. They aren't part of a lush cemetery. They are just two small plots holding the remains of two children, and honestly, their presence is enough to make any traveler pull over and just stare for a second.
It’s easy to get caught up in the ghost stories. People love to talk about spirits wandering the tracks or "unmarked" sites, but the reality is much more human and, frankly, much more tragic. These aren't just "two graves in the desert" to the people who actually know the history of San Bernardino County. They are a physical reminder of how brutal life was for the families who built the American West.
Who is actually buried in the Mojave National Preserve?
Most people assume these are the graves of weathered outlaws or miners who died in a shootout. That’s the Hollywood version. The truth is quieter. The graves belong to the children of railroad workers. In the early 1900s, Kelso was a vital "helper" station for the Union Pacific Railroad. Trains needed extra engines to make it up the Cima Grade, a steep climb that tested the limits of steam technology.
Because Kelso had water, it became a community. Families lived there. They raised kids in 115-degree heat. And when those kids got sick, there wasn't a hospital for a hundred miles.
One of the graves belongs to a young boy named Arthur G. Coffin. He died in 1915. He was only a toddler. Think about that for a second. His father was a railroader, likely working the grueling shifts on the line, while his mother tried to keep a household together in a place where the wind blows sand into every crack of your house. When Arthur died, they didn't have the luxury of a funeral home. They buried him where they lived.
The other grave is often attributed to another child from the same era, though the wooden markers have been replaced and restored so many times over the last century that some of the specific dates have blurred. Local historians and the National Park Service have worked to keep the site protected because, without that little white fence, the desert would have swallowed these lives whole decades ago.
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The harsh reality of 1900s desert life
We tend to romanticize the desert today. We go for the "gram" or to hike the Kelso Dunes. But back then? It was a battlefield.
Medical care was non-existent. If a child developed a fever or an infection, you basically just prayed and used whatever home remedies were in the cupboard. Dehydration was a constant threat. The "two graves in the desert" symbolize a failure of geography—the distance between a sick child and the help they needed was just too great to bridge.
Interestingly, Kelso wasn't always a "ghost town." In its heyday, it had a reading room, a post office, and a world-class lunch counter. The Kelso Depot, which is now the visitor center, was a literal oasis. But even with the prestige of the Union Pacific behind it, the environment remained unforgiving. The soil is mostly decomposed granite and sand. Digging a grave in that ground isn't just a chore; it’s a grueling, back-breaking labor of love and grief.
Why these graves still matter to travelers
You might wonder why the National Park Service bothers to maintain a tiny cemetery for two children who died over a hundred years ago. It’s about the narrative of the land. The Mojave isn't just a collection of Joshua trees and tortoises. It's a place of human history.
When you stand by the fence and look at those two graves in the desert, you realize how small we are. The wind howls across the basins, and the freight trains still roar past just a few hundred yards away, shaking the ground. The juxtaposition is jarring. You have the massive, industrial power of a modern locomotive passing by the fragile, tiny resting place of a child who never got to grow up in that world.
There’s a specific kind of quiet out there. It’s not the silence of a library; it’s the silence of exhaustion. You’ve got to respect the families who stayed. They didn’t leave after the first tragedy. They kept the trains moving. They kept the town alive until the diesel engines eventually made the Kelso stop unnecessary.
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Misconceptions about desert burials
- They are all outlaws: Not even close. Most desert graves belong to children, women who died in childbirth, or miners who died of respiratory issues.
- The sites are abandoned: While they look lonely, sites like the Kelso graves are monitored. Vandalism is a federal crime in the National Preserve.
- It’s spooky: It’s actually more melancholy than scary. There’s a profound sense of peace once you get past the initial shock of seeing a grave in the middle of a wasteland.
Navigating the ethics of desert exploration
If you decide to visit, there's a certain way you have to handle yourself. You don't leave "offerings" like toys or coins, even if you think it's a nice gesture. The desert is a delicate ecosystem, and the National Park Service follows "Leave No Trace" principles. Those items just become litter or get picked up by coyotes.
Just stand there. Take it in. Read the names if they are visible.
There are other graves scattered throughout the Mojave—near old mines like the Evening Star or hidden in the canyons of the New York Mountains—but the Kelso graves are the most accessible. They serve as the "introductory course" to Mojave history. They force you to acknowledge that this landscape has teeth.
The railroad history of the region is often told through the lens of engineering—how many tons of steel, how many miles of track. But the two graves in the desert tell the story through the lens of the human cost. It’s a much more honest way to look at the West.
How to find them and what to look for
If you're coming from I-15, you take Kelbaker Road south. You'll pass the cinder cones and eventually hit the Kelso Depot. The graves are located nearby, usually marked by that distinct white picket fence that looks so out of place against the browns and greys of the scrubland.
Don't expect a gift shop or a tour guide. You just park on the shoulder, walk a short distance, and there you are. It’s a DIY history lesson.
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Look at the way the fence is built. Look at the stones placed on the mounds. This is a tradition that spans cultures—placing a stone so the wind doesn't blow the soul away, or simply to show that someone was there. People have been leaving those stones for over a century. It’s a continuous chain of human empathy that hasn't been broken since 1915.
Actionable steps for your desert road trip
If you're planning to stop by these two graves in the desert, you need to be prepared. The Mojave is beautiful, but it's also dangerous if you're reckless.
- Check your tires before leaving Baker or Barstow. The roads out here are rough, and cell service is basically a myth once you get five miles past the interstate.
- Bring more water than you think you need. Even a ten-minute walk to a gravesite in July can lead to heat exhaustion if you aren't hydrated.
- Visit the Kelso Depot first. The rangers there have the archival records. If you want the deep dive on the Coffin family or the other railroad workers, the museum inside the depot is top-tier. It’s one of the best-preserved pieces of railroad history in the country.
- Respect the perimeter. Do not climb over the fence. These sites are fragile, and the wooden pickets are old.
- Time your visit for the "Golden Hour." Just before sunset, the light hits the Providence Mountains to the east and turns them deep purple. It makes the white of the graves pop against the landscape, and it’s the best time for photography—provided you stay on the path.
The desert doesn't keep secrets well; it just waits for people to stop and listen. Those two graves in the desert aren't just a "creepy" roadside attraction. They are a profound piece of the American puzzle. They remind us that even in the harshest, most indifferent environments on Earth, we still try to carve out a place for memory. That’s worth a stop on any road trip.
Final Travel Note
Always check the National Park Service website for the Mojave National Preserve before heading out. Flash floods can wash out Kelbaker Road in minutes, and the depot hours can change seasonally. Being a prepared traveler is the best way to honor the history of those who didn't have the luxury of modern safety. No one wants to become the third grave in the desert.
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