The Nation of the Willows

II.

THE HOME OF THE NATION.

MORE than three hundred years ago, one of Coronado’s lieutenants, at the head of a little band of soldiers, crossed, to the northward, the deserts beyond the province of Tusayan, and after many days came to the brink of a tremendous chasm, which the modern explorations of Major Powell have shown to be, in some places, more than a mile in depth. These Spanish adventurers were worn out with exertion, famished for want of water, and foot-sore, as nearly all of their animals had perished. They paused upon the brink, unable to descend, unable to slake their burning thirst in the waters of the river, which, as they described it, “ though grand, looked like a thread of silver, so deep down was it.” This river they named El Rio Tizon, but afterward it was called the Rio Colorado Grande, a name which it still retains.

The Nation of the Willows make their home in one of the side cañons of this great river, near the middle of the western half of the Grand Colorado Plateau, in the gorge of Cataract Creek, a natural cellar (if we may be permitted the comparison), half a mile in depth. That portion in which their village stands is only seven miles due south from the Grand Cañon, and about one hundred and fifteen, as the crow flies, north from Prescott, Arizona. A glance at any good map will convince the unversed reader that Cataract Creek Cañon is almost in the centre of an immense desert, — desert only because of the absence of perennial water, but covered by a grand growth of pines, piñons, cedars, and junipers, and by flowering plants and luxuriant grasses of many varieties. Upon this strange desert, some sixty-six hundred feet above the level of the sea, considerable rain falls during latter July, August, and September ; and with the end of November heavy frosts begin and snows ensue, occurring with greater or less frequency and severity of cold throughout the larger part of the winter. During the latter season, these vast plains, undulations, and forest mesas are filled with game of the nobler sort, such as deer, elk, antelope, and bear ; followed by the constant coyote and fox, “ the herds and herders of the Ha-va-su-paí,” as the Ztmis say. Quite different is the Cataract Cañon itself, situated only thirtyfive hundred feet above the level of the sea, the occupied portion of which is more than three thousand feet below the surrounding desert, — a veritable perennial oasis, with almost subtropical climate and luxuriance of vegetation, with a clear, cold, never-failing, impetuous stream cleaving its way through the little plain at the bottom of the canon, the waters of which are strongly impregnated with carbonate of lime. The atmosphere is as moist, warm, and temperate as that of the surrounding waste is arid and extreme. Frosts rarely and snows never visit its little plains, and even the quietest pools along the rushing little river are never fettered by ice. The agave, or century-plant, which nowhere appears on the surrounding plains, reaches almost giant proportions in its valleys, furnishing the material for the mescal, or ak-na, so abundantly prepared by the Ha-va-supaí, and so well known among the more southern tribes of the territory and of Old Mexico. Apricots ripen in June, peaches in July ; corn is gathered and eaten during both months, and again planted, to ripen during September and October. Quail and smaller birds, rabbits, squirrels, and a few burrowers constitute the sparse fauna, although along its unsealed cliffs still wanders the bighorn, or Ovis montana. No fish or aquatic animals, save the Gila monster and a few lizards, appear. Luxuriant vines and shrubbery; willows, cottonwoods ; flags, tules, and other aquatic plants, with a marked absence of grasses, save a kind of cane along the river, and of flowering plants, with here and there the amole, or Spanish bayonet, and agave, — these make up the richly growing but unvaried flora.

Only two trails descend this cañon : the one from the southeast, — by which we entered, — with a southern branch, over which the cavalry had passed ; the second from the southwest, winding and climbing through a maze of side cañons, a wonderful example of Indian engineering skill, unsurpassed in grandeur, difficulties, or dangers. The passage of either of these trails, especially of the latter, requires the greater part of the day. From the entrance at the head of the little side cañon, tending down from the southeastward, through which the first-described trail leads, forty turns are made, each one leading further downward, and revealing entirely new views of the indescribably grand and beautiful rock scenery. During all this passage of more than twenty miles, scarcely a place is encountered that a stone’sthrow or an arrow-flight would not span, notwithstanding the depth gradually increases to three thousand feet. In some places the rocks overhang the traveler’s head on either side, leaving only a narrow strip of sky, while at others the opening assumes a funnel shape: the gray lime sandstone, which forms the upper half of the rock walls, gradually slopes back a quarter of a mile, where it suddenly ascends in a rugged series of promontories, buttes, and cliffs; the red sandstone, which forms the immediate cañon-border, more obdurate, retains its primitive narrowness and angular beauty, only here and there worn by the blasts of rain and wind and sand. These features are characteristic until the last turn reveals a bending plain, in no place exceeding half a mile in width, formed by the junction of the lesser southwestern cañon with the main southeastern, and reinforced by the wearing of the emerging river for ages, — and this is the sandy, loamy plain where the Ha-va-su-paí or Kuhni kwe dwell, and the groves of cottonwood and willows grow. Below the little village, which numbers about thirty-five huts, are four beautiful cataracts, from which the stream derives its American name. The first two are inconsiderable, although beautiful, sheltered as they are by thrifty, irregular growths of cottonwood and willow, the forms of which are reflected, and torn into a thousand fragments of green and silver, by the rippling, boiling, surging, rushing waters. The geologic history of these two is repeated in a third and grander fall, a mile or two below the head of the village. Huge rocks have tumbled down to the very water’s edge from the cliffs on either side, which here almost meet each other, leaving only a broken path on the eastern bank, difficult for the passage even of foot travelers. The unaided waters have built for their own adornment a horseshoe-shaped, overhanging dam of carbonate of lime, three hundred feet in height, filling in the basin above, to the very surface of the pool, with a confused jumble of petrified trees, mosses, ferns, flags, and what not, preserving only one deep, narrow, serene channel through the middle. And from their stony, dead ancestry spring ever fresh trees, mosses, ferns and flags ; their rootlets and dead leaves continually changing to stone, their branches shooting upward to form a network so green and massive that it hides the waters which are at once their life and destruction. Over the top and very edge of this rock-wall springs a dense grove of cottonwoods and willows, with branches so abundant and green and high that they challenge the blue, cloudless sky, which only here and there peeps through them into the waters. The whole Kuhni River spouts forth in a mass of snow and crystal blue from out this marvelous verdure, sprinkling the leaves with its spray in its downward course, —leaves which reveal only now and then the red and yellow of the rock-wall to which they cling. It flattens itself, splits, midway down, on a huge stalagmite of its own making, and sinks into the vast green pool at the bottom, one mass of spray and foam and mist. It is useless to try to paint these falls, with their crown of perennial verdure, their three hundred feet of crystal glory, their footstools of eternal, circling rainbows, which sink far into the clear green depths of the fathomless pools, or rise on the clouds of mist, and turn to ashes and lime on the leaves of the trees around them. You descend a series of niches cut into the vertical rockwall, and, after slipping and grappling, and covering yourself with lime, skinning your shins and nose, and meditating for a moment on eternity, you find yourself at the bottom. A huge sidecañon comes in from the right, and, joining the main one, widens your view. But what care you for sky and clouds ? Are you not face to face with a fairy grotto under the falls, white as snow and streaked with red and yellow? Are you not among the rainbows, even holding your breath to count the glories around you ?

You turn your face from all this, cross the stream on a crust of lime bridging it below the pool, climb a great mound of fallen rocks under the shadow of thick, lime-frosted trees, and make your way with difficulty along the deep, narrow, almost straight, but impetuous channel of the river, through a low, tangled forest, for a mile or two, when you come to an opening, and hear the deep roar of another waterfall, the thunders of which echo eternally up and down the narrow, dark cañon. You are surrounded by heaps of ashes, charred bones, beads, muskets, bowls, shells, and other savage possessions, some of them on the bare rocks, others on the thin, sandy soil ; for this is the cremating ground of those among the Nation of the Willows who meet their death by accident, and these are their funeral pyres. You step a few rods beyond, and find yourself upon the brink of a precipice of four hundred feet, over which, to the right, plunges in an unbroken spout or sheet the whole river, striking the basin below with deafening thunder, and sending clouds of spray far into the dark, green chasm below. I cannot attempt to describe this waterfall. It is formed like the preceding one, but, while not so beautiful, is wonderfully grand. It is named by the Indians “ Mother of the Waters ; ” and by prospectors “ Mooney Fall,” because an adventurer of that name, in attempting to descend the precipice hand under hand on a rope, became giddy, and fell upon the rocks below, where now his bones, ever washed and whitened by the limy mists, give to the Ha-va-su-paí a warning of the forbidden pass to the “home of the mother of the waters;” for he believes that the spirits of his ancestors sometimes float up and down amid the mists and rainbows, or that animistic demons lurk in the green, shadowy depths of the chasm.

The nearest neighbors of the Ha-vasu-paí are the Hua-la-pai, who roam over the great plains west of the cañon, and the Pai Utes, to the north of the cañon of the Colorado Grande, who, although only a few miles away, are separated from them by the Grand Cañon, and reach them only by going far to the southwest, crossing the Colorado, and passing through the territory of the Hua-la-pai. On the south, their immediate neighbors were, before their removal to the San Carlos agencies, the Apache Mojaves and Apache Yumas. Both, in common with the Hua-la-pai, their relatives by blood and tongue, were formerly their inveterate enemies. The Hua-la-pai now remain nominally neutral, although occasionally aggressive and thieving. Further to the north were the Utes ; to the west, the Chemehuevas ; to the southwest, the Mojaves, Pimas, Maricopas, and Coco Maricopas; to the south, the White Mountain Apaches. These were the only tribes they knew, with the exception of their distant eastern neighbors, the Moquis and Zuñis, and the still more distant Navajos and Pueblos of the Rio Grande. Separated from the Ha-va-sn-paí by the terrible waterless wastes I have described, the Moquis and Zuñis have nevertheless been their constant visitors for generations. Doubtless, the latter guided Coronado’s lieutenant to the great cañon, which turned him southward to new sufferings and discoveries. Certain it is that the Ha-va-su-paí have been vaguely spoken of by the name of the Coçoninos by the Spaniards, and their descendants the Mexicans.

It was not until the expeditions of Captain Sitgreaves and Lieutenant Ives were undertaken, some thirty years ago, that anything came to be definitely known of the Coçoninos. Sitgreaves tells of the theft of some mules from his party by a band of “ Cosninos; ” and a daring doctor of the Ives expedition, almost famished for want of water, records how he nearly lost his life in attempting to descend a ladder, on the western trail, which, breaking, precipitated him several feet upon a rock-shelf, whence he was drawn up by his companions with a rope improvised from the straps of their packs. He saw, far below, some Indians, he says, and smoke from their huts. But the first white man who tells us anything of their actual home lives only as the nameless character of a frontier and Indian tradition ; a strange adventurer he, who, possibly in search of mineral treasure, was driving about the Colorado Plateau in a buckboard, the remains of which may yet be seen, it is said, at the head of the eastern trail. Lost and nearly exhausted, he sought water and refuge in the cañon, and came upon the Ha-va-supaf village; he narrowly escaped with his life, to tell his tale only to incredulous frontiersmen, and then to pass out of knowledge.

Some six or seven years ago, a party of prospectors, three in number, headed by the adventuresome Mooney, penetrated the cañon, in search of mineral. Mooney’s survivors, unable to reach his body, returned to Prescott to tell the story, not only of their comrade’s death, but also of the mineral riches they had discovered, and of the strange people, whom they called “ Su-pais,” that they had seen. An article in the Arizona Miner, narrating these things, caused other visits of prospectors to this country. The Mormons attracted by their characteristic zeal for the conversion of Indians, made an expedition to the cañon, under the leadership of the celebrated Lee. The Indians received the little band of Saints suspiciously, and listened gravely to their preaching ; then, rising, escorted them to the trail leading out of the cañon, and directed them on their way, but assured them that their visit might be repeated only under penalty of death.

The attention of General O. B. Wilcox, commander of the Department of Arizona, having been drawn to the Hava-su-paí by the reports of prospectors and others, he feared disturbance for their lands, as well as for the safety of citizens visiting them ; and, with characteristic kindness, he secured for them in 1880 the declaration of a reservation, He organized a cavalry expedition to survey this reservation during the season of my visit. This, under command of Colonel Price, of the sixth cavalry, accompanied by Lieutenant Carl F. Palfrey, Corps of Engineers, and Major Elliot Coues, surgeon and naturalist, preceded me by only six or seven days. The commanding officer made a brief report to the Department; Lieutenant Palfrey, unable to surmount the difficulties of surveying, sent an admirable map of the cañon, with some suggestions, to the Indian Office; and Dr. Coues furnished a brief description of his visit and of the people to various Eastern papers. These accounts, based upon an actual visit of only a few hours, are short and imperfect, but they are all that nave thus far ever been given to the world concerning the home of the Nation of the Willows.

Having heard, during the winter of 1880, from the Zuñis — of which nation I am a member — of a people so remarkable, whom they regarded as their younger brothers, it was with a mingled desire for adventure, priority of description, and to supplement my Zuñi investigations that I undertook, after invitation from that distant conn try-folk, the long journey I have recorded ; and, with the freedom of intercourse which resulted from my position with the Zuñis and Moquis, as well as the advantages of having, as interpreter, Pu-la-ká-kai, — whose language I spoke readily, — I was able to learn many things which would otherwise have remained, perhaps, unknown, and which I shall attempt quite fully, though concisely, to record.

In perfection of muscular physique, the Ha-va-su-paí men approach the Caucasian race more nearly than the majority of North American Indians. They are, however, below the average stature, rather broad shouldered and full chested, with long and strong arms, and small hands hardened and short-nailed from work. Their backs are broad and straight, and waists small, corpulency being unknown or very rare with the sex. Their hams, thighs, and legs are small, though admirably formed, with noticeably large knee-joints, which, being more developed inside than out, almost touch in walking. The feet are small and well-shaped, but are very large-jointed in the old. Hair is permitted to grow, as with white people, about the chest and armpits, and sometimes a slight mustache is cultivated by the young, while a considerable tendency to heard is frequent with old men. The eyebrows are not marked; but the hair of the head is long, soft, abundant, and a beautiful glossy raven or brownblack. With boys it is kept closely cut, with the exception of a very small tuft at the crown, five to seven inches in length, looking not unlike the plume of the California quail, which I believe it imitates. Their features correspond so nearly to those of the Pueblo Indians, especially the Zuñi, as to make the resemblance in some cases personal, the greatest variety of expression being seen. The heads are short and round, or brachycephalic; foreheads very low and sloping, the supraorbital arch being notably prominent; faces broad at cheekbones, which, though really quite flat, appear prominent. A rather constant type of face among them is, in common with the Amazonian, decidedly Mongolian. Their noses are straight or slightly aquiline, rather broad, with somewhat heavy nostrils; their eyes small, bright when good, and very prominent in the sockets. They are not, however, generally as good as those of the plains Indians, cases of partial and total blindness being common, due, probably, to the glaring rock-walls and whitish sandy bottom of their cañon. The ears are well shaped and small; the mouths are large, with only moderately thin lips, the upper generally slightly overhanging the lower. The chin recedes slightly, and the face is well marked with deep wrinkles, especially between the eyebrows and around the eyes ; deep lines extend from the nostrils to the corners of the mouth, round which they slightly curve. The necks are short, though well developed.

The women are shorter than the men, with thicker, bushier, coarser hair; broader, flatter faces, inclined to roundness; mouths and eyes larger, though the latter are less prominent; shoulders and thighs very broad; breasts rather flat and with enormously long mammæ ; arms and legs admirably formed, with small, shapely hands and feet. Stoutness and corpulency are common with them, and in walking they spread the legs very far apart, which gives them an awkward and curious appearance en route. Both men and women are rather light complexioned, although the women are lighter, and at the same time dirtier, than the men. Among the children, the two sexes appear less different from each other, both resembling the women, except that their extremities are poorly developed.

The Ha-va-su-paí are very merry and somewhat vivacious, most affectionate to children and pets, and very hospitable to strangers, although excessively suspicious of them and timid, until entirely assured of their peaceful intentions, when they become communicative and familiar; even the children approaching them, and never crying, as is the case with most other Indian children, if they are themselves approached. They are of a very peaceable disposition, never quarreling among themselves, save with their tongues, and then only to resent a supposed wrong. They are nevertheless passionate, although able to control themselves admirably under heat. When, angry they talk excessively, and when beaten or discouraged in a quarrel, smother their wrath either in sulky silence or extremely politic bearing toward the offensive party. Wonderfully fearful and distrustful by nature, they are also long-suffering, although determined and emotionless in dealing revenge or death to their enemies. They never chastise children, although, like them, they are fitfully very cruel or kind to pets and domesticated animals. The men, who constantly crowded about my host’s hut, were incessantly chattering and laughing, even when the gravest subjects were approached or discussed. The women are by education less vivacious than the men. While paying no attention to pets, they are as affectionate toward children as are the men. They shrink from strangers, rarely, if ever, join in conversation, and preserve a modest bearing, not so much from nature as through fear of censure from the men. They are patient and industrious in the extreme, and while at work are inclined to chat in a sort of monotone with one another. During the absence of the men, they are more disposed to he communicative with strangers, seemingly, not sharing their suspicions of them. The women are not as passionate as the men, although easily moved to tears.

The men are very inquisitive, curious to know about other nations, although not much impressed by things beyond their own comprehension, and unable readily to receive complex ideas. They are humorous and quite witty, delighting in repartee, hoaxing, and jokes ; and look in a facetious rather than a critical light upon the awkwardness or discomfiture, even though serious, of others. They laughed and chatted and joked for hours about the death of one of our horses, and the predicament it left us in. The animal, weak after its terrible passage of the deserts, had staggered into the river and drowned. Most spirited and laughable pictures were drawn of our probable sufferings and tears, when returning without the horse; but they said we ought to be comforted in our loss, even with the prospect of famine or exhaustion, when we reflected that it was a great gain to themselves; furnishing them plenty of fresh meat, and cheapening wonderfully the cou tents of at least one pack. Their perceptive faculties are good, especially relative to simple ideas and actions, or to the ludicrous. They are capable of connecting words with any new idea which they comprehend, and are the most remarkably imitative human beings I ever saw, both by action and with the voice. They would repeat whole sentences, with marvelous truthfulness of sound, in Moqui, Zuñi, Navajo, Spanish, or English, and they manifested a universal passion for acquiring foreign tongues. All these characteristics, together with their striking powers of retention, were shown in the example following : One of them asked me to write the sentence, “ Give it to me,” in English, Ha-va-su-paí, and Zuñi. I wrote it, and carefully pronounced it in the three languages, showing him the order of the words, He ran over them a few times, and surprised me a day or two after not only by repeating every word correctly, but by pointing out the different sentences, and even words, which he pronounced. This seemed to argue an appreciation of form as well as of sound and its meaning; on attempting to copy any sentence, however, they would labor patiently, but present a scrawl in which not a mark could be detected that had the remotest resemblance to a single letter in the original. They did not seem either to be very curious about my writing, or to have the slightest comprehension of it; but would watch and mimic the motions of my hand and pencil in writing, and even the expression of my mouth, then take the pencil, imitate all these things very closely, produce a meaningless scrawl, and gravely read off a ridiculous, usually obscene, rendering of it; seeking my interpreter, and taking infinite pains to have their frivolities very carefully rendered to me in Zuñi.

They are skilled in manufacturing and using implements, especially in producing raw material, like buckskin, for which they have universal celebrity from the Colorado to the Rio Grande. The women excel the men in such dexterity, being wonderfully apt and graceful in the use of the hand in making baskets or preparing food. The men are expert hunters, and constantly practice marksmanship with bows and arrows and rifles. They are doubtless endowed with elements of progression, as shown by their habit of always adopting and profiting by improvements or advantages of other nations, when once convinced of their superiority. The women are certainly duller and less impressionable than the men, but far more thoughtful, and apparently quite sage in some of their reflections, their opinion being at times sought, in ultimate cases, by the latter.

The habitations of the Ha-va-su-paí are of three kinds, two of which I have already mentioned. Often, those above the river are conical, half-underground structures, made by supporting three forks against, one another, laying lesser poles around these in a circle, and covering the whole with sticks, flags, grasses, and dirt, extending the front out in the shape of a veranda ; or, again, by combining the square and the round forms in one, the latter serving as a retreat during severe weather. Anciently, the stone house, of good proportions, and not unlike the Pueblo architecture, except from the fact that it never exceeded one story, was sometimes used, as attested by ruins, of which several plans occur among my notes.

Strangest of all, however, with their lesson for the speculative archæologist, are the little cliff dwellings of stone and mud, before mentioned. Though ruder than the wonderful remains of similar character in other parts of the West, ruins which have attracted world-wide attention and speculation, they are identical with them, and are the only examples of recently-built and still-occupied cliff dwellings. Furnishing clews to the uses of the lesser rooms and niches in the prehistoric cliff ruins, are the hundreds of little caches, or granaries, which, sometimes miles away from the permanent village, and often in almost inaccessible places, everywhere occur in nooks and shelves throughout the cañon. Equally interesting are the strange, conical little sweat-houses, built of sticks, grasses, etc., and closely roofed with dirt, as well as the bark and cedar-brush wigwams and shelters, which the Ha-va-su-paf build far and wide, during their winter hunts, throughout the forest-covered plains of the desert above and around their cañon.

For a few years past, the Ha-va-supaí have been in the habit of procuring, by barter with the Hua-la-pai, castoff soldier and other American clothing, which is worn to a considerable extent by the men. The native costume, however, is not rare. It consists simply of a coat made from a single deerskin, a transverse slit in the centre serving as neck-hole; the sleeves, of two pieces of the same material, heavily fringed, are attached to the edge of the skin, either side of the neck-hole, and open down as as far as the elbows. Save the seams at the shoulders and from the elbows to the wrists, no sewing is necessary in this peculiar coat; yet it is made to fit admirably by means of a belt or band, with which the ends falling down front and back are gathered about the waist. Add to this the breech-clout of soft, fringed doe-skin, wild-cat or rabbit skin, close-fitting leggins fringed down the front, — though quite as often the legs are bare, — and a pair of heavy, doubly or trebly, raw-hide-soled moccasins of buckskin, which reach above the ankles like buskins, and the dress of the Hava-su-paí man is complete. To all this, however, the Pueblo blanket is an additional luxury, possession of which is indispensable to good standing in the tribe. The dress of the women is yet more simple. It consists of a long fringed apron of red buckskin, buttoned together behind, extending from the breast — where it is secured by a strap around the neck—to the knees, and supplemented by the half of a blanket tied or pinned with a skewer at the corners across the breast, when it is thrown over the shoulders, depending a little below the waist. Their moccasins, when worn, which is seldom, are not unlike the men’s, though lighter.

The hair of the men is banged even with the eyes, but worn full length behind, and usually done up in a neat knot, tied with fibre. The women’s, worn shorter behind, is banged as low as the chin. The men decorate themselves variously. Often a comb of long splints, beautifully plaited together with colored threads, is thrust into the headband, to which two eagle plumes, either white or red, are attached by cords, so as to float about in the wind. Huge earrings of silver or beaded cactus thorns, plugs of colored wood, or buttons are stuck into the ears, which are pierced one, two, three, and four times. Necklaces of shell and beads of bone, from which sea-shells, rudely cut and etched, depend, are the marks of property. A how-guard of leather or raw-hide, bangles, either silver or brass, and numerous finger-rings of bright red cactus thorns, sprung together in the fire, complete the list of ornaments, the latter being worn in great numbers by the women, because easily procurable.

The faces of both sexes are painted with thick, smooth coatings of fine red ochre, applied dry or with oil extracted from the sunflower seed ; varied among the men, sometimes, with streaks of blue paint, prepared from the root of the wild indigo, and put on in streaks, with little wooden spa tube, under the lower eyelid, and from the under lip downward across the chin. Tattooing and mutilations for personal adornment are rare. They consist, besides the piercing of the ears, now and then, in the boring of the nose and the plucking out of the eyebrows, — which, even when natural, are not pronounced, — and almost always in the pulling out of the beard, although whiskers are sometimes permitted to grow in front of the ears ; beside occasional mustaches, faint goatees are affected by the young. Scarifications, for ornaments, are not unknown.

The women, both old and young, are remarkably careless of personal cleanliness and appearance, nor are the older men superior to them with reference to cleanliness. The young men, however, are noticeably neat in the care of their persons, frequently bathing in the river, and careful of their toilet and dress.

I have mentioned the things which are cultivated by the Ha-va-su-paí. On these, as on various roots, wild plants, and fruits, they depend for their vegetable food. Green corn is variously prepared: it is roasted, or boiled in the ear; or cut up and cooked with beans, bits of deer suet, etc., it forms the succotash of the more eastern tribes, and of historic celebrity. Crushed on a metlatl with a little fiat grinding-stone or muller, together with green squashes, so as to form a pulp, it is then boiled, when it becomes gelatinous, resembling the poi of the Sandwich Islanders. Like it, also, it is eaten with the two fingers. Sunflower seeds, toasted by being shaken together with live coals in an earth-covered basket tray, then ground, formed into patty-cakes, and slightly baked in the ashes, are eaten as a relish with these and other dishes, in the absence of meat. Indeed, this curious sunflower food takes the place, to a great extent, of meat during the summer months.

The corn, while still green, is sometimes prepared for storage, by being roasted, husks and all, in hot sand, while the ripened corn is merely dried on the ear. Food is made of the latter, either by simply parching, or by grinding into meal. The meal, coarse or flue, is then used for samps, mushes, or batters, and cakes, thick or thin, and of many varieties and degrees of wholesomeness. Melons, pumpkins, peaches, and apricots are all eaten raw, or dried, and prepared for food by stewing. Squashes are either boiled or roasted, the latter most skillfully, the seeds being carefully preserved, dried, and made into food, much the same as the sunflower seeds.

A remarkable and at first unpleasant characteristic of all these foods is the absence of salt from them. Sometimes the corn preparations are sweetened by chewing and fermentation. The somewhat sweet fruit of the datila, or Spanish bayonet, is rendered sweeter by a like process, the pulp thus formed being spread out on large, closely-woven splint screens, and dried in sheets, often several feet in extent, though less than half an inch in thickness. The mescal of the more southern tribes, the ak-na of the Zuñis, is prepared in its greatest perfection by the Ha-va-su-paí from the heart and inner leaves of the agave, or century plant. It is gathered by the women in great quantities throughout the gorges and upon the terraces of the cañon, and transported in large baskets, strapped across their foreheads, to the gravelly beds of dry streams. Pits being dug in the gravel and fuel collected by the men, huge fires are built in the excavations, and kept burning for several hours. The embers are then drawn forth, the pits lined with leaves and grasses, and the agave thrown in, a layer like the lining then being added, and the heated gravel and embers heaped above. These burnings are occasions of great festivity and merry-making. When taken out, the agave is easily made into pulp, and dried, either on the flat rock surfaces or as is the fruit of the datila.

It is a remarkable fact that the Hava-su-paí, possessing neither cattle nor sheep, are almost exclusively vegetarians during the summer months. With the beginning of winter, however, the tribe, almost as a unit, repairs to the surrounding plains, where they subsist chiefly on the flesh of the game they kill. This is made ready for consumption variously, — by roasting, broiling, frying, baking, boiling, or drying. No part of the animal is wasted ; blood, intestines, even visceral glands and organs, as well as the half-digested vegetable matter from the stomachs of the deer, antelope, and rabbit, being utilized as food. The liver is frequently eaten raw, immediately on the death of the animal.

Their implements for preparing food are few. The muller, or rubbing-stone, and the metlatl, or mill, of sandstone or volcanic rock, and various in size, flat transversely, and concave from end to end, placed upon a skin, are used for grinding; while large, round, closelywoven trays of basket work, coated with mineral asplialtum and earth, make excellent roasting pans. Earthen pots and brass kettles, procured by barter with the Moquis, serve as cooking vessels. Moqui bowls and native baskets are used in serving food, which is dipped from the cooking pot with large ladles of horn or wood, and eaten either with the fingers, flat sticks, or little wooden and horn spoons. Large panniers, slung over the forehead or shoulders with a broad strap of raw-hide, are used in collecting food, or carrying it to and from the distant granaries ; and certain huge, small-necked, round-bottomed basket bottles serve as canteens and water-jars. Knives of band-iron, occasionally of good steel, have displaced, save in rare instances, the original flint instruments, as have also chisel-shaped fragments of iron or steel, inserted into wooden handles, like primitive stone axes, supplanted the scarcely ruder prehistoric implement. Sharpened bone or bard-wood splints and bits of stray wire make awls and needles; and sharp bone, or chipped discs of rock, their skin-dressers. Various stone hammers and mauls, with flat stones used about the fire, complete the limited yet all-sufficient list of Ha-vaSu-paí household appliances.

In their agricultural operations and in the excavation of mescal pits, rude hoes, spades, and picks, of wood, bone, horn, or iron, — tire last procured by trade, — are used, as well as the universal kä-ta, or digging stick. In planting, the long prod or spud of cedar is used, a convenient branch being left short near the lower end, with which the implement is pressed down with the left foot.

Within the past few years the introduction of horses among the Ha-va-supaí has necessitated rude saddles, bridles, whips, spurs, lassos, and hobbles. Among these things, only the bridles and spurs sometimes differ from those of other Southwestern Indians. An efficient though extremely primitive bridle is made of a little hard-wood stick, a small strap of buckskin being attached to either end of it, and passed tightly under the chin of the animal ; and two long thongs of light material serve as reins. Equally primitive is the spur. It. is made from a fork of some hard, elastic wood, the stems of which are fastened to either side of the foot, and the base sharpened into a sort of prod.

Their weapons in war and chase are rude, knotty clubs of hard wood ; pikes about four feet long, of the same material, sharpened and hardened at the point in the fire; beautifully finished hows and arrows, both wooden and iron tipped, and somewhat longer than those in use among the Pueblos. Slings were formerly used, although now only to a limited extent, being principally seen as toys or playthings of the children. It seems almost paradoxical that the Hava-su-paí— least acquainted with civilization perhaps, of any Indians in the United States—should universally possess repeating rifles of the most improved models and an abundance of ammunition. Destructive alike of life on the one band, and of primitive defensive usages, on the other, the gun has not, however, displaced the ruder weapons which I have described.

A most curious fact, and a very significant one in the consideration of the origin of the Ha-va-su-paí, is the absence of the Gentile system of descent or organization among them, their society consanguineally being patriarchal; but they claim to bo the people of the Coyote, which indicates that one gens has absorbed all the others, or else that they are, as seems more probable, a single gens, which has separated from its original body, and never again developed the separate gentes, as has been the case with other segregated clans among Indians. I incline to this belief from the fact that the Hua-la-pai, to whom their relationship is indisputable, have, as subsequent investigations have shown, the Gentile and Pliratral systems, certainly to some extent. And as nearly as I can ascertain this is also the case with the Apache Yumas and Apache Mojaves, who are only other divisions of the same stock. Descent is therefore not through the mother, but through the father, and marriage, to use the words of my vexed informant, can take place “ wherever the one loves the other and the other loves the one, and their wants are the same. Why not ? ” “We know nothing else,” he added, “for our father is the Coyote, and he never told us anything else. How should a Coyote teach his children what he neither knows nor practices himself?”

They are polygamists, the number of wives a man shall have being limited, apparently, only by the number he can procure, or by his means for supporting them. These marriages are constant, the only ground for divorce being unfaithfulness, which, with the women of rare occurrence, scarcely exists with the men, as a cause. Betrothals by purchase or stipulation are common, a girl of seven or eight summers being frequently promised to a man as old as, or even older than, her father. Marriages are therefore, with the girls, usually very early in life ; with the men, late. In consequence of this polygamy, a large number of the men are unmarried, the women being monopolized, with or without their will, by the wealthier and more influential men of the tribe. The male population is in excess of the female ; hence it sometimes happens that Hua-la-pai squaws are married; and in one instance a Moqui woman, a probable outcast from her own nation, was observed by us.

The children do not seem to have regular property, as with the Pueblos, until after puberty, although, on the death of the father, his portable property is inherited by the son, for sacrifice at the rites to be described further on.

The head chieftaincy is hereditary. In the absence of a son, the chief’s nephew on the father’s side is, I believe, chosen as successor. All of the subchiefs are named by the head chief, on account of personal preference, wealth, or influence. There seems to be no distinct order of warriors; when a scalp is taken, it is brought to the village, and a dance, celebrating the death of the enemy, is given in honor of the victor, and the body is then cremated; no record or mark of dress being preserved to represent the rank or prowess of the warrior. In case of hostility, obligations to war are simply coextensive with the adult population. There is, however, a certain importance attached to one of the warriors, who is supposed to have in his keeping a medicine of war, and who, by virtue of his valor and possession, is a sort of war chief, although the civil and martial affairs of the nation are more closely allied than is the case with most Indian tribes.

Nor is the ecclesiastical much distinguished from the civil, with them; for the head chief combines with his political office the caciqueship, or that which in Zuñi is distinctively religious, being termed Kia-kwe-mo-so-ne, or “ Mastership of the House,” — a kind of highpriesthood. He not only presides at the more important councils, makes treaties with other tribes, etc., directs war parties, and condemns criminals, but also prays, offering sacrifices toward securing rain, propitious seasons, and success in the chase for his children, as he terms his nation. He receives, contrary to the Pueblo practice, tithes for his offices, and is usually as wealthy as any member of the tribe, although by no means exempted from labor in the field or the hunt. Neither he nor his sub-chiefs wear insignia of rank about their persons, so far as I could discover.

The present head chief, Ko-hót, is nicknamed Navajo. He is a man of the most wonderful character. His portrait in profile, as I look upon it, and to the sketching of which he submitted with ease and pleasure, bears a remarkable likeness to Washington. I cannot forbear giving two instances of his judgment, which exemplify his fine sense of justice, but at the same time his unrelenting will, in any measure, however severe, for the good of his own people. When the Apache Mojaves were moved by government to San Carlos, one of them, discontented, returned through his former country, and after great suffering reached the home of the Ha-va-supaí. He expressed his wish to live with the latter people to the end of his days. Ko-hót convened a council, and after long and fair deliberation concluded that it would be offensive to the Americans should he be harbored, and endanger his own people, leading ultimately, perhaps, to their removal as well. He therefore informed the Apache that, notwithstanding he was a member of a nation of enemies, he felt for him, but could give him the choice of but two alternatives,— return to San Carlos, or death. The Apache, hoping Ko-hót would relent, replied that die he might, but return to San Carlosh he never would. Ko-hot arose, then and there, without one more word, and struck him dead.

When the officers of the cavalry expedition called a council, and told Kohót that their mission was to determine the borders of his country for all time, and that it remained with him to decide how large it should be, he replied to the following effect: “ My people live by their country and their river. They are small. Let your lines but include the river and the little plain we live on; for why should a small nation wish for a great country ? There are many other nations in the world. Some one of them — the Americans, perhaps, for they are a great people, and talk of making boundaries where we have lived very well for all time without them — might try, some time, if it were large and indivisible, to take our country from us. Where would the Ha-va-su-paí go ? To San Carlos, or to destruction ? ” And he would not permit the boundaries to be placed a step above the springs which feed his river, or a foot below where it leaps down into the pool under the limestone barrier.

Aside from the head chief, perhaps the only representatives of an ecclesiastical order are the well-paid medicine men, some of whom, by virtue of their practices, are a sort of chiefs, and keep ers of old traditions and songs, if my informant told the truth. They are believed to possess certain influences over the spirits, and exorcisms which cause disease, as well as over the benevolent spiritistic agencies which assist in its amelioration or cure. Incantation and jugglery are practiced by them, and as the disease or influence is supposed to have an objective spiritual existence, the whole company around a sick person, over whom the doctor is practicing his insane manipulations, rise up at certain intervals of the song, and pound hard bodies, yell, shoot arrows into the air, and fire off guns, in order to assist the medicine man in its extraction, or in frightening it away. No penalty for failure to cure seems to exist, save personal abuse, unless the doctor be accused of sorcery, in which case he suffers, as is the case with other Indians, the universal punishment of death. Like most other Indians, they have a good understanding of the practice of surgery, and a remarkable knowledge of anatomy.

Labor is not regularly divided, except between the sexes ; save that among the men, arrow-making and some such special arts are more practiced by those who excel in them than by others, and basket-making among the women. The men do all the hunting, bringing the game to camp, and skinning the larger kinds ; the women cutting it up and preparing it for drying or cooking. Both men and women gather the agave plant, in its season, with many festivities, vying in the preparation of it for mescal, although the burden of the labor in burning it falls to the women. The men break up the soil, lay out and dig the acequias, etc., performing the heavier agricultural work, as well as the planting, while the women weed the crop and assist in hoeing. When the corn ripens, the women gather it and bring it in, make it ready, and store it in the little stone and adobe granaries under the cliffs, and in little obscure rock shelters. They also cook all foods, make baskets and most other implements of household use, while the men cut out and sew the clothing both for themselves and for the women. Much of the heavier part of the work and drudgery falls on the women, who seem, however, perfectly contented with their really hard lot.

Sedentary agriculturists in summer, the Ha-va-su-paí produce immense quantities of datila, mescal, water-tight basket-work, and arrows. Nomadic hunters in winter, throughout the choicest ranges of the Southwest, they have become justly famous for the quantity, fineness, and quality of their buckskins, which are smooth, soft, white as snow, yet thick and durable. These buckskins, manufactured into bags, pouches, coats, and leggins, or as raw material, are valued by other Indian tribes, even as far east as the Rio Grande, as are the silks of China or the shawls of Persia by ourselves. All this material is bartered with the Pueblos for blankets and various products of civilization, the former being again traded to the Hua-lapai for red and black paints, undressed buckskins, and mountain - lion robes. Their red paint, ochre of the finest quality, has such celebrity among Indian tribes that, reaching the Utes on the north, and the Comanches in Texas, it sometimes travels, by barter from hand to hand, as far east as to the tribes of the Mississippi Valley.

The engineering skill and enterprise of this little nation are marvelous. Although their appliances are rude, they are able to construct large dams, and dig or build deep irrigating canals, or durable aqueducts, which often pass through hills, or follow considerable heights along shelves of rock or talus, at the bases of the rugged and crooked walls of the cañon. The acequias, which have their fountain-heads in these canals and viaducts, are wonders of intricacy and regularity ; yet on uneven ground are laid out in nice recognition of and conformity to unevenness and change of level in the surface they are designed to water.

Most wonderful of all, however, are their aerial trails. Through the western branch of the cañon, down from the Hua-la-pai country, the trail for horses as well as foot-travelers is over promontories, up shelves, along giddy narrow heights, in and out of recessions, or over stone-pecked slopes, such as would dismay civilized man, with all his means of moulding the rugged face of nature. At times, so impossible does it seem for any living thing to pass further that nowhere can the trail be traced ; when a turn to some crack in the rock, almost hidden by intervening bowlders, and hewn down with stone hammers to give precarious footing, shows where it goes Up or descends. Great ingenuity is shown in continuing the trail along the bare, smooth face of a cliff which slopes at an angle of forty-five, fifty, even sometimes sixty degrees. The surface, after being roughened, is overlaid with little branches of cedar, upon which larger sticks and stones of great weight are laid, the whole being filled in with dirt and a sufficient quantity of pebbles to guard against washing away. If such a surface be interrupted by a crevice, the two sides of the latter are notched, a fragment of rock fitted in, and the whole covered as before described. Considerable nerve is required, however, to pass these trails. The foothold is always uncertain, and one of these oblique zones, along the centre of which the trail passes, is hounded below by fifteen hundred feet of jagged, rapidly descending rock-masses; above, by two or three hundred feet of beetling, rotten cliffs.

Besides their horses, which are adventurers as wonderful as the Indians themselves, through their canon training. they have a few dogs, often wolfish, always mongrel, and six or eight lonely cats, which are extravagantly prized by their possessors, and well fed, yet so worried by dogs and children that they resemble half-starved wild beasts of the feline tribe rather than the descendants of the sleek, domesticated animal of civilization. Not unfrequently beautiful little coyotes are to be seen about the camp, and these, as the emblems of his own ancestry, his national deity, are affectionately fondled and petted by the Ha-va-su-paí; being allowed a place at the family bowl even in preference to the women or children. Add to these certain sand lizards and many noisy birds of prey, kept move for their feathers than as pets, and the list of Ha-va-su-paí domestication is complete.

During intervals in the labor of the fields, the men may always be seen gathered in groups of six or ten, chatting together; and the women, always busy, exchange visits while at work about the fire, and the visitor is scarcely distinguishable from the hostess, as she shares with her all duties in which the latter may be engaged. So also, when at work in the fields, the women are prone to gather in busy little groups, where their talk and merriment, free from the restraint of the men, are louder than about the household fire.

The children are always boisterously at play, the girls with the boys, and are touchingly affectionate toward one another. The youth gather on level spots and run races, or play games of chance by the hour. They are fond of displaying themselves on horseback ; two, sometimes even three, mounting some little pony, and wildly galloping up and down the paths which thread the cornfields where the women and girls are at work. They improve their marksmanship and gain local celebrity, vying with one another in firing at, the marks of nature’s hand about the great cliffs of their subterranean home.

Councils among the members of the tribe are incessant, though very rarely attended by the chiefs in a body, and never, save on occasions of the utmost gravity, by the bead chief, Ko-hót.

As illustrative of this, I may give the following example : When I entered the cañon, warned of the characteristics of the Ha-va-su-paí by Pu-lá-ka-kai, I made a rule, in the first council, that any trade sealed by the customary hand-shake and “ a-há-ni-ga,” or “ thanks,” should be regarded as final. During one of the four days of our stay, Pu-lá-ka-kai traded one of his jades for a quantity of things, among which was a famously large buckskin. The next morning, the evil-looking, one-eyed fellow who had purchased the horse returned to trade back, or have the difference split by a return of the buckskin. Pu-lá-ka-kai asked my permission, and I tersely refused. The man went away, soon coming back with a noisy, low-browed crowd, which increased in size and noisiness, until, toward evening, it was like bedlam about the hut of my still neutral host. Finally a sub-chief advanced, and told me I must consent to a re-trade. I declined. He then begged me, and my Indians, alarmed, became importunate. Still I refused. Pu-lá-ka-kai pointed to a scar over his eyebrow, which he wore, he said, in remembrance of a former proceeding of the kind, and once more implored me, for the sake of his and Tsaiiu-tsaih-ti-wa’s wives and children, to consent. Now and then a man would leave, presently returning with a gun carelessly strapped over his shoulder, and I saw that things were growing serious ; but I remained obdurate, paying no apparent attention to my own arms, yet seeing that they were within easy reach. After a little while, I suddenly drew one of the two revolvers in my belt, sheathed it again, and, stepping over to the discontented, one-eyed scoundrel, grabbed him by the arms, and ejected him from the premises. Immense excitement prevailed, but I quietly went back with a smile to my writing. The head chief was summoned. He came, gravely, through the babbling crowd, eating a kind of cake of corn-meal and sunflower seeds. I rose, and greeted him pleasantly, spreading a blanket for him to sit on ; and as he sat down, with a smile, he broke the cake in two, handing me the larger piece. I began to explain my writing to him, and, after conversing a little while, he said, “ I am about to go. You observe that I am never to be found in crowds of those who wrangle and gossip. It makes a father sad to see the foolishness of his children. It fills me with thoughts to see my people make fools of themselves, to hear them make meaningless noise ; therefore I stay away from them. When they have anything to say to me, or you wish to see me, my hut stands under the cottonwoods, down by the river, and my fields are in front of it.” Without a word in reference to our trouble, without so much as a well-directed glance at the heated crowd, he went away as he had come, a picture of imperturbable dignity and gravity. The wranglers, in the most shamefaced manner, gave up alike their dispute and its object.

The coming stranger is heralded by the first observer, the chief waiting at his own house to receive him or his embassy. Any hut at which he first alights, even though the poorest, is almost sacredly regarded as his home. The inmates flock out, however suspiciously they may regard him, remove the saddles and packs from his animals, arrange them around the sides of the dwelling, invite him to enter, seat him on the best blanket or robe, and immediately improvise a meal for him, offering him, meanwhile, a drink of fresh water. During his wanderings about the village, wherever he may enter, he will almost surely find some one eating, even though it be late at night, and lie will invariably be invited to partake.

On meeting a stranger or a long-absent friend, the Ha-va-su-paí grasps him by the hand, moving it up and down in time to the words of his greeting; and, as he lets go, lifts his own hollow palm toward his mouth, then, with a sudden and graceful motion, passes it down over his heart. As an evidence of confidence in a newly-made friend, a Ha-va-su-paí will sometimes give to him that whereby, in the native belief, even the giver’s life may be taken through sorcery, — a hair, a bit of his skin, or a piece of his finger-nail, — this being an inviolable contract of peace and mutual regard. Several of these hairs lie among my notes, as less pleasant than pathetic mementos of such regard. Indeed, a number of my own locks are doubtless still cherished in sundry medicine bags, hanging from the wattled walls of my homes in Ha-va-su-paí-gidri. One poor, aged fellow, observing me trim my nails one day, carefully gathered the cuttings together, and piteously begged me, by look and gesture, not to resent the liberty he had taken, or deprive him of his treasures.

When a man dies among them, he is bathed and painted, dressed in all his richest apparel, and laid, with his face toward the rising sun, to await the funeral ceremonials. Throughout the fields and orchards, usually with corn and sunflowers growing all around them, with vines and brambles covering them, are scattered little mounds of earth and ashes. These are the funeral pyres. Over the summit, a huge collection of wood is piled, and the dead, together with his various possessions, is laid upon the pile. This is lighted by the son and heir, or nearest other relative, and, as the flames shoot up and envelop the body, he who applied the light throws all his worldly possessions, together with those he has inherited, upon the burning pyre, slaying his favorite dogs and horses, and adding them to the last sacrifice. Upon the wings of the last film of smoke the soul of his father rises, to wander whither it will, — to come back, and bring the summer rain-clouds, to minister in many ways to the wants of his children ; while the naked mourner sadly wends his way homeward, “ to begin life anew, as did his father,” he will tell you.

The spirits of those for whom the last offering has been neglected become unhappy and evil ghosts, which, together with the souls of the enemy whose scalp has not been taken, and burned, torment the living with the weird voices of the night, or the lone moanings of the wind on the pine-covered mesas ; or, as demons of disease and death, obey the behests of the dread sorcerer, or war against the good ollices of the happier souls.

They are fairly acquainted with the principal constellations, giving them names, and regulating the planting and hunting seasons by their movements.

The grammatic structure of their language, though inferior to that of the Zuñis, is nevertheless quite regular. Intonation, as with the Chinese, repetition, as with the natives of Australia, are employed to vary the shades of meaning in words. Most of the consonants not occurring in other Indian tongues are common in the Ha-va-supaí, which is strikingly soft and rapid. Just as the music of the Zuñis has caught the spirit of the desert winds, so have both the music and the language of the Ha-va-su-paí been infused with the sounds of the rushing waters by which they are surrounded. As I listened to the weird song of a doctor, one night, it seemed more like the echoes of water in a cavern, or in resounding nooks of the deep cañon, than like the music of a human being.

It is, indeed, an interesting question how far man’s environments, climatic, physical, even biologic, have influenced the sound of his music and language. Possibly of the same family of Indians as the Zuñis, there are, nevertheless, elements of sound in the music and words of the Ha-va-su-paí unpronounceable by the Zuñi, never heard in his music. On the other hand, the music of the Hua-la-pai, On the plains to the westward, the undoubted fathers of the Ha-va-su-paí, is as strangely different from that of the latter as is the Zuñi itself, and as strangely in keeping with the wild, dry, forest-clad hills and valleys of his native land.

Possessing nothing but a rude architecture, their art is correspondingly crude, being mostly confined to the patterns on their basket-work and the paintings on their bows and arrows. The basket-work, by virtue of the regular arrangement of the splints, is often beautiful. But few people live, however, whose appreciation of art seems so great, compared with their limited practice of it.

They are mimics, but their dances — a few rude shuffles, half religious, half social — are neither representative nor picturesque, as are the cachinas or kâkâs of the Pueblos. “ We know of these things,” said Ko-hót, “ but we are the children of the Coyote, and he did not teach our fathers to make themselves happy or prosperous by such means ; therefore, our fathers did not teach us.”

The Ha-va-su-paí have, among themselves, few of the crimes which destroy the peace of most nations. A great family in a single house, they have learned to do to others as they would be done by ; not as a golden rule, — ah, no ! — but as a policy. They are virtuous, and, although base liars, are honest in the use of property to an incredible extent. Not the smallest possession of another is ever appropriated by one of them, and a button or insignificant bead, lost in the sands, would invariably be brought to me, if found by either child or staggering grayhead. The parents are excessively fond of their children, and the latter, though wild and independent, and never corrected by cross word or sharp blow, are remarkably obedient.

They are not so fair-dealing toward the enemy. Ko-hót told me, with strange frankness, that a few years ago his people joined other Indians in war against the whites, and, regarding them as enemies, stole horses and cattle from them whenever they could, bringing them down into the cañon, where they either sacrificed them or killed and ate them.

“ But,” he added, “ the time has come when I see this is wrong, and my people wiil listen to me when I tell them to smile on the Hai-ko [American], to ask him to eat, and to let his poorest or most tempting possession lie in the place it has been laid in; for has not the Hai-ko given to my children the hard metal and the rich garments you see all around you? [This with a proud wave of the hand toward the array of worn-out clothing in the council, and a downward glance at his own threadbare soldier coat and well-patched breeches.] I am young [he was nearly fifty], but am I not old enough to remember how my people dug the soil with wooden hoes, or cut the poles of their cabins with stone axes, and skinned the deer with a knife of flint ? No ; I take the father of the Land of Sunrise [Washington] by. the hand, and my father of the Land of Sunset [General Wilcox] do I grasp by the hand, that we may look one upon another with smiling faces.”

The worship of the Ha-va-su-paí consists of prayers, made during their smokes, or at the hunting shrines, which are merely groups of rude pictographs along nooks or caves in the walls of the cañon. Here, seated on the ground, the worshiper blows smoke to the north, west, south, and east, upward and downward; then says, in a low tone, some simple prayer, only one of which, addressed to the spirit of the Deer-god, I was able to record : —

The Ha-va-su-paí believes that the source of his river is sacred and pure; that polluted by the touch of man it would cease to give forth its waters, and the rocks of the canon would close forever together.

Ko-hót told me, one morning, the fol lowing beautiful story of the origin and history of his nation : —

“ When the world was new it was covered with waters, save where a single mountain peak to the north looked out above their surface. Here, alone, wandered the great Coyote. Mankind lived in the four dark cave-plains of earth, below this mountain, until, under the guidance of a great cacique, they journeyed up from one to the other, and were finally led out into the light of the sun, through a hole in the mountain. No sooner had the leader come out than he was overwhelmed by the bright light and the angry waters, and died; and while the people were weeping and wondering what they should do, the Coyote came, and said to them, ‘Burn the body of your father, and scatter the ashes thereof upon the face of the water ; then they will begin to dry away and the earth wall grow hard.’ ‘ Alas ! we have no fire,’ said the people. So the Coyote volunteered to fetch it, and forthwith ran far away in search of it. When he had gone, and the people, wondering if he would return, were still mourning, the blue-bottle fly, who was sunning himself on a dry branch, comforted them by saying that he would make fire for them. So, raising his wings, he rubbed them against one another, until the sparks flew out from them and ignited the branch he was perched upon. Then the people collected great quantities of wood, laid the body of the cacique thereon, and set fire to it with the branch the blue-bottle fly had lighted.

“ The Coyote, who saw from afar the smoke of the fire they had kindled, was angry, and, running back as fast as he could, came to the place just as the body was consumed. But the heart still remained, and, rushing into the fire, he grabbed it in his mouth, and ran away with it. The fire was so hot that it singed his face and fore-paws : hence, to this day, the faces and fore-paws of the coyote are black. He ate only a part of the heart, burying the rest: hence, also, it is the nature of the coyote to bury his food away in the ground.

“ Where the Coyote buried the heart a corn plant grew, and upon its stalks were six ears of corn, — yellow, white, variegated, black, blue, and red : hence, corn, springing from the heart of man, is his life to this day. As the nations of men came out one after another, each was given an ear of corn: yellow to the Zuñi, white to the Moqui, variegated to the Northern nations, a very little black to the Apache, and blue to the Hua-lapai ; but the Ha-va-su-paí, coming last, had only a little red ear given them by the fathers [gods].

“ Now they did not know how they could live on the small portion that had been given them. So the Coyote, when he heard them bemoaning their lot, came and told them to follow his example: therefore our fathers became a nation of hunters. As the waters of the world dried and flowed away, the face of the earth cracked, and was worn full of deep cañons. One of these cañons was very narrow and filled with rattlesnakes. This was the cañon of the Ha-va-su-paí; and down in a grotto, under the falls, lived a great goddess, Ka-mu-iu-dr-magiu-iu-é-ba, or ‘ Mother of the Waters.’ She was wooed by the rattlesnakes, and bore two sons, Ha-ma-u-giu-iu-é-ba, or ‘ Children of the Waters.’ Upon the head of each was a great flint knife. Now the earth became so dry that our forefathers had but little water to drink, and, wandering about in search of it, came to the brink of the canon; but they could not enter because of the rattlesnakes. So the two boys slew the rattlesnakes with their magic flint knives, and widened the rocks above the home of their mother. Then they guided them down the cañon, and built little houses high up among the cliffs; for the Apache Mojaves came in, too, and disputed possession with them. As the two children led the people down the cañon, they made their hand-prints on the walls, and painted the animals which should serve as food for their people. And these marks still remain on the rocks, and thither we go when we wish to secure the deer, or to ask for rain. When, at last, they reached the home of their mother, she told them that this should be their home forever ; that it was not good to live on meat alone, but that they should build houses there, and plant the ear of corn they had, and it would be a means of life. So they did as she told them, and the Apache Mojaves lived above them, where the cañon was narrower. For a long time all was well, until a young Ha-vasu-paí man stole an Apache Mojave girl, which caused strife, and wars ensued, so that the Apache Mojaves were driven away. For this reason we live alone in the cañon.

“ But, alas ! the Coyote ate a part of the heart of the great cacique : hence, only during summer do we live in the home of the Mother of the Waters, and plant as she told us; but in winter we have to follow the deer with our father, the Coyote, and live only as he does, in houses of grass and bark ; for the Mother of the Waters grew sad when her people became so foolish, and, leaving only one of her sons to take care of them, she went away to her home among the white shells, in the great world of waters.

“Do you Americans,” said the old man, as he ceased, with a sigh of longing, “ never see the Mother of the Waters, when you wander along the shores of the great ocean ? ”

“ Oh, yes,” I said, and then I told him the story of the mermaid; and, happy almost to tears, he added, “ Alas! I cannot tell you more, for the only books our fathers gave us were our hearts and our mouths.”

A fairy story is this of the Nation of the Willows ; and while science teaches us another tale, may we not poetically believe, with these simple natives, that they have always lived here, apart from the world of nations ; that ever since they wandered forth from the four fertile wombs of mother earth, this little strip of land and river and willow, and the great rock-walls, so near together, yet so sublime and impassable, have bounded their generations of life, have had shadows cast on them by the smokeclouds of the numberless funeral pyres of all their unnamed dead ?

F. H. Cushing.