The Canyon Rim.

There are several rather remarkable and surprising points of difference between the Canyon on the rim, and the Canyon in its depths. Above, the whole Canyon region, save during the rainy season, is waterless, and while not barren, owing to the growths made possible by winters' snows and summers' rains, it is a veritable desert as far as water, whether in streams, creeks, rivulets or springs, is concerned.

Drainage of the Canyon.

On both sides of the Canyon, all the surface water of the rains drains away from the Canyon for miles, and not until it has flowed, perhaps from within a few feet of the edge of the abyss itself, from twenty to a hundred miles, does it empty into the drainage channels which, burrowing down into the earth, reconvey the water back, by circuitous routes, into the depths of the Canyon, there to add to the flow of the Colorado.

Rain at El Tovar.

Take rain that falls, for instance, at El Tovar itself, within sight of the Canyon. After a heavy storm, the visitor may see it dashing down the Bright Angel Wash (up which the railway runs) to Bass Station, where it turns and enters the narrower section of the Wash. It flows in a general southwesterly direction, and enters the Coconino Wash, which discharges into the open plain, once the bed of the great inland Eocene Sea. Here it disappears.

An Underground Stream.

In this plain are some breaks in the rocky bed, which allow the water to flow down to join the underground current of the Havasu (or Cataract) Creek, which runs on the northern slope of Bill Williams Mountain. This underground stream (as explained in the chapter on Havasu Canyon) emerges at the head of the village of the Havasupai Indians, in a thousand springs, and then flows on, over several precipices, to the lower levels, thus making the exquisite waterfalls that have rendered this Canyon world-famous. It finally reaches the Colorado some fifteen miles away, where its clear blue waters are soon lost in the muddy flood of the "Red."

Water in the Canyon.

After one has ridden in the hot summer sun over this waterless region, and seen the waterwagons of the miners and sheep men, and the great train of water-tanks being hauled for the guests at El Tovar, it is a surprise and a wonder to find below, in the heart of this rocky-walled Canyon, a mighty river dashing its headlong way to the west. Many a time, after a week of riding horseback on the plateau above, until every particle of moisture seemed to have evaporated from my body, have I gone down the trail to the river and camped there, enjoying a swim several times a day, and rowing up and down one of the quiet stretches, between the rapids, where boating is not only possible but reasonably safe. In the Bright Angel and the Shinumo on the north side, and the Havasu on the south side, one may swim, or at least soak and paddle, in cooling waters, where waving willows, giant sycamores, and green cottonwoods sway above the streams, and rich verdure of great variety lines their banks. What a wonderful contrast,--above and below!

Difference between the Rim and the River.

Another remarkable difference, or surprise, is found when one leaves the rim above, where the weather is lovely and there is not a sign of rain, and go below to the river, which gives evidence of a great rise. How can the river rise without rain? Yet it seems to, and one almost doubts the evidence of his own senses.

Experience on the River.

Engineer Stanton tells of an experience as his party went through the river: "About 2:30 P. M. we heard a deep, loud roar, and saw the breakers ahead in white foam. With a great effort we stopped upon a pile of broken rock that had rolled into the river. When we went ahead to look, much to our surprise, the whole terrible rapid that we had expected to see had disappeared, and there was only a rushing current in its stead. While we stood wondering, there rose right at our feet those same great waves, twelve to fifteen feet in height and from one hundred to one hundred and fifty feet long across the river, rolling down stream like great sea waves, and breaking in white foam with terrible noise. We watched and wondered and at last concluded that this was the forefront of a vast body of water rolling down this narrow trough from some great cloud-burst above. (We learned afterwards that there had been such a cloud-burst on the head-waters of the Little Colorado.) Believing that discretion was the better part of valor, we camped right there on that pile of rocks, fearing that, although our boats would ride the waves in safety, we might be caught in one of these rolls just at the head of a rapid, and, unable to stop, be carried over the rapid with the additional force of the rushing breakers."

High and Low Water.

The piles of driftwood found on the rocks in the Canyon reveal a difference of upwards of two hundred feet between high and low water. This, however, does not refer to the general condition of high water, but to exceptional cases. As, for instance, I myself once saw a mass of rock, the whole face of the cliff, containing doubtless millions of tons, fall into the trough of the stream. The whole course was at once dammed up, and the river rose sixty feet in one hour before the principal mass of rock was made topheavy by the power of the flood. Then it rolled over with the force of the millions of tons of water behind it, and crumbled as it rolled. The mighty wave dashed on, carrying everything before it. In less than another hour the rock mass had disappeared, and the water had resumed its normal level. A rise of fifty to seventy feet is not so very unusual in the heart of the gorge, where it is narrow and the waters would necessarily pile up. To see such a rise, without any evidence of a rain above, is a wonderful experience that one occasionally enjoys.

Snow on the Rim.

Another remarkable contrast is observed by winter tourists. On the rim at El Tovar, Grand View, or Bass Camp snow may fall during December, January and February, and sometimes in March, though it quickly disappears. This is not surprising when one considers the high altitudes. The weather is then sometimes quite frigid, but it is a dry cold which rapidly yields to the warm midday sun. Do not imagine from this general statement that winter, as we know it in the East, is the usual thing at the Canyon. Quite the reverse. There are more sunshiny, warm, windless, stormless and no-snow days than otherwise, taking one year with another. Real winter weather often stays away until well into January. Some years it is a negligible quantity. At no time need it be feared by the traveller.

Trails in Winter.

The trails for half a mile, or even a mile, down into the Canyon, during a part of the winter, are sometimes covered with light snow. As soon as the snow line is passed, the climate begins to change. The cold is less penetrating, and by and by one enters what might be called a temperate zone. Warmer and more comfortable it becomes, until, on reaching the river, the word "delicious" alone conveys the rich sense of satisfaction that one feels all over the body in the delightful sensation experienced. No time is so agreeable for a long stay in the depths of the Canyon as in the heart of winter. A semi-tropical climate below, while above, within three hours easy ride, a snowy winter may be reigning supreme!

Winter in the Canyon.

Robert Brewster Stanton, who made his successful trip through the Canyon in wintertime, comments on this as follows: "It has been the fortune of but few to travel along the bottom of the great chasm for a whole winter, while around you bloom the sweet flowers, and southern birds sing on almost every bush, and at the same time far above, among the upper cliffs, rage and roar, like demons in the air, the grandest and most terrific storms of wind and snow and sleet that I have ever witnessed, even above the clouds among the summit peaks of the Rocky Mountains."

Change in the Flora.

This climatic diversity above and below is noticeable all through the year to the man or woman of sharp eyes, in the difference of the flowers, the shrubs, and the trees. Above are the pines, the cedars, and junipers of the cooler climes. The further down one goes, the greater the change becomes. The pines drop out, then the cedars and junipers, and when one reaches the patches of growth in the lowest depths, the agave, and other plants and flowers that we find only in semi-tropical climates here grow profusely.

Indian Garden.

Another difference between the "above" and the "below" is found in the fact that a garden is almost unknown on the rim, and that there are many down below. On the Bright Angel Trail is the Indian Garden, where, for many years, the Havasupais used to cultivate their corn, beans, onions and melons. Along the Shinumo, on the north side, Mr. Bass has a garden where all these things grow; where peaches, plums, grapes, and apricots have thriven abundantly, and where now he is planting figs, lemons, oranges and grape-fruit. The Havasupais, in the depths of their Canyon, grow the finest, largest and most tender corn in the world, peaches and figs galore, and all the ordinary vegetables. Boucher also has fruit and vegetables on the level near the river, on his trail. At Lee's Ferry also, Elder Emet has his gardens and orchards, as well as fine alfalfa fields. Nothing is more delightful than to come, after a hot journey down the trail, to these unexpected oases in the heart of the canyons.

Soil on the River and in the Canyon.

The soil of the "above," too, largely differs from the soil of the "below." On the plateaus above, there are millions of acres, most of which careful examination shows to be covered with disintegrated rock and comparatively little vegetable soil, except below the surface. The winds and rains have carried away the softer and lighter soil, and allowed the heavier and harder rocks to remain. This process goes on all the time. In the depths of the Canyon, however, except on the steeper slopes, the soil remains.

The Silence on the Rim.

A remarkable contrast between the rim and the Canyon is sometimes found in the absolute silence above, and the roar of the river below. It often occurs that not a sound of any kind can be heard on the rim but one's breathing and the beating of his own heart. One morning I lay for an hour before I arose, and during the whole of that time, though I listened again and again, not the slightest sound reached my ears save the two named.

Song of the River.

Now descend to the river and, day or night, early or late, June or December, hot or cold, wet or dry, fair or stormy, the roar and rush, fret and fume of the water is never out of one's ears. Even when asleep it seems to "seep" in through the benumbed senses, and tell of its never-ending flow. After a few weeks of it, one comes away and finds he cannot sleep. He misses it and finds himself unable to sleep away from the accustomed noise.

The Wind.

In nothing is the difference of "above" and "below" more marked than in the wind. Last night on the rim the wind blew almost a gale. The pines sang loudly, and one could hear their roar for miles. A dozen times I awoke and listened to their weird music. If you go outdoors, the wind plays with your hair, and tosses garments to and fro with frolicsome glee, or even, at times, with apparent angry fury. There are times when the wind comes toward you, on the rim, with a rapidity and force that are startling. Every one has had the experience of hearing a military band approaching from a distance.

As it comes nearer, the sound grows louder and louder, and if it approaches with great rapidity, as for instance, in an automobile or a speeding electric car, the music assails the ear with an increasing force that is a surprise. It is just so with the noises of the wind at the rim of the Canyon.

Now leave the rim and walk down the trail a couple of rods. All is quiet and still. The change is startling m its suddenness. The wind may be blowing far above you, and if you listen, you will hear its effect in the trees, but here, where you stand, you are protected and sheltered.

Diversity of Color.

Perhaps the greatest difference between the rim and the interior of the Canyon is found in the diversity in color and feature between them. While there is a fascination to the long, wide stretches of plateau on the rim, and the forest has its attractive points, there are not many prominent features (looking away from the Canyon) that would occupy the attention of travellers. There is little striking in color, in scenery, in rocky contour. Plains, trees, sky, clouds, sunset,--and nearly all is said. But immediately one stands on the rim and looks below, all is changed. Here is feature after feature that compels not only attention but reverent homage. Color such as is seen nowhere else in the world on such a grand scale; massive walls that have no counterpart; rock forms that dazzle and bewilder; and an unfoldment of the stone book of creation that is alike a joy and a pain, a delight and a sorrow, a something seen at a glance, and that requires a lifetime to comprehend.

The Harvey Collection at El Tovar.

In the Hopi House, opposite the El Tovar entrance, is installed one of the most interesting Indian collections of the world,--a collection that would grace the National Museum of Great Britain, France or Germany. The more intelligent the visitor to the Grand Canyon, the more he will find he can learn in this wonderful storehouse provided for his instruction and recreation.

The Hopi House.

The building itself is a perfect model of a block in the village of Oraibi, one of the seven Hopi pueblos. It is three stories high, and contains many rooms. The original is supposed to accommodate forty-five families. It is built of the chips of sandstone and other rock in accordance with Hopi custom, rudely and irregularly laid in mortar. It is of the terraced style of architecture, each story receding from the one below it, so that the "second story front" finds a ready courtyard on the roof of the "first story front," and the "third story front" on that of the "second story front."

Houses that were Forts.

In the old houses, found when the white man first visited the pueblos, there was no means of entrance to the first stories save by means of the ladders which stood outside against the walls, and thence through hatchways made in the roofs. This was for the purpose of defence against hostile tribes, who were constantly warring with these home-loving Indians in order that they might steal from them the fruits of their persistent labor and thrift. The ladder, during times of expected attack, could be lifted upon the second story, out of reach, and thus these houses became the forts of their inhabitants. Nowadays entrances are provided on the ground floor, and this house at El Tovar follows the modern custom, as well as the later innovation (which of course is essential in this building) of using glass for windows. For convenience and safety, another anachronism is tolerated in the electric light. In practically everything else, the building is a true model of a Hopi community house. With these people, the women are generally and mainly the builders of the houses, the men merely assisting in the heavier work.

Quaint Stairways.

In addition to the quaint ladders, quainter steps, cut into flat or round trunks of cottonwood trees, are used. Stone steps connecting the two upper stories, are also built outside in the partition walls. The chimneys are constructed, in true pueblo fashion, of pottery water ollas, the bottoms of which have been broken out. Three or more of these, fastened with cement or mortar, are placed one above another. On the roofs are wood piles, as at Oraibi, and also picturesque strings of red peppers drying in the sun.

Navaho Silversmith.

The entrance doorway is low, and the steps lead one down into the first room, in true Oraibi style. This room is occupied by the Tinne peshlikai, or Navaho silversmith, and Navaho blanket weavers. The smith, though using some modern tools, still follows the time-honored methods of his brother craftsmen. The silverware he makes will be more fully described in the special chapter devoted to the subject, as will also the blanket weaving of his wife and children.

Details of Construction.

In this room there are several features of interest. First notice the construction of the building. The roof is supported by a massive upright, in a crotch, or V, on which the cross rafters rest. Lesser poles are placed upon these at right angles, which in turn support arrow-weed, willows, and other light brush. In the genuine Hopi construction, mud is then plastered or laid thickly over these willows; but as these rooms contain valuable collections of goods, a modern roofing has been used, which, however, does not in any way detract from the "realness" of the building.

Fireplace.

In the corner is one of the quaint hooded fireplaces, with the raised hearth, exactly similar to several I have sat before in Oraibi, while my hospitable hostess prepared some Hopi delicacy or substantial food to tickle the palate or appease the hunger of her welcomed guest.

Mealing Stones.

On the left is a quartet of corn-grinders, walled in from the floor by stone slabs laid in cement. In every pueblo house, a "battery" of these mealing stones is to be found, and it is one of the commonest of sights to find the women and girls on their knees, with the grinder in hands, rubbing it briskly up and down with the swing of the body, while every few moments, with a deft movement of the hand, the grain is thrown between the grinder and the stone beneath. The motion reminds one much of that required over the washing board. While thus at work, the Pueblo women sing some of their sweetest songs.

Hair Dressing.

Occasionally when a Hopi mother, whose daughter has reached maidenhood, is located in the Hopi House, one may chance to find her engaged in turning the heavy black hair of her "mana" into the big whorls on the side of her head which are the Hopi emblem of maidenhood and purity. The mother herself wears her hair in two pendant rolls. These are the symbols of fruitfulness and chastity.

It is interesting also to see them make piki, a process elsewhere fully described.

Various Baskets.

In the various rooms on the ground floor, the observing and curious will find quite a number of quaint architectural devices. The chief attractions to most visitors are the various Indian goods. There are baskets made by every Indian tribe in North America, Navaho wedding baskets made by Paiutes and used also by Apaches as medicine baskets; Havasupai, Pima, Hopi, and Katchina plaques; Hupa and Poma carrying baskets; Haida, Makah, Mescalero, Apache, Mission, Chimehuevi, Washoe, and a score of others. Here are pinion covered water-bottles of Navaho (tusjeh), Havasupai (esuwa), and Apache (tis-ii-lah-hah). Note the vast difference in the native names for practically the same thing.

Hopi Katchinas.

The Hopi Ethnologic Collection (on second floor) is the best in the world, with the exception of the collection in the Field Columbian Museum, Chicago. In this collection are a large number of katchina dolls. Of these katchinas much might be written. They are ancient ancestral representatives of certain Hopi clans who, as spirits of the dead, are endowed with powers to aid the living members of the clan in material ways. The clans, therefore, pray to them that these material blessings may be given. "It is an almost universal idea of primitive man," says Fewkes, "that prayers should be addressed to personations of the beings worshipped. In the carrying out of this conception men personate the katchinas, wearing masks, and dressing in the costumes characteristic of these beings. These personations represent to the Hopi mind their idea of the appearance of these katchinas or clan ancients. The spirit beings represented in these personations appear at certain times in the pueblo, dancing before spectators, receiving prayer for needed blessings, as rain and good crops."

Powamu and Niman: The katchinas are supposed to come to the earth from the underworld in February and remain until July, when they say farewell. Hence there are two specific times which dramatically celebrate the arrival and departure of the katchinas. The former of these times is called by the Hopi Powamu, and the latter Niman. At these festivals, or merry dances, certain members of the participating clans wear masks representing the katchinas, hence katchina masks are often to be found in Hopi houses when one is privileged to see the treasures stored away. In order to instruct the children in the many katchinas of the Hopi pantheon, tihus, or dolls, are made in imitation of the ancestral supernal beings, and these quaint and curious toys are eagerly sought after by those interested in Indian life and thought. Dr. Fewkes has in his private collection over two hundred and fifty different katchina tihus, and in the Field Colombian Museum there is an even larger collection.

Katchina Baskets.

For use in the katchina dances, katchina baskets are made, and if one were to start a collection of all the katchina baskets of the Hopi, he could look forward to possessing, in time, as large a number as Dr. Fewkes has of katchipa dolls.

Indian Pottery.

Hopi, Acoma, Santa Clara, Zuni and, other pottery abounds side by side with Navaho blankets, war clubs, bridles, quirts, moccasins, Sioux beadwork, pouches, and baby-carrying baskets. Not only can the Navaho women be found weaving blankets, but, what comparatively few white persons have ever seen, in one of the rooms is a Hopi man weaving a blanket, which I question could be told from a Navaho, even by an expert, unless he saw it woven. In another room, the Hopi's wife is making pottery.

During the day, time, when required, the attendants will gladly show visitors the collection of rarer curios on the second floor. An anachronism introduced here, to meet modern requirements, is the indoor stairway, but one excuses it for the sake of the interesting, symbolic, katchina figures that have been painted on the staircase walls.

Mexican Antiques.

Here one room is devoted to Mexican antiques,--candlesticks, crucifixes, paintings, tapestry, bells, incense-burners, wooden plow, a model of the ancient caretta, chairs, daggers, etc.

Alaska Room.

The Alaska Room contains models of totem poles, carvings on ivory and wood, boats, snowshoes, shields, baskets of several varieties, Haida hats, etc.

Ancient Blankets.

The Old Blanket Room contains an assortment of the rarer and older Navaho, Mexican and Chimillo blankets, some of which are in the exquisite old colors used before modern aniline dyes were known. Scattered about also are some rare pieces of ancient pottery in black and white, dug out from ruins in Arizona and New Mexico.

Hopi Altar Room.

By far the most interesting room in the house to the thoughtful inquirer is the Hopi Altar Room. Here are two reproductions of altars made by the ethnologist, Rev. H. R. Voth, who was led to his study of the Hopi while a Mennonite missionary to the Oraibi pueblo. These altars are thus described by him:

Tao Altar.

One of the fraternities among the Hopi Indians of Arizona is the Tao or Singer Society. Such altars are erected in connection with the sacred and secret ceremonies in underground rooms or kivas in the different Hopi villages. Around these altars the priests arrange themselves, squatting on the floor, during their ceremonies, and engage in singing, sprinkling of sacred meal, smoking, asperging of sacred water, etc. Here they prepare their prayer offerings, utter their prayers, and practise numerous other religious rites. Of the slabs and sticks in the ridge of the altar those of a zigzag form represent lightning, which is supposed to emanate from clouds, which are represented by the terraced parts on top of the slabs. The flat slabs symbolize stalks of corn, with ears of corn carved on them. The thin sticks are supposed to represent the departed members of the society. In front of the slabs are seen four bahos or prayer sticks, composed of two short sticks, a turkey feather, two kinds of herbs, and corn-husk pocket containing sacred meal and honey. The object to the right, and in front of the ridge, is the tipone or sacred badge of the society. It usually consists of an ear of corn, wound with cotton twine, and having on its top feathers of different birds; to its sides are tied sundry pieces of shell, turquoise, and other objects.

In front of the altar stands a medicine bowl, which is surrounded by six ears of corn,--a yellow one on the north side, a dark bluish one on the west side, a red one south, a white one east, a black one on the northeast (representing above), and sweet corn ear on the southwest (representing below). From this bowl, sacred water is asperged, and from a meal tray sacred meal is sprinkled on the altar during ceremonies.

Powamu Altar.

In the centre of the Powamu Altar is the framework. The four scenic circles on and over the head-piece represent clouds, and the symbol on the uprights blossoms, clouds, falling rain, etc. The larger of the idols within the framework represents Chowilawn, the God of Germination and Growth, the smaller one, Sotukonangwun, the God of Thunder, and the small, black figurine to the left of the framework is the representation of Pookong, the God of War. Between these idols stand numerous slabs, the zigzag formed representing lightning, the straight ones stalks of corn, etc. On each side of the altar proper stands a large wooden tablet, on which is drawn a picture of the Hiv Katchina, a personage that figures conspicuously in the ceremony on the sixth day, in which children are initiated into the Katchina order. On this occasion masked and gorgeously dressed men, who are supposed to be represented by these pictures, flog these small candidates for initiation.

In front of the altar may be seen a square, sand picture, containing cloud symbols, prayer offerings, blossoms, etc. Between this sand mosaic and the altar proper are rattles, a medicine bowl, ears of corn, meal trays, eagle feathers, and other objects.

The large object at the extreme left, consisting of a terraced tablet at the top, several zigzag sticks, and a stand at the bottom, represents clouds and lightning. The tablet and also the drawing in the upper part of it represent clouds, the crooked sticks lightning, and the two circular drawings, in the lower part of the tablet, symbolize blossoms. The small idol between two of the sticks is a figurine of Chowilawn.

The symbol to the right of the altar on the back wall, consisting of several semicircles, is that of towering rain clouds, with two rays of lightning emanating upward from it. The small, black lines on the lower border represent rain. To the left of the altar, on the same wall, appears the typical Hopi sun symbol, and on the left side wall that of the mythical water serpent, Balolookang. All of these wall pictures, however, are not an essential part of the altar.

This altar, like the one of the Tao Society, was reproduced by Mr. Voth. One of the subjects of his study was this altar and the various ceremonies connected with it, and while he was making these studies he succeeded in obtaining the photographs, drawings, measurements, notes, etc., from which he reproduced this elaborate piece of sacred Hopi ceremonial paraphernalia.

Hopi Door.

The door itself leading into this Altar Room is an interesting antique. It is a real Hopi door, brought from Oraibi, and supposed to be not less than one hundred and fifty years old. Its quaint method of swinging, the way it is put together and fastened with nothing but rawhide thongs, reveals, as few things could, the interesting inventions of necessity. Prior to their knowledge and use of doors, which they undoubtedly gained from the Mexicans, their doorways were closed by slabs of rock, as described in the chapter on "The First Discoverers and Inhabitants of the Grand Canyon." Those who have read that chapter will find many things of especial interest in this fascinating house.

Value of Hopi House.

The Hopi House is in itself a liberal education in the customs, arts, history, mythology, religious ceremonials, and industries of not only one, but many tribes of Indians. It is not only a good business investment, but a place of benefit to which one should go prepared intelligently to study. Such an one will come away with a keen appreciation of the incomparable ethnological advantages this building affords him, and he will not grudge any purchase, however large, the attractiveness of the display has led him to indulge in.

Dances in the Hopi House.

Every evening throughout the year, when a sufficient number of visitors are present to justify it, the Indians of the Hopi House give a few brief dances and songs, which faintly suggest the style of some of their more elaborate ceremonials.

It is seldom that the traveler will find less than three Indian tribes of distinct family represented at or near El Tovar. In the Hopi House, as is shown, there are Hopis and Navahos, and in their camp near by,there will generally be found a band of Havasupais from Havasu (Cataract) Canyon, making baskets or dressing buckskin.

To most people an Indian is an Indian, yet there is such a wonderful difference between these three peoples, in features, language, habits, religion, social customs and life, that a short comparison cannot fail to be of interest and profit.

The Hopi Indian.

The Hopis belong to the people popularly spoken of as "pueblos," but this name signifies nothing more than town Indians, as distinguished from the nomad or wandering tribes. They belong to the great Shoshonean family, and are a short, stocky, gentle people, given to agriculture, sheep raising, basketry and pottery, and a little weaving and silver work.

The Navaho Race.

The Navahos, on the other hand, are of Athabascan stock, coming from the north, and are blood brothers of the Tinnehs of Alaska, and the fierce and warlike Apaches of Southern Arizona. They are natural horsemen, raising great herds of their wiry, active, hardy ponies, as well as herds of sheep and goats. These are the chief industries of their men, and the women are the most skilled blanket-weavers in the world.

The Havasupais.

The Havasupais are of still another stock. They belong to the Yuman family, and are kin to the Wallapais, the Mohaves, Yumas and Cocopahs of the Colorado River.

Comparison of Three Races.

In appearance, the Hopi and Havasupai are more alike than either are like to the Navaho. As a rule, the Hopi is well built and stalwart, with the unmistakable Indian face, but with less coarse and sensual lips, higher and more intellectual brow, more alert and kindly eye, and stronger chin than the Havasupai. The lobes of the nostril are wide and flexible, showing the wonderful lung power of this great running people.

The Navaho shows, in the build of his flexible body, that he is a horseman, a rider. His face is one of the strongest of Indian types, and is distinctive and easily recognizable, as a rule. With high cheek bones, strong square jaws, flexible, thin lips, large, limpid eyes and expansive brows, the tribe shows a high order of intelligence, and while at rest, their faces are kindly and inviting. There is a flash in the eye when aroused that denotes great pride, absolute fearlessness and hatred of control. It is a race of warriors, a race that for two centuries harried the Spaniards as well as the gentle Hopi, whom they regarded as their legitimate prey.

Costumes of Hopi Men.

In dress, these three peoples are distinctive, though in these days of part civilization and close contact with the whites, the true Indian costume is being discarded for the conventional dress of the latter. The Hopi men generally wear the true pueblo costume. In olden days, it was the buckskin shirt and trousers, with a blanket over all. Now, the trousers are generally of white calico, with a slit on the sides from the knee down. A calico shirt is worn. The stockings are of blue wool, without feet. Moccasins, with a sole of thick rawhide and uppers of dressed buckskin, are worn. The invariable silk handkerchief, or red bandana "bands" surrounds the hair, which is cut long, generally long enough barely to reach the shoulders.

Costumes of Hopi Women.

The women's native dress is most picturesque, and far more adhered to than that of the men. The main dress is a welt-woven blanket of deep blue, sometimes with slight red decoration, which is fastened over the left shoulder and down the left side. The right shoulder is left bare, unless, as invariably is the case with the Indians who associate much with the whites, a light calico shirt is worn under the dress. It reaches to below the knees, and is encircled around the waist by a broad home-woven sash, which is wrapped two or three times around the body, and has the end carelessly tucked in. The feet are covered with moccasins, to which are attached swathings of buckskin, which are wrapped around and around the legs, until they are as large as ordinary sized stovepipes. The hair is worn in peculiar fashion, that symbolizes the social condition of the wearer. At puberty a maiden is required by the inflexible rule of the tribe to dress her hair in two great whorls--one over each ear--called "nashmi." These are in imitation of the squash blossom, which is the Hopi symbol of maidenhood and purity. When she marries, she must change the fashion of dressing the hair into two pendant rolls, in imitation of the fruit of the squash, which is their emblem or symbol for matronhood and chastity.

Navaho Men's Costumes.

The old time Navaho men wear the white calico trousers, slit up the side, and a shirt, either of colored calico or of some kind of velvet cloth. On the feet are moccasins, and the stockings are the same footless kind as worn by the Hopi, fastened below the knee with a wide garter. This is made in the same style as the sashes which the Hopi and Navaho women wear around their waists, but is neither so broad nor so long. The hair is either allowed to flow loosely over the shoulders, or is arranged in a kind of square knot at the back of the head. As a basis for this knot, a hairpin made of bone, from three to five inches long, smoothed almost flat, with beveled or rounded edges, and often rudely carved, is used. Around this knot a sash similar to a garter is generally wrapped to secure it. The universal bands is worn around the head to help bind the hair, and keep it away from the forehead.

Navaho Women's Costume.

The women wear a brown, green, or red velvet shirt, with a "squaw dress" beautifully woven of deep blue cotton, with a conventionally designed red border. Around the waist the wide sash, before described, is wound. This dress is both skirt and waist, but of late years those women who live in or near our civilization discard their native dress, and wear a skirt of calico, with the velvet shirt.

The Havasupai Dress.

The Havasupai men and women now wear as near the conventional dress of our race as their means will allow. When I first knew them, the men seldom wore more than a pair of moccasins and a breechcloth in summer, with buckskin shirt and trousers, and a Navaho blanket over the shoulders in winter. The conventional dress of the women at that time was a skirt made of shredded cedar bark, which was suspended from the waist to below the knees, without shirt or shirt-waist. In winter, a Navaho blanket was worn over the shoulders. Both men and women still wear the inevitable moccasins, though the "civilized" members of the tribe buy their shoes at the white man's store in Williams, Ash Fork or Seligman. The women generally bang their hair across, about the center of the forehead, and then allow the rest of the hair to hang loose. It is a great insult to a Havasupai woman to ask her to throw back her hair from her cheeks, and to do it oneself is a serious offense.

Language.

In language, these people are as different one from another as are the Turks, the Esquimaux and the French. Even in the simplest words these differences are marked. Take a few comparisons. For good the Hopi says lolomai, the Navaho yatehay and the Havasupai harnegie. Bad in Hopi is ka-lolomai (not good), Navaho da shonda (of the evil one), Havasupai han-a-to-opo-gi.

What a marvelous art is that of weaving, and how much the human race of today owes to the patient endeavors of the "little brown woman" of the past for the perfection to which she brought this,--one of the most primitive of the arts.

Blanketry was a necessary outcome of basketry. The use of flexible twigs for baskets readily suggested the use of pliable fibres for textiles; and there is little question that almost simultaneously with the first rude baskets the first textile fabrics made their appearance.

Whence the art had its origin we do not know. But it is a matter of record that in this country, three hundred and fifty years ago, when the Spanish first came into what is now United States territory, they found the art of weaving in a well advanced stage among the domestic and sedentary Pueblo Indians, and the wild and nomadic Navahos. Scientists who have given the question careful study, hold that the cotton of these blankets was grown by these Arizona Indians from time immemorial, and they also used the tough fibres of the yucca and agave leaves and the hairs of various wild animals, either separately or with the cotton. Their processes of weaving were exactly the same then as they are today, there being but slight difference between the methods followed before the advent of the whites and afterward. Hence, in a study of the Indian blanket, as it is made today, we are approximately nearly to the pure aboriginal method of pre-Columbian times.

Archeologists and ethnologists generally assume that the art of weaving on the loom was learned by the Navahos from their Pueblo neighbors. All the facts in the case seem to bear out this supposition. Yet, as is well known, the Navahos are a part of the great Athabascan family, which has scattered, by separate migrations, from Alaska into California, Arizona and New Mexico. Many of the Alaskans are good weavers, and according to Navaho traditions, their ancestors, when they came into the country, wore blankets that were made of cedar bark and yucca fibre. Even in the Alaska (Thlinket) blankets, made today of the wool of the white mountain goat, cedar bark is twisted in with the wool of the warp. Why, then, should not the Navaho woman have brought the art of weaving, possibly in a very primitive stage, from her original Alaskan home? That her art, however, has been improved by her contact with the Pueblo and other Indians, there can be no question, and, if she had a crude loom, it was speedily replaced by the one so long used by the Pueblo. Where the Pueblo weaver gained her loom we do not know, whether from the tribes of the South or by her own invention. But in all practical ways the primitive loom was as complete and perfect at the time of the Spanish conquest as it is today.

Any loom, to be complete, must possess certain qualifications. As Dr. Mason has well said: "In any style of mechanical weaving, however simple or complex, even in darning, the following operations are performed: First, raising and lowering alternately different sets of warp filaments to form the 'sheds'; second, throwing the shuttle, or performing some operation that amounts to the same thing; third, after inserting the weft thread, driving it home, and adjusting it by means of the batten, be it the needle, the finger, the shuttle or a separate device."

Indian looms are made of four poles cut from trees that line the nearest stream or grow in the mountain forests. Two of these poles are forked for uprights, and the cross beams are lashed to them above and below. Sometimes the lower beam is dispensed with and wooden pegs driven into the earth instead. The warp is then arranged on beams lashed to the top and bottom of the frame by means of a rawhide or horse-hair riata. Our Western word lariat is merely a corruption of lariata. Thus the warp is made tight and is ready for the nimble fingers of the weaver. Her shuttles are pieces of smooth, round sticks upon the ends of which she winds yarn. Small balls of yarn are frequently made to serve this purpose. By her side is a crude wooden comb with which she strikes a few stitches into place. When she wishes to wedge the yarn for a complete row--from side to side--she uses a flat broad stick, one edge of which is sharpened almost to knife-like keenness. This is called the "batten." With the design in her brain her busy and skilful fingers produce the pattern as she desires it, there being no sketch from which she may copy. In weaving a blanket of intricate pattern and many colors the weaver finds it easier to open the few warp threads needed with her fingers and then thrust between them the small balls of yarn, rather than bother with a shuttle, no matter how simple.

Before blankets can be made the wool must be cut from the sheep, cleaned, carded, spun and dyed. It is one of the interesting sights of the southwest region to see a flock of sheep and goats running together, watched over, perhaps, by a lad of ten or a dozen years, or by a woman who is ultimately to weave the fleeces they carry into substantial blankets. After the fleece has been sheared, the Navaho woman proceeds to wash it. Then it is combed with hand cards,--small flat implements with wire teeth, purchased from the traders. (These and the shears are the only modern implements used.) The dyeing is often done before the spinning but generally after. The spindle used is merely a slender stick thrust through a circular disc of wood. In spite of the fact that the Navahos have seen the spinning wheels in use by the Mexicans and Mormons, they have never cared either to make or adopt them. Their conservatism preserves the ancient, slow and laborious method. The Navahos live on a reservation which covers several hundred square miles, extending along the northern borders of New Mexico and Arizona where few travelers go. They do not live in villages or settlements and their homes are so scattered that one may travel a whole day without finding a woman at work with her loom. Day after day, however, one may see the carding, spinning and weaving processes in the Hopi House at El Tovar, where a little colony of Navahos is maintained.

Holding the spindle in the right hand, the point of the short end below the balancing disc resting on the ground and the long end on her knee, the spinner attaches the end of her staple close to the disc and then gives the spindle a rapid twirl. As it revolves she holds the yarn out so that it twists. As it tightens sufficiently she allows it to wrap on the spindle and repeats the operation until the spindle is full. The spinning is done loosely or tightly, according to the fineness of the weave required in the blanket.

The quality and value of a Navaho blanket is governed largely by the fineness of the weave. The yarn in some of the cheaper qualities now made is often coarse and loosely spun, and the warp, or chain, which has much to do with the life of a blanket, may be improperly spun and of uneven strength. A blanket of a given size may be made in two weeks, or in four, or in two months, according to the quality of the work and the skill of the weaver. Next in importance to the fineness of the weave is the proper blending of colors. Though a woman may have the highest skill in her primitive art, she must take time to study out the color scheme for her blanket. These are the principal factors, but there are others which enter into the making of a blanket, and the finer the product of the loom the more difficult the work becomes.

There are still a limited number of very fine blankets made. The number is governed largely by the demand.

In the original or natural colors there are white, brown, gray and black; the latter rather a grayish black, or better salt, as Mathews describes it, "rusty." Many of the best blankets now produced are of these natural colors, with sometimes a touch of red.

There are certain Navaho blankets much sought after by the collector, especially those rare old specimens made of purely native dye, the colors of which have softened into harmonious tones. These have not been made for many years past and most of the specimens in perfect state of preservation that are in existence were obtained from Mexican families where they had been handed down from generation to generation as heirlooms. Often in these old specimens the red figures were made of bayeta. As Mason says: "The word 'bayeta' is nothing but the simple Spanish for the English 'baize' and is spelled 'bayeta' and not 'ballets' or 'valets.'" Formerly bayeta was a regular article of commerce. It was generally sold by the rod and not by the pound. Now, however, the duty is so high that its importation is practically prohibited.

This bayeta or baize was unravelled and the Indian woman often retwisted the warp to make it firmer. She then rewove it into her incomparable blankets.

From the earliest days the Navahos have been expert dyers, their colors being black, brick-red, russet, blue, yellow, and a greenish yellow akin to an old gold shade.

There is abundant evidence that they formerly had a blue dye, but indigo, originally introduced probably by the Mexicans, has superceded this. If in former days they had a native blue or yellow they must of necessity have had a green. They now make green of their native yellow and indigo, the latter being the only imported dye stuff in use among them.

To make the black dye three ingredients were used: yellow ochre, pinion gum and the leaves and twigs of the aromatic sumac (thus aromatics). The ochre is pulverized and roasted until it becomes a light brown, when it is removed from the fire and mixed with an equal quantity of pinion gum. This mixture is then placed on the fire and as the roasting continues it first becomes mushy, then darker as it dries until nothing but a fine black powder remains. This powder is called "keyh-batch." In the meantime the sumac leaves and twigs are being boiled. Five or six hours are required to fully extract the juices. When both are cooled they are mixed and immediately a rich, bluish-black fluid called "ele-gee-batch" is formed.

For yellow dye the tops of a flowering weed (Bigelovia graveolens) are boiled for hours until the liquid assumes a deep yellow color. As soon as the extraction of color juices is complete the dyer takes some native alum (almogen) and heats it over the fire. When it becomes pasty she generally adds it to the boiling concoction, which slowly becomes of the required yellow color,--"kayel-soly-batch."

The brick red dye, "says-tozzie-batch," is extracted from the bark and the roots of the sumac, and ground alder bark, with the ashes of the juniper as a mordant. She now immerses the wool and allows it to remain in the dye for half an hour or an hour.

Whence come the designs incorporated by these simple weavers into their blankets, sashes and dresses? In this as in basketry and pottery, the answer is found in nature. Many of their textile designs suggest a derivation from basketry ornamentation, which originally came from nature. The angular, curveless figures of interlying plaits predominate and the principal subjects are the same--conventional devices representing clouds, stars, lightning, the rainbow, and emblems of the deities. These simple forms are produced in endless combination and often in brilliant, kaleidoscopic grouping, sometimes representing broad effects of scarlet, black, green, yellow, and blue upon scarlet, and the wide ranges of color skilfully blended upon a ground of white. The centre of the fabric is frequently occupied with tessellated or lozenge patterns of multicolored sides; or divided into panels of contrasting colors, in which different designs appear. Some display symmetric zigzags, converging and spreading throughout their length. In others bands of high color are defined by zones of neutral tints, or parted by thin, bright lines into a checkered mosaic. In many only the most subdued shades appear. Fine effects are obtained by using a short gray wool in its natural state, to form the body of the fabric in solid color, upon which figures in black, white and red are introduced. Sometimes blankets are woven in narrow stripes of black and deep blue with borders relieved in tinted meanders along the sides and ends, or a central figure in the dark body with the design repeated in a diagonal panel at each corner.

The greatest charm of these primitive fabrics is the unrestrained freedom of the weaver in her treatment of primitive conventions. To the checkered emblem of the rainbow she adds sweeping rays of color, typifying sunbeams. Below the many angled cloud group she inserts random pencil lines of rain; or she often softens the rigid lines signifying lightning, with graceful interlacing and shaded tints. Not confining herself alone to these traditional devices, she often creates realistic figures of common objects such as her grass brush, wooden weaving fork, a stalk of corn, a bow, an arrow or a plume of feathers from a dancer's mask. Although the same characteristic styles of weaving and decoration are general, none of the larger designs are ever reproduced with exactness. Every fabric carries some distinct variation or suggestion of the occasion of its making.

Among the Navahos the women invariably do the weaving though in the past a few men were experts in the art. Among the Pueblo Indians the men perform this work. The products of the Pueblo looms are readily distinguishable from those of the Navahos, the latter having far out-distanced the Pueblos in the excellence of their work. Only among the Hopi, are blankets made that in any way resemble the work of the Navahos. Generally a Hopi man weaver can be found at work in the Hopi House, as well as Navaho women weavers.

The Hopi to this day preserve the custom of wearing a bridal costume completely woven out of cotton. After the wedding breakfast the groom's father "takes some native cotton and, running through the village, distributes it among the relations and friends of the family. They pick the seeds from the cotton and return it. A few days later a crier announces from the roof of a house that on a certain day the cotton for the bridal costume will be spun in the kivas." Here the friends assemble and "the rasping of the carding combs and the buzzing of the primitive spindles" are heard accompanied by singing, joking and laughing of the crowd. This cotton is then woven either by the bridegroom or his father or other male relation, into square blankets, one measuring about 60 by 72 inches, the other about 50 by 60 inches, also a sash with long knotted fringes at each end. When woven they are given a coating of wet kaolin, which adds to their whiteness.

This preparation of garments often takes several weeks, during which time the young married couple reside at the home of the groom's parents. Now the bride, with considerable simple ceremony, walks with one of the robes on, and the other in a reed wrapper, to her mother's house where, unless her husband has prepared a separate home for them, they continue to reside. In the Field Columbian Museum, Chicago, is a fine model showing the young bride wearing her new garment, going to her mother's home.

In their ceremonial dances, the Hopi women wear cotton blankets, highly embroidered at the sides and edges with red, green, and black wool. Fine specimens may be found in the Hopi House. Similar to these in style, though long and narrow in shape, are the ceremonial kilts or sashes of the men. In pictures showing the march of the Antelope Priests during the Hopi Snake Dance these beautiful sashes are well depicted.

In addition to the products of the vertical loom, the Navaho and Pueblo women weave a variety of smaller articles all of which are remarkable for their strength, durability and striking designs.

In weaving sashes, belts, hair bands, garters, etc., the weaver uses a "heddle frame" similar to those found in Europe and New England. None of these have been found in places that assure us of their use before the Spanish occupation, so we conclude that they were introduced by the conquistadores or the early colonists about 350 years ago.

The Thlinkets of Alaska, also, are good weavers. In the Fred Harvey collection in the Hopi House, El Tovar, and Albuquerque, the United States National Museum and the Museum of Princeton University, fine collections of their work are to be seen. These collections generally consist of cape and body blankets made of the wool of the white mountain-goat. The colors are white, black, blue and yellow. The black is a rich sepia, obtained from the devil-fish; the blue and yellow colors coming from two barks grown in the Alexandrian archipelago. The white is the native color and the fringe of both cape and blanket is undyed. To strengthen and give solidity to the garment, the fibrous bark of the yellow root is twisted into the warp.

Primitive Processes.

The primitive industries of a primitive people are always interesting to the student. They are more; they often reveal more than appears at first sight. We, with our present knowledge of improved mechanical methods, stand and watch an Indian silversmith or potter, and we laugh at the crudity of the methods employed, naturally comparing them with our own. But this is not the proper way to look upon the work of the aborigine. Rather let the gazer imagine himself without any of his advanced knowledge. Let him project himself into past ages, and find himself groping his way out of the darkness of primitive ignorance. He will find himself seeking for many centuries, ere he invents and discovers even the rude processes used today by the Indian. As an inventor, the aborigine has laid us under great obligation, for he discovered the first steps of mechanical progress, without which all later steps would have been impossible.

Hopi Pottery.

In the Hopi House, the processes of making pottery and silverware by primitive methods may be seen in active operation, though in the manufacture of silver, some modern appliances have taken the place of the ancient ones. In the pottery, however, everything is exactly as it used to be before the white race appeared on the American continent. The Hopi woman brings her clay with her from some pit or quarry in Hopiland, where experience has demonstrated a good pottery clay is found.

After thoroughly washing, pulverizing and crushing, it is ready to be worked up into domestic and other utensils. Squatted upon the ground, the potter places in her lap a small basket, wood, or pottery base, upon which she places a "dab" of clay. This she thumbs and pats, until it forms the basis of the new vessel. Then another piece of clay is rapidly rolled between her hands, until it is in the form of along rope. This rope is then coiled around the edge of the base already made, pressed well into it and then smoothed down. After four or five coils of clay are thus added, the potter takes a small "spat," generally a piece of dried gourd skin, dips it into water, and proceeds to smooth out and make thin the clay coils. As quickly and dexterously as can be, her hands and the spat manipulate the vessel, until it has the desired shape. More coils of clay are then added, and the shaping continues until the vessel is complete. Now it is put out into the sun to dry, and when reasonably solid, it is ready for the painting and decoration. With a rude brush made of horsehair or yucca fibre, and paints gathered and ground by herself, she works out the design that her imagination has already created and pictured upon her piece of work. Some of these designs represent conventionalized objects of nature--birds, clouds, mountains, rain, corn, lightning, tadpoles, dragon-flies, horned toads, serpents and the like; others are purely geometrical, and the variety and extent of them are more wonderful than any except the experts realize. In a monograph upon the ancient pottery of these people, Dr. Fewkes pictures every known geometrical figure of ancient and modern times, all of which were copied by him from vessels that have been excavated from ancient ruins and graves.

The Pottery of Nampeyo.

Every village has its own style of pottery. Among the Hopis, the finest potter is a resident of Tewa or Hano, Nampeyo by name. Her ware is characterized by beauty of shape, perfection of form, dignity and character in design, and a general appearance that is pleasing and artistic. Zuni pottery is of a superior quality to that of Acoma, Laguna, and the other villages near by, and often contains in its designs the deer, with its peculiar red line of throat leading to the heart.

Black Pottery.

At Santa Domingo and Santa Clara, pueblos on the Rio Grande, a black ware is produced that is effective and strongly decorative in certain pieces.

Ancient Varieties.

Ancient ware, dug from ruins and graves, is exceedingly rare and commands a high price. There are three distinguishable varieties, among others, that denote comparative age. The earliest type is of the corrugated ware, in which the thumb and finger marks, denoting the pressure of the coils, one upon another, are clearly in evidence. Some pottery was made in basket matrices, and marks of the basket are clearly outlined upon the outside of the vessels so made.

The second type is the plain black and white ware, and the third is the red ware painted with black designs.

Both ancient and modern ware, the latter in large variety, may be seen and purchased at the Hopi House.

Navaho Silverware.

Of equal interest is the making of silverware by the Navaho peshlikai, or silversmith, whose primitive forge is in the first room entered at the Hopi House.

Fondness for Silver.

The innate desire of a primitive people for personal adornment early led the pueblo Indians to a use of metal. When the Spaniards and Mexicans came among them, the iron, brass and copper of the conquerors were soon added to the dried seeds, shell beads, pieces of turquoise and coral they had hitherto used. But silver has ever been their favorite metallic ornament. Long ago they formed an ideal in the Spanish don or Mexican vaquero, with his personal apparel adorned with silver, his horse's bridle trapped out with silver belts, buckles and buttons, and his saddle and its equipment studded with silver nails and other fanciful expressions of adornment. From the Mexican and the pueblo Indian he rapidly picked up the necessary knowledge, and practice soon gave the skill to fashion the silver into every desired shape.

Navahos Used Silver Three Centuries Ago.

Cushing contends that the Zunis knew how to smelt metals before the Spanish conquest, but the statement is strongly disputed. There can be no question, however, but that the large use of silver ornaments by both pueblo and Navaho Indians dates from three hundred and fifty years ago, after Coronado's conquistadores had found out that this was no land of gold and precious metals, as was Peru.

In almost every pueblo of Arizona and New Mexico, and in many a Navaho hogan, one may find the primitive silversmith at work. There is no silversmith's shop, but generally in a corner of the quaint pueblo house, or in an adjunct to the Navaho hogan, the worker quietly pursues his important avocation; for in a community whose members have no other metallic arts, the silversmith is an important man, and sees to it that his profession is regarded with the high dignity it deserves.

Method of Working.

With a rude mud forge,--the bellows of which, though primitive, is as ingenious as any patent bellows invented,--a hammer, a piece of railroad steel for an anvil, a three-cornered file, one or two punches, a crucible which he understands how to make as well as the best metallurgist in the land, and a bit of solder, he goes to work. Sometimes he runs his melted Mexican dollars into primitive moulds; again he hammers the metal into the shape he requires. He creates rings, some of them containing rude pieces of turquoise, garnet, etc., well designed bracelets, belt-disks, large and small silver buttons (some of which are admirably adapted for belt-buckles), earrings, necklaces, crosses, beads, bangles, clasps of silver for bridles, etc.

Ornaments and jewelry.

The two most cherished objects are the waist-belt and the necklace, though far more rings and bracelets are to be found. But this is on account of the great expense of the former. The waist belts generally consist of eight moulded plates, either circular or oval, with filleted border and scalloped edges, each plate weighing from two to four ounces. These are punctured in the center, or a small band is soldered to the back, to admit of their being threaded upon a long and narrow belt of leather, the ends of which are fastened with a buckle. Both men and women wear these, and they are highly prized as ornaments by both sexes. The necklaces are equally in vogue, the designs being principally hollow beads, crosses, and ornaments representing pomegranate blossoms. The silver bridle is also an object of great esteem. It is made of curiously designed, heavy clasps of silver, fastened upon leather, with numberless buttons shaped from coins. Many of these weigh not less than fifteen ounces, and some as high as forty, hence their value can be readily estimated.

A Hopi Religious Rite.

Interesting among Indians, because of their unique houses on the summits of high mesas, reached only by precipitous trails, the Hopi of northern Arizona always have possessed peculiar fascination on account of their thrilling religious rite, known as the Snake Dance, an account of which follows.*

The Painted Desert.

The region they live in, named the Province of Tusayan by the Spanish conquistadores, three hundred and fifty years ago, is a region of color. The rocks of which the mesas are built, the sand of the desert, the peculiarly carved buttes which abound on every hand, are all strikingly colored, with such a variety of hues and tints that one does not wonder at the name--the Painted Desert--which is applied to the country through which we must travel to reach Hopiland.

A Saddle Trip from El Tovar.

The traveler who wishes to visit this fascinating and unique region can arrange for full equipment at El Tovar. The trip will be a saddle one and all outfits will have to be transported on pack burros.

The Old Hopi Trail.

The road followed is practically the line of the old Hopi trail. On the way out, the interested traveler may visit Grand View Point and Hotel, Hance's Old Camp and Trail, the Red Canyon Trail, Moran's, and all the other salient points at the eastern end of the Grand Canyon. Especially should he stand on faraway Navaho Point, or Desert View. This is the last of the promontories before the rim of the Canyon turns sharply to the north. Below it, a vast amphitheatre is opened out with more precipitous walls than at any other part of the Canyon. The sweep of the river, the mouth of Marble Canyon, the superlative richness of coloring at this point, combined with the unequalled views of the Painted Desert, which lies to the right, or east, afford a place of varied delight, scarce found elsewhere on the whole Canyon rim.

Hopi Cornfields.

Crossing the Little Colorado River at the Tanner Crossing, Moenkopi is visited, and then a day's ride of forty miles over the Painted Desert brings one to the cornfields of the Hopi, as properly they should be called. For years, they have been known as the Moki, a term of reproach applied in derision by the Navahos. These cornfields are a wonderful monument to the thrift of the Hopi. White men would have starved to death in the place, before they would have dreamed of planting corn in such an inhospitable-looking soil. No springs or streams sufficient to irrigate with, unversed in digging wells and pumping water to the surface, one would have thought an ignorant Indian would have looked elsewhere before planting his corn in such a place. But the Indian is not so ignorant. His life, from the cradle to the grave, is one of close observation. His very existence depends upon its exercise. He soon discovered, therefore, that there was a natural subsoil irrigation in certain parts of this desert, where his corn would grow. And grow it does, most wonderfully. Sometimes water is scarce; then the crop decreases, but generally a good crop may be relied upon. To hoe his cornfield, a Hopi will often run over the desert forty, fifty, sixty, and even eighty miles in a day. Sometimes, when the field is near by, the Hopi will ride on his burro. These cunning creatures are almost a necessity of Indian life. The streets would seem lonely without them. It will be noticed occasionally that one of these animals has lost part of his left ear. This is proof that he is possessed of kleptomaniac proclivities. If a burro is found stealing corn, he is sentenced to have part of his ear cut off.

Oraibi.

On one of these burros we ride up the steep trail that brings us to the westernmost village of the Hopi, Oraibi. It is perched high on the mesa top, several hundred feet above the valley, and the various trails are steep and rugged. Some of them are sheer climbs, up which no animal other than man can go. There are six other villages, three of them ten miles, and the other three about twenty miles, to the east of Oraibi. They, also, are perched upon high mesas, which thrust themselves, like long fingers, into the sandy desert. On the middle mesa are Shungopavi, Mashongnovi and Shipaulovi, while on the eastern mesa are Walpi, Sichomovi and Hano.

Sandstone Houses.

All the houses are built of rude pieces of sandstone, cemented with mud. Steps are made of larger slabs of stone, and often the only means of access is by long ladders, the poles of which tower high above the buildings, and give a singularly picturesque aspect to the village. In the olden days, there were neither doors nor windows in the first story of the houses. They were built so purposely, since they must serve for fortresses as well as homes.

Hopi Wafer. Bread.

One is often likely to find a woman engaged in making piki. Piki is a wafer bread, peculiar to the Hopis. It is finer than the finest tortilla of the Mexican, or oatcake of the Scotch. No biscuit maker in America or England can make a cracker one-half so thin. The thinnest cracker is thick compared with piki, and yet the Hopi make it with marvelous dexterity. Cornmeal batter in a crude earthenware bowl, is the material; a smooth, flat stone, under which a brisk fire is kept burning, is the instrument; and the woman's quick fingers, spreading a thin layer of the batter over the stone, perform the operation. It looks so easy. A lady of one of my parties tried it once, and failed. My cook, a stalwart Kansas City man, knew he would not fail. And he didn't. He had four of the best-blistered fingers I have seen in a long time. But the Hopi woman merely greases the stone, dips her fingers into the batter, carries them lightly and carelessly over the heated surfaces, and, in a moment, strips the already baked sheet from the stone. When several are baked, she folds them over and over until they are about the size of an elongated shredded wheat biscuit.

Hopi Women as Builders.

It is a reversal of our conception of things to see the "gentler sex " engaged in building a house, as is often the case in Hopiland. Yet to the Hopi there is nothing strange in this scene, for the woman, and not the man, is the owner of the house. Hence, the Hopi reasons, why should she not build it? It is hers, so let her make it; and she does. She uses no spirit-level, no plumb line, no square, no saw, and yet she makes a creditable house, fairly square and plumb, warm and cosy in winter, and cool and comfortable in summer. The mud of the winter's watercourses is used as mortar, and the pieces of disintegrated sandstone, that abound on the mesa tops, form the building material.

Men Who Weave and Knit.

In accordance with Hopi logic, the antithesis of the woman house-builders is to be seen daily in the men who are engaged in weaving the women's garments; men, also, knit the stockings, and follow other so-called feminine occupations. There is nothing incongruous in these things to them. They are part of "the way of the old," handed down to them by their forefathers.

Hopi Method of Weaving.

To watch a weaver at work is to acquire a new respect for Indians. As one sees the crude, home-made appliances, and then watches the yarn climb up, thread by thread, battened down by hand so that the garment will hold water, until the article is finished, artistically designed, and perfectly fitted for its required purpose, he comes to the conclusion that the Hopi weaver, at least, is a skilled artificer.

Hopi Rituals.

The Hopi are a remarkably religious people. I question whether there is to be found elsewhere in the world so ritualistic a people as they are. They have ceremonies--all of religious character for every month of the year, and some of them require from eight to sixteen days for their observance. Their dances are propitiations of the gods they worship, and whose aid they implore. One of the most noted and world-renowned of their ceremonies is the Snake Dance, and I wish to conclude this chapter with a brief description of this wonderful act, which I have now witnessed thirteen separate times. It has been woefully misrepresented by careless writers.

The whole ceremony is conducted with a dignity and solemnity that is not surpassed by any Christian observance.

Hopi Mythology Regarding Snake Dance.

It is not a dance, in our sense of the word. It is a prayer for rain, and of thanksgiving for the blessings of harvest. Neither is it an act of snake worship. According to Hopi mythology, the snake and antelope clans, or families, are descended from the union of Tiyo and his brother with two sisters, daughters of the snake mother,--Tiyo being the paternal Ancestor of the Snake Clan, and his brother of the Antelope Clan. The story of Tiyo's visit, using a sealed-up hollow pinion log as a boat, and sailing down the Colorado river through "shipapu" to the underworld, is one of the most interesting pieces of aboriginal folk-lore. It appears elsewhere,* and forms the burden of the sixteen dramatic songs sung in the secrecy of the underground ceremonial kivas of the snake and antelope clans, in the nine days of preliminary ceremonial, which culminate in the open-air public dance.

Preparation for Snake Dance.

At noon a secret ceremony takes place in the dark recesses of the kiva, viz.: the washing of the elder brothers (as the snakes are called), which I have fully described in "The Indians of the Painted Desert Region." When the afternoon shadows lengthen, every available place in the dance plaza is speedily occupied by the villagers and visitors, who wait the march of the antelope priests. The photographers present must keep within a certain line.

Arrival of Snake Priests.

After circling in front of the kisi (a cottonwood bower in which the snakes are kept) the antelope priests line up with their faces fronting from the kisi. There they sing and dance awhile, waiting for the snake priests. These come from their kiva to the south of the dance plaza, and, as they arrive, all sounds are hushed and all attention concentrated upon them. They circle before the kisi, and then line up facing the antelope priests.

Appearance of Priests.

Some people say they are hideous; others have said, with me, that the sight is sublime. If one looks merely at the half-nude bodies, made repulsive by a coating of reddish black paint, with dabs of whitewash in several places, at their faces painted with the reddish black stuff, at the strings of white beads around their necks, and the snake whips in their hands, then indeed it is easy to say that they are hideous. But if one looks at their faces, he will see intense earnestness, deep solemnity, profound dignity, and unflinching belief in the necessity for and power of the prayer about to be offered. Then, too, with what simple, trustful bravery they handle the snakes, when that part of the ceremony comes! They know the danger; no one more so. Indeed, if a priest is afraid, he is not allowed to participate. Not only would his fear prevent his own proper worship, but it would interfere with that of his comrades.

Variety of Snakes.

There were few snakes at Oraibi, the year I last saw the dance there, but those they had were active and vicious. There were several rattlers, some red racers, and a few bull snakes. The light was good, and several first-class photographs were made which actually show the snakes in the mouths of the priests. At the Snake Dance in the other villages, the priest swings the snake out of his mouth, and allows it to fall. Here, I noticed that every snake was gently placed upon the ground by the priest who had been carrying it in his mouth. The antelope men never leave their line, during the handling of the snakes. They continue to sing during the whole performance.

Purification of Priests.

While waiting for the priests to return, after taking the snakes into the valley, I learned of several slight changes, owing to changed circumstances. The rain had made numerous small pools at the top of the mesa. The priests, in returning, divested themselves of all their ceremonial paraphernalia, and washed the paint from their bodies, before returning to the kiva and drinking the emetic. Generally, they have gone to their homes at Oraibi or at Walpi, have had the women bring water to the west side of the mesa, and there washed themselves.

The Old Hopi Trail.

One of the most noted aboriginal trails in the western United States, is the old Hopi (generally called Moki) trail, leading from the seven villages of the Hopi and their agricultural offshoot, Moenkopi, to the Canyon of the Havasupais. This was the trail followed by Lieut. Frank Hamilton Cushing--the noted ethnologist when he visited these Kuhne kiwes while he was living at the interesting pueblo of Zuni, in New Mexico. I have made the whole trip from Hopiland to the Havasupais and back twice, and have ridden for many years over small portions of the trail. It is intimately connected with the history of two of the people seen most at the Canyon. According to one of the Havasupai legends, the Hopis and Havasupais are descended from twin brothers. Hence they have always been friendly and have traded continuously the products of their own manufacture. The Hopis exchange their horses, sheep, and burros, laden with blankets, pottery and silverware, for buckskin, Havasupai baskets (which they prize very highly), dried peaches, etc.

Originally this was a foot trail; then horses, burros and mules were used; and now, in some portions of its distance, notably from Moenkopi to Oraibi, it is used for wagons.

A Six Day Journey.

Let us leave the home of the Havasupais and go on a visit to the Hopis. Our trip into Havasu Canyon is described in another chapter. I discussed the matter with several of the leading Havasupais, and they told me that the trip will be arduous and long. How long? Five, six days!

A Side Trail.

But before starting I decided to see one of the outlets to Havasu Canyon, that used to be a part of the old trail, and that was used as an inlet when General Crook and his soldiers came there. The trail is called after a spring bearing the name Pack-a-tha-true-ye-ba. Never did I have such a sense of the maze of canyons contained in this system of canyons as on that trip. My guide was Sinyela, one of the most intelligent Indians of the whole tribe. We left the Havasupai village early one morning, each riding an Indian pony, with all the provisions we thought we should need on our saddles. After awhile, we entered a side canyon I had never before explored. During the whole of that day we toiled, riding as hard as we could over the almost trackless canyon floor; trailing through deep sand; climbing over masses of boulders that freshets or cloud-bursts had. piled between the walls; forcing our way through dense willows; scratched by thickets of mesquites. Again and again in the walls were seen cliff-dwellings and corn storage houses. The heat was intense, and radiated from the precipitous walls on either side.

The Camp at Night.

When night came, we ate our frugal meal, our horses standing by waiting to be hobbled and turned loose. For beds, we had the nearest layer of sand we could find, with our saddles for pillows.

Suffering from Thirst.

Early in the morning we started again, winding and curving with the course of the Canyon. For nearly two days we had been without fresh water, and the little we had brought in our wicker-woven, pinion-gum-covered esuwas had to suffice for our needs. Suddenly we entered a vast amphitheatre, with a rude arch at the end. It was flower-covered, with occasional trees, and here, hidden from any but the view of an Indian, was found a tiny spring of coolest, purest water. How we enjoyed it!

A Dangerous Slope.

On the third day, we came to the place where the soldiers descended from the plateau above into the depths of the Canyon. There was no well-defined trail, and the slope was steep enough to make one's flesh creep. The site was marked with disaster. Here a pack mule had slipped, fallen, and been dashed to pieces; there a man had fallen and been killed. It was a difficult descent, but nerve and pluck had accomplished it. Beyond was the Pack-a-tha-true-ye-ba Spring, and after seeing its water I determined that we must return.

Capturing Wild Ponies.

On our way back, Sinyela made a proposition that, as our ponies were exceedingly weary, we catch some fresh ones of his, for this was his "stock range," and he knew where there were plenty of good animals. The horses were wild, as range horses generally are, but Sinyela was crafty. He knew of a blind ravine, or rocky pocket, into which we could drive the horses we needed, and to that end all our energies were directed. Darting back and forth to arrest the dodging and fleeing animals, we at length succeeded in "penning" about a dozen horses in the pocket. Then I watched Sinyela, hand extended, slowly and stealthily approach the pony he needed. Time and again, as he got nearer and nearer, all the time making a peculiar sissing sound, the horse would suddenly swing around and endeavor to dash away. But I was "guard of the gate," and it was my business to see that none of the band escaped. It took us fully two hours to catch the two horses. At last they were ours. Neither was well broken, though both had been ridden, and the first thing Sinyela did was to blindfold them. The saddles were removed from our jaded ponies, and placed upon the new ones. The starts of terror and anger showed what we had ahead of us. Bridles were adjusted, and then, with our fresh ponies still blindfolded, we sprang into our saddles. When our feet were firmly placed and all was ready, we lifted the blinds from the horses' eyes and then braced ourselves. Digging our heels into the ponies' sides, off we started, at a jerking, bounding, half-bucking pace. Shouting directions to each other, helter-skelter, over and around boulders, we dashed along as if we were after the hounds on a genuine old-fashioned fox-hunt. I suppose we kept it up a full hour, at topmost speed. The horses didn't want to stop, and Sinyela knew that the best way to break them was to let them have their own way. But before the day was over, the ponies were considerably tamed down, and it was a weary band that stopped for camp that night. The animals were duly hobbled and turned loose; I lit a camp fire, though we had nothing to cook and no kettle for boiling water, and dirty, dusty, with every nerve and fibre of my body weary and aching, I finally stretched out on the solid earth and wooed "balmy sleep." The ride was resumed next day. We finally got ourselves to Sinyela's camp in safety, where a sweat-bath and a swim in the delicious waters of Havasu fully rested us.

The Hopi Trail Ascent.

We decided to leave Havasu Canyon by way of the "Make" Trail. This is the same trail as that described in the chapter on the descent into Havasu Canyon from El Tovar, as far up as the point where the pictured rocks appear. Here the Hopi trail turns and follows the course of the main Havasu Canyon. Cushing counted forty-four knots in his buckskin fringe from the village to the exit, each knot denoting an abrupt curve or angle in the winding canyons. The Topocobya Trail descends a sheer cliff of stupendous majesty, and the Wallapai Trail is enough to shatter the nervous system of any but the most experienced; but the Hopi Trail ascent out of the Canyon is different, in that, in several places, it passes through narrow clefts, with ponderous, overhanging rocks, the whole course barely wide enough to permit a laden mule to get through with its pack. It is an almost vertical ascent of about twelve hundred feet which winds around and up the clefts, up steps hacked out of the solid rock with flint axes and hammers, by the patient hands of long-dead Indians.

The Legend of Ahaiuta.

The Hopis and the Zunis believe this to be the spot where the Zuni god; Ahaiuta, one of the twin gods of war, after the waters of the world had arisen and overwhelmed the nations of their ancestry, and flooded the whole earth from the far west to the Rio Grande, dug a little outlet for the waters. The flood, finding this hole, had rushed down into the interior of the earth, and had thus worn this terrific cleft, and the gorge below, leaving the marks of its strife upon the banded rocks which surrounded and hovered over us.

Now we scrambled over great rocks, then along a foot-wide trail, and at length wound our way out along a massive bank of talus. Around at the head of the trail, I sent Sinyela back, and started alone along the historic trail across the plateau. The general scenery of the plateau already has been described.

A Roundabout Drive.

At this point, I prevailed upon Mr. Bass to hitch two horses and two mules to his ambulance (which had once been a United States Army ambulance and was used in his Arizona campaigns by General Nelson A. Miles), and drive--a roundabout way to the northeastern slopes of the San Francisco range, thence to the Little Colorado River, where we would again strike the Hopi trail from Moenkopi to Oraibi. There were four of us in the party. From the rim of the Canyon direct to the Little Colorado the route is, at present, inaccessible for wagons. It is a horse trail, and somewhat of the same nature as all the plateau trails through the Kohonino (Coconino) Forest. Hence our roundabout wagon trip.

On the Fringe of the Painted Desert.

Filling our canteens to the nozzle, we drove over the western fringe of the Painted Desert. Skirting the mountain, we made a "dry camp" that night, and used up every drop of water next morning. Some went for our coffee, and the rest was given to the animals. Then we started for the far-away Tanner Crossing of the Little Colorado, across the thirsty desert. As we were without water, it was natural that, on that particular day, the elements should combine to make it hotter than usual. A few clouds sprang into existence, but we felt no breath of cooling air, and as the day grew, the clouds became burning glasses to focus the sun's heat more powerfully upon us. Late in the afternoon, our eyes were delighted with the sight of what seemed to be a pool of water, in the road ahead of us. Parched almost to keen suffering, we drove our weary and thirsty horses right into it, scaring away, as we did so, several horses that were standing there, and then, not waiting for cups or ceremony, each man threw himself flat on his stomach and began to drink the uninviting compound. A heavy shower had fallen in this one spot, and the pool had not yet had time to evaporate.

A Dash Across the Little Colorado.

The day was sultry and betokened a heavy rain storm, so, when we reached the Little Colorado, we decided to get over that night, since, if the storm came, it might render crossing impossible. Our ambulance was heavily laden, and the crossing dangerous. Before I ventured, we unloaded about half the weight, and then I undressed, save for my undershirt, and went to investigate the bed of the crossing for quicksands. As soon as I had determined where to drive, we started across.

Whipping up the mules, and keeping their necks well into their collars, we dashed across in safety. Immediately the wagon was unloaded, I turned it around and crossed alone. The remainder of the load was put in, with our two men, and, one of them seated by my side with the whip, we "yelled" ourselves across again. Our wagon was stopped in a sandy drift, our grub box thrown out, a fire lighted, and with the impending storm in close proximity, we hurriedly cooked and ate our evening meal. No sooner was my plate cleared than, taking my roll of blankets, I wearily threw them down not more than ten feet from the wagon, too utterly "played out" to seek shelter in the cliff beyond, where a number of cave-like shelves afforded good level sleeping places, secure from the storm. As I unrolled my blankets, I called to the men to be sure to put out the camp fire and place the sugar sack, etc., in the grub box and close the lid. I was no sooner stretched out than I was sound asleep.

A Storm at Night.

One of my companions insisted upon unrolling his blankets close to me, in spite of the fact that a terrible storm might break over us at any time. Poor fellow! He had scarcely gotten to sleep when a frightful gust of wind swept down upon us. Awakened with the noise, my eye caught a glimpse of the flaming brands from the fire being tossed into the wagon, and I rushed to the rescue. In a fierce wind, with a wagon and its contents dried out by the fierce Arizona sun, I knew there was not a moment to lose. Fortunately, I had left a pail, of water close by, and with this I doused out not only the flames in the wagon, but the remnant of the camp fire. It was pitch dark by now. All at once, with a light that was blinding in its intensity, and with a terrible clap of thunder, the storm burst upon us. It was, without any question, one of the fiercest short storms, accompanied with the most vivid lightning, I have ever seen. The darkness was so black, that, like that of Egypt during the plague, it seemed almost as if it might be felt. With a suddenness that was awe-inspiring, it became light as noonday. The lightning was of a brilliant, violet tint, and shone with fervent intensity. And it was not merely a few flashes. It came down in millions of jagged streaks, completely filling the heavens to the horizon in every direction.

A Frightened Traveler.

In one of these blinding flashes, I caught sight of my neighbor. His face wore an expression of anguish. In his dread he had arisen, and had tried to pick up his clothes and blankets, in the hope of reaching shelter. In one of the sudden lulls of the tempest, I heard him talking to himself: "Shall I ever live through this awful night? Can I get to those cliffs? Why doesn't some one come to help me? I'm going to die. There's no help for it!" Taking advantage of the next flash, I picked up my blankets and carried them to the cliffs; then returned to him, gathered up his belongings, and urged him to follow me. As soon as he was secure, I spread out my sopping wet blankets in the first space I could find. Wet through as I was, I rolled myself up in my wetter blankets, and soon should have been asleep, had it not been for the moanings of the man I had rescued. He wished he hadn't come; he was sure the exposure would kill him, and he wondered why people were such fools as to take unnecessary trips. Just then the storm waters from above, seeking their accustomed drainage channels, found their way down to a rock which overhung my sleeping-place as a rude spout, and began to pour upon me in bucketfuls. Yet I vowed I would never admit that my sleep was in the slightest disturbed. So I turned over in my watery bed, and kept up the play until morning came, while the angry man complained the entire time. Funny? In spite of my own misery, it was funny enough to make a burro laugh.

Two Days' Rest.

It took us a couple of days to get well dried out, which we spent at Tuba City, a Mormon town since abandoned by order of the Courts, which found that it was illegally located on an Indian reserve. Then we enjoyed a day or two at Moenkopi, watching the Hopi Indians at their interesting occupations, caring for their fields, and preparing to go on to Oraibi, forty miles distant, where the Snake Dance was soon to occur.

Camp at Blue Canyon.

The heat was fearful--it was the middle of August -and the sand made hard pulling for the horses. It was late in the evening before we reached Blue Canyon. The road was uncertain, so we camped on the rim above, leading our animals down, as best we could, to a Navaho hogan, where we thought we might get water and some cornstalks for them. We got both, and then decided to hobble the animals and turn them loose in the Canyon, while we returned to our wagon above. The wind had come up, and was blowing fiercely, so, in the dark, I chose for a sleeping place a piece of ground that was somewhat sheltered from it. It was irregular, rocky and rolling, and as the wind continued to blow, the fine sand blew over and on to my face, while the coarser sand settled into my blankets. It was not a refreshing and comforting night.

An Exciting Descent.

In the morning, when we went down for our animals, we found that they had broken through the flimsy fence of the Navaho, and had worked considerable havoc in his corn-patch. The Navaho grumbled and gesticulated, and showed unmistakable anger, but I took the matter coolly and, after seeing the extent of the damage, quietly asked the head of the family: "Tu-kwe peso?" (How many dollars?) On receiving his answer, I offered to give him sugar and flour to that amount. We became friends at once, and he invited us to bring our wagon down and spend the day with him. As we were all wearied, we decided to do so. To save going around by the wagon road, he showed us a quicker way of descent. It was a sand bank not quite vertical, but as nearly so as ever any one drove down and lived to tell the tale. So, harnessing the animals, we brought the wagon to the edge of this sandy descent; then, tying all the wheels securely, so that they would drag, all of us holding on to the hind axle and with weights trailing behind, the whole mass went over. Though we threw ourselves into the sand and held on to our ropes, it was only by expert driving that the animals were kept from being crushed.

Experience with a Navaho Pilot.

The next day we pushed on to Oraibi, piloted by a Navaho. When we reached the western side of the mesa, I decided to go up the foot trail directly to the village, so as to have water and corn fodder awaiting the animals, when they got safely around to the eastern side. The Navaho got it into his head that the wagon was to be driven up the slope on to the mesa, an impossible thing without making a road. There was a trail for horses and burros, however, and the driver yielded to the Navaho's guidance. At last a sheer cliff was reached, up which only trail stock could possibly go. There the party was, with four saddle animals harnessed to a wagon, in a cul de sac, consisting of a spot barely large enough for the wagon to stand on, a deep precipice on the right, a steep cliff ascending on the left, and the animals ahead on a sandy slope as steep as the one we had descended at Blue Canyon, a day or two before. Fearful for the safety of animals and wagon, the only course was retreat. A crude road was built, and, after tying wheels and trailing ropes on as before, with the help of a number of Indians who had come to look on, the whole outfit was lowered to the level below in safety.

An Unforgetable Memory.

Thus we had come over a large part of the historic Hopi trail, never designed or planned for a wagon, with our ambulance; and the memories of the trip, arduous though it was, linger in the mind, side by side with experiences of the Snake Dance, and other unforgettable and delightful remembrances.