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diff --git a/35502-h/35502-h.htm b/35502-h/35502-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..98fadfd --- /dev/null +++ b/35502-h/35502-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,5938 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Basket Woman, by Mary Austin. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + + p { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + hr { width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + } + + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + + .pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + } /* page numbers */ + + .blockquot{margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 10%;} + .ft20 {font-size: 2em;} + + .lbrace {display: inline; position: absolute; margin-left: 2em;} + .bb {border-bottom: solid 2px;} + .bl {border-left: solid 2px;} + .bt {border-top: solid 2px;} + .br {border-right: solid 2px;} + .bbox {border: solid 2px;} + + .center {text-align: center;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + .u {text-decoration: underline;} + + .caption {font-weight: bold;} + + .figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center;} + + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Basket Woman, by Mary Austin + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Basket Woman + A Book of Indian Tales for Children + +Author: Mary Austin + +Release Date: March 7, 2011 [EBook #35502] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BASKET WOMAN *** + + + + +Produced by Chris Curnow, Joseph Cooper and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 645px;"> +<a name="Frontis" id="Frontis"></a> +<span class="caption">THE BASKET WOMAN</span> +<img src="images/i004.jpg" width="645" height="1024" alt="THE BASKET WOMAN" title="" /> +<p style='text-align:right'>From photograph by A. A. Forbes</p> +</div> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_i" id="Page_i">[Pg i]</a></span></p> + + +<h1>THE BASKET WOMAN</h1> + +<h3>A BOOK OF INDIAN TALES +FOR CHILDREN</h3> + +<h4>BY</h4> + +<h2>MARY AUSTIN</h2> + +<h3><i>SCHOOL EDITION</i></h3> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 235px;"> +<img src="images/i005.jpg" width="235" height="305" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + + +<h4>BOSTON, NEW YORK, AND CHICAGO<br /> +<big>HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY</big><br /> +The Riverside Press, Cambridge</h4> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_ii" id="Page_ii">[Pg ii]</a></span></p> +<h5>COPYRIGHT, 1904, BY MARY AUSTIN<br /> +COPYRIGHT, 1910, BY HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY<br /> +<br /> +ALL RIGHTS RESERVED</h5> + + + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_iii" id="Page_iii">[Pg iii]</a></span></p> +<h2>PREFACE</h2> + + +<p>In preparing this volume of western myths for +school use the object has been not so much to +provide authentic Indian Folk-tales, as to present +certain aspects of nature as they appear +in the myth-making mood, that is to say, in +the form of strongest appeal to the child mind. +Indian myths as they exist among Indians are +too frequently sustained by coarse and cruel +incidents comparable to the belly-ripping joke +in <i>Jack the Giant Killer</i>, or the blinding of +Gloucester in <i>King Lear</i>, and when presented +in story form, too often fall under the misapprehension +of the myth as something invented +and added to the imaginative life. It is, in fact, +the root and branch of man's normal intimacy +with nature.</p> + +<p>So slowly does the mind awaken to the realization +of consciousness and personality as by-products +of animal life only, that few escape +carrying over into adult life some obsession<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_iv" id="Page_iv">[Pg iv]</a></span> +of its persistence in inanimate things, say of +malevolence in opals or luckiness in a rabbit's +foot, or the capacity of moral discrimination +against their victims residing in hurricanes +and earthquakes. The chief preoccupation of +the child in his earlier years is the business of +abstracting the items of his environment from +this pervading sense, and ascribing to them +their proper degrees of awareness. He arrives +in a general way at knowing that it hurts the +cat's tail to be stepped on because the cat +cries, and that it does not hurt the stick. But +if the stick were provided with a squeaking +apparatus he would be much longer in the +process, and if the stick becomes a steed or a +doll it is quite possible for him to weep with +sympathetic pain at the abuse of it.</p> + +<p>He sees the tree and it is alive and sentient +to him; you cut a stick horse from its boughs, +and that is separately alive; cut the stick again +into two horses, and they will prance whole and +satisfying. Later when the game is played +out, the stick may burn and furnish live flame +to dance, live smoke to ascend, live ash to be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_v" id="Page_v">[Pg v]</a></span> +treated with contumely; all of which arises +not so much in the mere trick of invention as +in the natural difficulty in thinking of objects +freed from consciousness, almost as great as +the philosopher's in conceiving empty space. +There is a period in the life of every child +when almost the only road to the understanding +is the one blazed out by the myth-making +spirit, kept open to the larger significance +of things long after he is apprised that the +thunder did not originate in the smithy of the +gods nor the Walrus talk to the Carpenter. +Any attempt, however, to hasten the proper +distinctions of causes and powers by the suppression +of myth making is likely to prove as +disastrous as helping young puppies through +their nine days' blindness by forcibly opening +their eyes. You might get a few days' purchase +of vision for some of them, but you would +also have a good many cases of total blindness. +What can be done by way of turning +the myth-making period to advantage, this +little book is partly to show.</p> + +<p>Of the three sorts of myths included, about<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_vi" id="Page_vi">[Pg vi]</a></span> +a third are direct transcriptions from Indian +myths current in the campodies of the West, +but it must not be assumed that myths like +<i>The Crooked Fir</i> and <i>The White Barked +Pine</i> are in any sense "made up," or to be +laid to the author's credit. Since the myth +originates in an attitude of mind, it must be +understood that, to the primitive mind, nearly +the whole process of nature presents itself +in mythical terms. It is not that the Indian +imagines the tree having sentience—he simply +isn't able to imagine its not having it. All +his songs, his ceremonies, his daily speech, +are full of the aspect of nature in terms of +human endeavor. The story of <i>The Crooked +Fir</i> was suggested to me in the humorous +comment of my Indian guide on one of the +forks of Kings River, the first time my attention +was caught by the uniform curve of the +trunks, and he explained it to me. The myth +of <i>The Stream That Ran Away</i> might arise +as simply as in the question of a child who +has not lived long enough to understand the +seasonal recession of waters, wishing to know<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[Pg vii]</a></span> +why a stream that ran full some weeks ago is +now dry. And if his mother has had trouble +with his straying too far from the camp she +might say to him that it had run away and +the White people had caught it and set it to +work in an irrigating ditch, "and that is what +will happen to you if you don't watch out" ... or +she might draw a moral on the neglect +of duty if the occasion demanded it ... or if +she were gifted with fancy, tell him that that +was it which fell on us as rain in Big Meadow, +and it would return to its banks when it had +watered the high places. But whatever she +would tell him would have an acute observation +of nature behind it and would be stated +in personal terms. It is so that the child begins +to understand the continuity of natural +forces and their relativity to the life of man.</p> + +<p>There is a third sort of story included with +these, which aside from being of the stuff from +which hero myths are made,—<i>Mahala Joe</i> +is in point,—has a value which must be gone +into more particularly.</p> + +<p>What is important for the teacher to under<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii">[Pg viii]</a></span>stand +is that the myth, itself a living issue, +will not bear too much handling; in the process +of making it a part of the child's experience, +the meaning of it must not be pulled +up too often to learn if it has taken root. +Unless it elucidates itself in the course of +time,—and one must recall how long a period +elapsed between the first reading of the <i>Ugly +Duckling</i>, say, and its final revelation of itself,—unless +its content is broadly human and personal, +it has practically no educative value. It +is not absolutely indispensable that the whole +unfolding of it should be within the limited +period of school life that affords it; some of +the noblest human myths reveal as it were successive +layers of insight and purport, taking +change and color from the passing experience; +but it remains true that the best time to insinuate +the myth in the child's mind is when +he is normally at the myth-making period.</p> + +<p>To make it, then, part of the child's possession +it should be read to or by him at convenient +intervals, until he can give back a +fairly succinct version of it. Along with this<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_ix" id="Page_ix">[Pg ix]</a></span> +must go the business of deepening and extending +the background; and whether this is +to be done at the time of the reading or intermediately, +must depend largely on the local +background. Children in schools on the Pacific +slope should find themselves already tolerably +furnished; any hill region in fact should yield +suggestive material, without overlaying the +content of the myth with trifling exactitudes +of natural history.</p> + +<p>It is very difficult to say in a word all that +is implied in the extension of the background. +One has only to consider the amount of time +spent in teaching the so-called Classic Myths, +tremendous in their power of vitalizing and +coloring their own and related times, and reflect +on their failure to effect anything beyond +their mere story interest in modern life, to +realize that the value of a myth is directly in +proportion as its background is common and +accessible. What would happen in a locality +calculated to suggest and with a teacher properly +equipped to interpret the background of +Greek and Roman mythology, is not proven,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_x" id="Page_x">[Pg x]</a></span> +but in practical school work the author has +found it best to defer the teaching of it until +by general reading a point of contact is established, +which enables the child to read +<i>backward</i> into its meaning, and for the actively +myth-making period to use forms sprung +naturally from the child's own environment. +The better he can visualize and locate the +objects mythically treated, the better they +serve their purpose of rendering personal the +influences of nature and sustaining him in +that happy sense of the community of life and +interest in the Wild.</p> + +<p>It is for this purpose of extending the background +that the introductory sketches and +some others are included in this collection. +<i>The Golden Fortune</i> could be read with <i>The +White Barked Pine</i>, and <i>The Christmas Tree</i> +with <i>The Crooked Fir</i>. Any hill country or +wooded district should furnish additional color, +but let it be cautioned here, that though all +the nature references in these tales are entirely +dependable, the child is not to be made unhappy +thereby. Whatever branch of school work it<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xi" id="Page_xi">[Pg xi]</a></span> +is found necessary to correlate with the myths, +it should be in general recreative rather than +instructive; for what is comprehended in the +term Nature is after all not a miscellany of +objects, but a state of mind set up by their +happiest coincidences. The least that can be +said to achieve a proper notion of a tree or a +glacier is so much better than the most; a +casual application to a known and neighboring +circumstance goes further than any amount +of explanation.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xii" id="Page_xii">[Pg xii]</a></span></p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xiii" id="Page_xiii">[Pg xiii]</a></span></p> +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary=""> +<tr><td align='left'> </td><td align='right'><small>PAGE</small></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Basket Woman—First Story</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Basket Woman—Second Story</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_17">17</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Stream That Ran Away</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_31">31</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Coyote-Spirit and the Weaving Woman</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_43">43</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Cheerful Glacier</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_59">59</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Merry-go-Round</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_71">71</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Christmas Tree</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_87">87</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Fire Bringer</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_107">107</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Crooked Fir</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_119">119</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Sugar Pine</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_129">129</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Golden Fortune</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_141">141</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The White-Barked Pine</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_161">161</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Ná Ÿang-Wit'e, The First Rabbit Drive</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_171">171</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Mahala Joe</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_183">183</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Pronouncing Vocabulary</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_221">221</a></td></tr> +</table></div> + + +<h2>ILLUSTRATIONS</h2> + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary=""> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Basket Woman</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Frontis"><i>Frontispiece</i></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">A "Campoodie," or Indian Village</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_30">30</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">An Old Mine</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_142">142</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">A "Wickiup," or Indian Hut</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_184">184</a></td></tr> +</table></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xiv" id="Page_xiv">[Pg xiv]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p> + +<h2>THE BASKET WOMAN</h2> + +<h3>FIRST STORY</h3> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span></p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span></p> +<h3>THE BASKET WOMAN</h3> + + +<p>The homesteader's cabin stood in a moon-shaped +hollow between the hills and the high +mesa; and the land before it stretched away +golden and dusky green, and was lost in a +blue haze about where the river settlements +began. The hills had a flowing outline and +melted softly into each other and higher hills +behind, until the range broke in a ragged +crest of thin peaks white with snow. A clean, +wide sky bent over that country, and the air +that moved in it was warm and sweet.</p> + +<p>The homesteader's son had run out on the +trail that led toward the spring, with half a +mind to go to it, but ran back again when +he saw the Basket Woman coming. He was +afraid of her, and ashamed because he was +afraid, so he did not tell his mother that he +had changed his mind.</p> + +<p>"There is the mahala coming for the wash,"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span> +said his mother; "now you will have company +at the spring." But Alan only held +tighter to a fold of her dress. This was the +third time the Indian woman had come to +wash for the homesteader's wife; and, though +she was slow and quiet and had a pleasant +smile, Alan was still afraid of her. All that +he had heard of Indians before coming to this +country was very frightful, and he did not +understand yet that it was not so. Beyond a +certain point of hills on clear days he could +see smoke rising from the campoodie, and +though he knew nothing but his dreams of +what went on there, he would not so much as +play in that direction.</p> + +<p>The Basket Woman was the only Indian +that he had seen. She would come walking +across the mesa with a great cone-shaped +carrier basket heaped with brushwood on her +shoulders, stooping under it and easing the +weight by a buckskin band about her forehead. +Sometimes it would be a smaller basket +carried in the same fashion, and she would +be filling it with bulbs of wild hyacinth or<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span> +taboose; often she carried a bottle-necked water +basket to and from the spring, and always +wore a bowl-shaped basket on her head for a +hat. Her long hair hung down from under +it, and her black eyes glittered beadily below +the rim. Alan had a fancy that any moment +she might pick him up with a quick toss as if +he had been a bit of brushwood, and drop him +over her shoulder into the great carrier, and +walk away across the mesa with him. So when +he saw her that morning coming down the +trail from the spring, he hung close by his +mother's skirts.</p> + +<p>"You must not be afraid of her, Alan," +said his mother; "she is very kind, and no +doubt has had a boy of her own."</p> + +<p>The Basket Woman showed them her +white, even teeth in a smile. "This one very +pretty boy," she said; but Alan had made up +his mind not to trust her. He was thinking +of what the teamster had said when he had +driven them up from the railroad station +with their belongings the day they came to +their new home and found the Basket Wo<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span>man +spying curiously in at the cabin windows.</p> + +<p>"You wanter watch out how you behaves +yourself, sonny," said the teamster, wagging +a solemn jaw, "she's likely to pack you away +in that basket o' her'n one of these days." +And Alan had watched out very carefully +indeed.</p> + +<p>It was not a great while after they came to +the foothill claim that the homesteader went +over to the campoodie to get an Indian to +help at fence building, and Alan went with +him, holding fast by his father's hand. They +found the Indians living in low, foul huts; +their clothes were also dirty, and they sat +about on the ground, fat and good-natured. +The dogs and children lay sleeping in the +sun. It was all very disappointing.</p> + +<p>"Will they not hurt us, father?" Alan +had said at starting.</p> + +<p>"Oh, no, my boy; you must not get any +such notion as that," said the homesteader; +"Indians are not at all now what they were +once."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span></p> + +<p>Alan thought of this as he looked at the +campoodie, and pulled at his father's hand.</p> + +<p>"I do not like Indians the way they are +now," he said; and immediately saw that he +had made a mistake, for he was standing +directly in front of the Basket Woman's hut, +and as she suddenly put her head out of the +door he thought by the look of her mysterious, +bright eyes that she had understood. He +did not venture to say anything more, and all +the way home kept looking back toward the +campoodie to see if anything came of it.</p> + +<p>"Why do you not eat your supper?" said +his mother. "I am afraid the long walk in the +hot sun was too much for you." Alan dared +not say anything to her of what troubled him, +though perhaps it would have been better if +he had, for that night the Basket Woman +came for him.</p> + +<p>She did not pick him up and toss him over +her shoulder as he expected; but let down the +basket, and he stepped into it of his own accord. +Alan was surprised to find that he was +not so much afraid of her after all.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span></p> + +<p>"What will you do with me?" he said.</p> + +<p>"I will show you Indians as they used to +be," said she.</p> + +<p>Alan could feel the play of her strong +shoulders as they went out across the lower +mesa and began to climb the hills.</p> + +<p>"Where do you go?" said the boy.</p> + +<p>"To Pahrump, the valley of Corn Water. +It was there my people were happiest in old +days."</p> + +<p>They went on between the oaks, and smelled +the musky sweet smell of the wild grapevines +along the water borders. The sagebrush began +to fail from the slopes, and buckthorn to +grow up tall and thicker; the wind brought +them a long sigh from the lowest pines. They +came up with the silver firs and passed them, +passed the drooping spruces, the wet meadows, +and the wood of thimble-cone pines. The air +under them had an earthy smell. Presently +they came out upon a cleared space very high +up where the rocks were sharp and steep.</p> + +<p>"Why are there no trees here?" asked +Alan.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I will tell you about that," said the Basket +Woman. "In the old flood time, and that +is longer ago than is worth counting, the water +came up and covered the land, all but the +high tops of mountains. Here then the Indians +fled and lived, and with them the animals +that escaped from the flood. There +were trees growing then over all the high +places, but because the waters were long on +the earth the Indians were obliged to cut them +down for firewood. Also they killed all the +large animals for food, but the small ones hid +in the rocks. After that the waters went +down; trees and grass began to grow over +all the earth, but never any more on the tops +of high mountains. They had all been burned +off. You can see that it is so."</p> + +<p>From the top of the mountain Alan could +see all the hills on the other side shouldering +and peering down toward the happy valley of +Corn Water.</p> + +<p>"Here," said the Basket Woman, "my +people came of old time in the growing season +of the year; they planted corn, and the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span> +streams came down from the hills and watered +it. Now we, too, will go down."</p> + +<p>They went by a winding trail, steep and +stony. The pines stood up around and locked +them closely in.</p> + +<p>"I see smoke arising," said Alan, "blue +smoke above the pines."</p> + +<p>"It is the smoke of their hearth fires," said +the Basket Woman, and they went down and +down.</p> + +<p>"I hear a sound of singing," said the +boy.</p> + +<p>"It is the women singing and grinding +at the quern," she said, and her feet went +faster.</p> + +<p>"I hear laughter," he said again, "it mixes +with the running of the water."</p> + +<p>"It is the maidens washing their knee-long +hair. They kneel by the water and stoop +down, they dip in the running water and +shake out bright drops in the sun."</p> + +<p>"There is a pleasant smell," said Alan.</p> + +<p>"It is pine nuts roasting in the cones," said +the Basket Woman; "so it was of old time."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span></p> + +<p>They came out of the cleft of the hills in +a pleasant place by singing water. "There +you will see the rows of wickiups," said the +Basket Woman, "with the doors all opening +eastward to the sun. Let us sit here and see +what we shall see."</p> + +<p>The women sat by the wickiups weaving +baskets of willow and stems of fern. They +made patterns of bright feathers and strung +wampum about the rims. Some sewed with +sinew and needles of cactus thorn on deerskin +white and fine; others winnowed the +corn. They stood up tossing it in baskets like +grains of gold, and the wind carried away the +chaff. All this time the young girls were +laughing as they dried their hair in the sun. +They bound it with flowers and gay strings +of beads, and made their cheeks bright with +red earth. The children romped and shouted +about the camp, and ran bare-legged in the +stream.</p> + +<p>"Do they do nothing but play?" said +Alan.</p> + +<p>"You shall see," said the Basket Woman.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span></p> + +<p>Away up the mountain sounded a faint +halloo. In a moment all the camp was bustle +and delight. The children clapped their +hands; they left off playing and began to +drag up brushwood for the fires. The women +put away their weaving and brought out the +cooking pots; they heard the men returning +from the hunt. The young men brought deer +upon their shoulders; one had grouse and one +held up a great basket of trout. The women +made the meat ready for cooking. Some of +them took meal and made cakes for baking +in the ashes. The men rested in the glow +of the fires, feathering arrows and restringing +their bows.</p> + +<p>"That is well," said the Basket Woman, +"to make ready for to-morrow's meat before +to-day's is eaten."</p> + +<p>"How happy they are!" said the boy.</p> + +<p>"They will be happier when they have +eaten," said she.</p> + +<p>After supper the Indians gathered together +for singing and dancing. The old men told +tales one after the other, and the children<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span> +thought each one was the best. Between the +tales the Indians all sang together, or one +sang a new song that he had made. There +was one of them who did better than all. He +had streaked his body with colored earth and +had a band of eagle feathers in his hair. In +his hand was a rattle of wild sheep's horn and +small stones; he kept time with it as he leapt +and sang in the light of the fire. He sang of +old wars, sang of the deer that was killed, +sang of the dove and the young grass that +grew on the mountain; and the people were +well pleased, for when the heart is in the +singing it does not matter much what the +song is about. The men beat their hands together +to keep time to his dancing, and the +earth under his feet was stamped to a fine +dust.</p> + +<p>"He is one that has found the wolf's song," +said the Basket Woman.</p> + +<p>"What is that?" asked Alan.</p> + +<p>"It is an old tale of my people," said she. +"Once there was a man who could not make +any songs, so he got no praise from the tribe,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span> +and it troubled him much. Then, as he was +gathering taboose by the river, a wolf went +by, and the wolf said to him, 'What will +you have me to give you for your taboose?' +Then said the man, 'I will have you to give +me a song.'</p> + +<p>"'That will I gladly,' said the wolf. So +the wolf taught him, and that night he sang +the wolf's song in the presence of all the +people, and it made their hearts to burn +within them. Then the man fell down as if +he were dead, for the pure joy of singing, and +when deep sleep was upon him the wolf came +in the night and stole his song away. Neither +the man nor any one who had heard it remembered +it any more. So we say when a man +sings as no other sang before him, 'He has +the wolf's song.' It is a good saying. Now we +must go, for the children are all asleep by +their mothers, and the day comes soon," said +the Basket Woman.</p> + +<p>"Shall we come again?" said Alan. "And +will it all be as it is now?"</p> + +<p>"My people come often to the valley of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span> +Corn Water," said she, "but it is never as it +is now except in dreams. Now we must go +quickly." Far up the trail they saw a grayness +in the eastern sky where the day was +about to come in.</p> + +<p>"Hark," said the Basket Woman, "they +will sing together the coyote song. It is so +that they sing it when the coyote goes home +from his hunting, and the morning is near.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p> +"The coyote cries ...<br /> +He cries at daybreak ...<br /> +He cries ...<br /> +The coyote cries" ...<br /> +</p></div> + +<p>sang the Basket Woman, but all the spaces +in between the words were filled with long +howls,—weird, wicked noises that seemed to +hunt and double in a half-human throat. It +made the hair on Alan's neck stand up, and +cold shivers creep along his back. He began +to shake, for the wild howls drew near and +louder, and he felt the bed under him tremble +with his trembling.</p> + +<p>"Mother, mother," he cried, "what is +that?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span></p> + +<p>"It is only the coyotes," said she; "they +always howl about this time of night. It is +nothing; go to sleep again."</p> + +<p>"But I am afraid."</p> + +<p>"They cannot hurt you," said his mother; +"it is only the little gray beasts that you see +trotting about the mesa of afternoons; hear +them now."</p> + +<p>"I am afraid," said Alan.</p> + +<p>"Then you must come in my bed," said +she; and in a few minutes he was fast asleep +again.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE BASKET WOMAN</h2> + +<h3>SECOND STORY</h3> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span></p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span></p> +<h3>THE BASKET WOMAN</h3> + + +<p>The next time Alan saw the Basket Woman +he was not nearly so much afraid of her, +though he did not venture to speak of their +journey to Pahrump. He said to his mother, +"Do you not wish the Indians could have +stayed the way they were?" and his mother +laughed.</p> + +<p>"Why, no, child," she said, "I do not +think that I do. I think they are much better +off as they are now." Alan, however, was not +to be convinced. The next time he saw the +Basket Woman he was even troubled about +it.</p> + +<p>The homesteader had taken his family to +the town for a day, and the first thing Alan +saw when he got down from the wagon was +the Basket Woman. She was sitting in a corner +of the sidewalk with a group of other +mahalas, with her blanket drawn over her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> +shoulders, looking out upon the town, and +her eyes were dull and strange.</p> + +<p>A stream of people went by them in the +street, and minded them no more than the +dogs they stepped over, sprawling at the doors +of the stores. Some of the Indian women had +children with them, but they neither shouted +nor ran as they had done in the camp of Corn +Water; they sat quietly by their mothers, and +Alan noticed how worn and poor were the +clothes of all of them, and how wishful all the +eyes. He could not get his mind off them because +he could not get them out of his sight +for very long at a time. It was a very small +town, and as he went with his mother in and +about the stores he would be coming face to +face with the mahalas every little while, and +the Basket Woman's eyes were always sad.</p> + +<p>His mother, when she had finished her +shopping, gave him a silver dime and told +him that he might spend it as he wished. As +soon as Alan had turned the corner on that +errand there was the Basket Woman with her +chin upon her knees and her blanket drawn<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span> +over her shoulders. Alan stopped a moment +in front of her; he would have liked to say +something comforting, but found himself still +afraid.</p> + +<p>Her eyes looked on beyond him, blurred +and dim; he supposed she must be thinking +of the happy valley, and grew so very sorry +for her that, as he could not get the courage +to speak, he threw his dime into her lap and +ran as fast as he could away. It seemed to +him as he ran that she called to him, but he +could not be sure.</p> + +<p>That night, almost as soon as he had touched +the pillow, she came and stood beside him without +motion or sound, and let down the basket +from her back.</p> + +<p>"Do we go to Corn Water?" asked Alan +as he stepped into it.</p> + +<p>"To my people of old time," said the Basket +Woman, "so that you need not be so +much sorry."</p> + +<p>Then they went out by the mesa trail, where +the sage showed duskily under a thin rim of +moon. It seemed to Alan that they went<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span> +slowly, almost heavily. When they came to +the parting of the ways, she let down the basket +to rest. A rabbit popped, startled, out of +the brush, and scurried into the dark; its white +tail, like a signal, showed the way it went.</p> + +<p>"What was that?" asked Alan.</p> + +<p>"Only little Tavwots, whom we scared out +of his nest. Lean forward," she said, "and +I will tell you a tale about him." So the boy +leaned his head against the Basket Woman's +long black hair, and heard the story of Little +Tavwots and How He Caught the Sun in a +Snare.</p> + +<p>"It was long ago," said the Basket Woman. +"Tavwots was the largest of all four-footed +things, and a mighty hunter. He would get +up as soon as it was day and go to his hunting, +but always before him was the track of a +great foot on the trail; and this troubled him, +for his pride was as big as his body and +greater than his fame.</p> + +<p>"'Who is this?' cried Tavwots, 'that goes +with so great a stride before me to the hunting? +Does he think to put me to shame?'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span></p> + +<p>"'T'-sst!' said his mother, 'there is none +greater than thee.'</p> + +<p>"'Nevertheless,' said Tavwots, 'there are the +footprints in the trail.' The next morning he +got up earlier, but there were always the great +footprints and the long stride before him.</p> + +<p>"'Now I will set me a trap for this impudent +fellow,' said Tavwots, for he was very +cunning. So he made a snare of his bowstring +and set it in the trail overnight, and +in the morning when he went to look, behold, +he had caught the sun in his snare. All that +quarter of the earth was beginning to smoke +with the heat of it.</p> + +<p>"'Is it you?' cried Tavwots, 'who made +the tracks in my trail?'</p> + +<p>"'It is I,' said the sun. 'Come now and set +me free before the whole earth is afire.' Then +Tavwots saw what he had to do, so he drew +his knife and ran to cut the bowstring. But +the heat was so great that he ran back before +he had done it, and was melted down to one +half his size. Then the smoke of the burning +earth began to curl up against the sky.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span></p> + +<p>"'Come again, Tavwots,' cried the sun. So +he ran again and ran back, and the third time +he ran he cut the bowstring, and the sun was +set free from the snare. But by that time +Tavwots was melted down to as small as he is +now, and so he remains. Still you may see by +the print of his feet as he leaps in the trail +how great his stride was when he caught the +sun in his snare.</p> + +<p>"So it is always," said the Basket Woman, +"that which is large grows less, and my people, +which were great, have dwindled away."</p> + +<p>After that she became quiet, and they went +on over the mountain. Because he was beginning +to be acquainted with it, the way seemed +shorter to Alan than before. They passed over +the high barren ridges, and he began to look +for the camp at Corn Water.</p> + +<p>"I see no smoke," said Alan.</p> + +<p>"It would bring down their enemies like +buzzards on carrion," said the Basket Woman.</p> + +<p>"There is no sound of singing nor of laughter," +said the boy.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Who laughs in the time of war?" said she.</p> + +<p>"Is there war?" asked Alan.</p> + +<p>"Long and bitter," said the Basket Woman. +"Let us go softly and come upon them unawares."</p> + +<p>So they went, light of foot, among the pines +until they saw the wickiups opening eastward +to the sun, but many of them stood ruined +and awry. There were only the very old and +the children in the camp, and these did not +run and play. They stole about like mice in +the meadow sod, and if so much as a twig +snapped in the forest, they huddled motionless +as young quail. The women worked in +the growing corn; they dug roots on the hill +slope and caught grasshoppers for food. One +made a noose of her long black hair plucked +out, and snared the bright lizards that ran +among the rocks. It seemed to Alan that the +Indians looked wishful and thinner than they +should; but such food as they found was all +put by.</p> + +<p>"Why do they do this?" asked the boy.</p> + +<p>"That the men who go to war may not go<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> +fasting," said the Basket Woman. "Look, +now we shall have news of them."</p> + +<p>A young man came noiselessly out of the +wood, and it was he who had sung the new +song on the night of feasting and dancing. +He had eagle feathers in his hair, but they +were draggled; there was beadwork on his +leggings, but it was torn with thorns; there +was paint on his face and his body, but it was +smeared over red, and as he came into the +camp he broke his bow across his knee.</p> + +<p>"It is a token of defeat," said the Basket +Woman; "the others will come soon." But +some came feebly because of wounds, and it +seemed the women looked for some who might +never come. They cast up their arms and +cried with a terrible wailing sound that rose +and shuddered among the pines.</p> + +<p>"Be still," said the young man; "would +you bring our enemies down upon us with +your screeching?" Then the women threw +themselves quietly in the dust, and rocked to +and fro with sobbing; their stillness was more +bitter than their crying.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span></p> + +<p>Suddenly out of the wood came a storm of +arrows, a rush of strange, painted braves, and +the din of fighting.</p> + +<p>"Shut your eyes," said the Basket Woman, +"it is not good for you to see." Alan hid his +face in the Basket Woman's dress, and heard +the noise of fighting rage and die away. When +he ventured to look again on the ruined huts +and the trampled harvest, there were few +left in the camp of Corn Water, and they +had enough to do to find food for their poor +bodies. They winnowed the creek with basket-work +weirs for every finger-long troutling that +came down in it, and tore the bark off the +pine trees to get at the grubs underneath.</p> + +<p>"Why do they not go out and kill deer as +before?" asked Alan.</p> + +<p>"Their enemies lurk in the wood and drive +away the game," said the Basket Woman.</p> + +<p>"Why do they not go to another place?"</p> + +<p>"Where shall they go, when their foes watch +every pass?" said she.</p> + +<p>It seemed to Alan that many days and +nights passed while they watched by the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span> +camp; and the days were all sorrowful, and +always, as before, the best meat was set aside +for the strongest.</p> + +<p>"Why is this so?" asked the boy.</p> + +<p>"Because," said the Basket Woman, "those +who are strong must stay so to care for the +rest. It is the way of my people. You see that +the others do not complain." And it was so +that the feeble ones tottered silently about +the camp or sat still a long time in one place +with their heads upon their knees.</p> + +<p>"How will it end?" asked Alan.</p> + +<p>"They must go away at last," said she, +"though the cords of their hearts are fastened +here. But there is no seed corn, and the winter +is close at hand."</p> + +<p>Then there began to be a tang of frost +in the air, and the people gathered up their +household goods, and, though there was not +much of them, they staggered and bent under +the burden as they went up out of the once +happy valley to another home. The women +let down their long hair and smeared ashes +upon it; they threw up their lean arms and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span> +wailed long and mournfully as they passed +among the pines. Alan began to tremble with +crying, and felt the Basket Woman patting +him on the shoulder. Her voice sounded to +him like the voice of his mother telling him +to go to sleep again, for there was nothing +for him to be troubled about. After he grew +quieter, the Indian woman lifted him up. +"We must be going," she said, "it is not +good for us to be here."</p> + +<p>Alan wished as they went up over the +mountain that she would help him with talk +toward forgetting what he had seen, but the +long hair fell over her face and she would not +talk. He shivered in the basket, and the night +felt colder and full of fearsome noises.</p> + +<p>"What is that?" he whispered, as a falling +star trailed all across the dark.</p> + +<p>"It is the coyote people that brought the +fire to my people," said the Basket Woman. +Alan hoped she would tell him a tale about it, +but she would not. They went on down the +mountain until they came to the borders of +the long-leaved pines. Alan heard the sough<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> +of the wind in the needles, and it seemed as +if it called.</p> + +<p>"What is that?" he whispered.</p> + +<p>"It is Hí-no-no, the wind, mourning for his +brother, the pine tree," but she would not tell +him that tale, either. She went faster and +faster, and Alan felt the stir of her shoulders +under him. He listened to the wind, and it +grew fierce and louder until he heard the +house beams creak, for he was awake in his +own bed. A strong wind drove gustily across +the mesa and laid hold of the corners of the +roof.</p> + +<p>The next morning the homesteader said +that he must go to the campoodie and Alan +might go with him. Alan was quite pleased, +and said to his mother while she was getting +him ready, "Do you know, I think Indians +are a great deal better off as they are now."</p> + +<p>"Why, yes," said his mother, smiling, "I +think so, too."</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 1024px;"> +<span class="caption">A “CAMPOODIE,” OR INDIAN VILLAGE</span> +<img src="images/i049.jpg" width="1024" height="677" alt="A CAMPOODIE, OR INDIAN VILLAGE" title="" /> +<p style='text-align:right'>From photograph by A. A. Forbes</p> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE STREAM THAT RAN AWAY</h2> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span></p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span></p> +<h3>THE STREAM THAT RAN AWAY</h3> + + +<p>In a short and shallow cañon on the front of +Oppapago running eastward toward the sun, +one may find a clear brown stream called the +creek of Piñon Pines. That is not because it +is unusual to find piñon trees on Oppapago, +but because there are so few of them in the +cañon of the stream. There are all sorts higher +up on the slopes,—long-leaved yellow pines, +thimble cones, tamarack, silver fir and Douglas +spruce; but here there is only a group of the +low-heading, gray nut pines which the earliest +inhabitants of that country called piñons.</p> + +<p>The cañon of Piñon Pines has a pleasant +outlook and lies open to the sun, but there is +not much other cause for the forest rangers +to remember it. At the upper end there is +no more room by the stream border than +will serve for a cattle trail; willows grow in +it, choking the path of the water; there are<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> +brown birches here and ropes of white clematis +tangled over thickets of brier rose. Low +down the ravine broadens out to inclose a +meadow the width of a lark's flight, blossomy +and wet and good. Here the stream ran once +in a maze of soddy banks and watered all the +ground, and afterward ran out at the cañon's +mouth across the mesa in a wash of bone-white +boulders as far as it could. That was not +very far, for it was a slender stream. It had +its source really on the high crests and hollows +of Oppapago, in the snow banks that melted +and seeped downward through the rocks; but +the stream did not know any more of that than +you know of what happened to you before +you were born, and could give no account of +itself except that it crept out from under a +great heap of rubble far up in the cañon of +the Piñon Pines. And because it had no pools +in it deep enough for trout, and no trees on +its borders but gray nut pines; because, try as +it might, it could never get across the mesa +to the town, the stream had fully made up its +mind to run away.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Pray what good will that do you?" said +the pines. "If you get to the town, they will +turn you into an irrigating ditch and set you +to watering crops."</p> + +<p>"As to that," said the stream, "if I once +get started I will not stop at the town." +Then it would fret between its banks until the +spangled frills of the mimulus were all tattered +with its spray. Often at the end of the +summer it was worn quite thin and small with +running, and not able to do more than reach +the meadow.</p> + +<p>"But some day," it whispered to the stones, +"I shall run quite away."</p> + +<p>If the stream had been inclined for it, there +was no lack of good company on its own +borders. Birds nested in the willows, rabbits +came to drink; one summer a bobcat made +its lair up the bank opposite the brown birches, +and often deer fed in the meadow. Then +there was a promise of better things. In the +spring of one year two old men came up into +the canon of Piñon Pines. They had been +miners and partners together for many years,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span> +they had grown rich and grown poor, and had +seen many hard places and strange times. It +was a day when the creek ran clear and the +south wind smelled of the earth. Wild bees +began to whine among the willows, and the +meadow bloomed over with poppy-breasted +larks. Then said one of the old men, "Here +is good meadow and water enough; let us +build a house and grow trees. We are too +old to dig in the mines."</p> + +<p>"Let us set about it," said the other; for +that is the way with two who have been a long +time together: what one thinks of, the other is +for doing. So they brought their possessions +and made a beginning that day, for they felt +the spring come on warmly in their blood; +they wished to dig in the earth and handle +it.</p> + +<p>These two men who, in the mining camps +where they were known, were called "Shorty" +and "Long Tom," and had almost forgotten +that they had other names, built a house by +the water border and planted trees. Shorty +was all for an orchard, but Long Tom pre<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span>ferred +vegetables. So they did each what he +liked, and were never so happy as when walking +in the garden in the cool of the day, touching +the growing things as they walked and +praising each other's work.</p> + +<p>"This will make a good home for our old +age," said Long Tom, "and when we die we +can be buried here."</p> + +<p>"Under the piñon pines," said Shorty. "I +have marked out a place."</p> + +<p>So they were very happy for three years. By +this time the stream had become so interested +it had almost forgotten about running away. +But every year it noted that a larger bit of +the meadow was turned under and planted, +and more and more the men made dams and +ditches to govern its running.</p> + +<p>"In fact," said the stream, "I am being +made into an irrigating ditch before I have +had my fling in the world. I really must make +a start."</p> + +<p>That very winter by the help of a great +storm it went roaring down the meadow over +the mesa, and so clean away, with only a track<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> +of muddy sand to show the way it had gone. +All the winter, however, Shorty and Long +Tom brought water for drinking from a spring, +and looked for the stream to come back. In +the spring they hoped still, for that was the +season they looked for the orchard to bear. +But no fruit set on the trees, and the seeds +Long Tom planted shriveled in the earth. So +by the end of summer, when they understood +that the water would not come back at all, +they went sadly away.</p> + +<p>Now what happened to the creek of Piñon +Pines is not very well known to any one, for +the stream is not very clear on that point, except +that it did not have a happy time. It +went out in the world on the wings of the +storm and was very much tossed about and +mixed up with other waters, lost and bewildered. +Everywhere it saw water at work, +turning mills, watering fields, carrying trade, +falling as hail, rain, and snow, and at the last, +after many journeys, found itself creeping out +from under the rocks of Oppapago in the +canon of Piñon Pines. Immediately the little<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span> +stream knew itself and recalled clearly all that +had happened to it before.</p> + +<p>"After all, home is best," said the stream, +and ran about in its choked channels looking +for old friends. The willows were there, +but grown shabby and dying at the top; +the birches were quite dead, but stood still +in their places; and there was only rubbish +where the white clematis had been. Even the +rabbits had gone away. The little stream +ran whimpering in the meadow, fumbling at +the ruined ditches to comfort the fruit-trees +which were not quite dead. It was very dull +in those days living in the canon of Piñon +Pines.</p> + +<p>"But it is really my own fault," said the +stream. So it went on repairing the borders +with the best heart it could contrive.</p> + +<p>About the time the white clematis had come +back to hide the ruin of the brown birches, a +young man came and camped with his wife +and child in the meadow. They were looking +for a place to make a home. They looked long +at the meadow, for Shorty and Long Tom had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> +taken away their house and it did not appear +to belong to any one.</p> + +<p>"What a charming place!" said the young +wife, "just the right distance from town, and +a stream all to ourselves. And look, there are +fruit-trees already planted. Do let us decide +to stay."</p> + +<p>Then she took off the child's shoes and +stockings to let it play in the stream. The +water curled all about the bare feet and gurgled +delightedly.</p> + +<p>"Ah, do stay," begged the happy water, +"I can be such a help to you, for I know +how a garden should be irrigated in the best +manner."</p> + +<p>The child laughed and stamped the water +up to his bare knees. The young wife watched +anxiously while her husband walked up and +down the stream border and examined the +fruit-trees.</p> + +<p>"It is a delightful place," he said, "and +the soil is rich, but I am afraid the water +cannot be depended upon. There are signs of +a great drought within the last two or three<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span> +years. Look, there is a clump of birches in the +very path of the stream, but all dead; and +the largest limbs of the fruit-trees have died. +In this country one must be able to make sure +of the water supply. I suppose the people who +planted them must have abandoned the place +when the stream went dry. We must go on +farther." So they took their goods and the +child and went on farther.</p> + +<p>"Ah, well," said the stream, "that is what +is to be expected when one has a reputation +for neglecting one's duty. But I wish they +had stayed. That baby and I understood each +other."</p> + +<p>He had quite made up his mind not to run +away again, though he could not be expected +to be quite cheerful after all that had happened; +in fact, if you go yourself to the +cañon of the Piñon Pines you will notice +that the stream, where it goes brokenly about +the meadow, has quite a mournful sound.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span></p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE COYOTE-SPIRIT AND THE<br /> +WEAVING WOMAN</h2> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span></p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span></p> +<h3>THE COYOTE-SPIRIT AND THE WEAVING +WOMAN</h3> + + +<p>The Weaving Woman lived under the bank +of the stony wash that cut through the country +of the mesquite dunes. The Coyote-Spirit, +which, you understand, is an Indian whose +form has been changed to fit with his evil behavior, +ranged from the Black Rock where +the wash began to the white sands beyond +Pahranagat; and the Goat-Girl kept her flock +among the mesquites, or along the windy +stretch of sage below the campoodie; but as +the Coyote-Spirit never came near the wickiups +by day, and the Goat-Girl went home the +moment the sun dropped behind Pahranagat, +they never met. These three are all that have +to do with the story.</p> + +<p>The Weaving Woman, whose work was the +making of fine baskets of split willow and +roots of yucca and brown grass, lived alone,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> +because there was nobody found who wished +to live with her, and because it was whispered +among the wickiups that she was different +from other people. It was reported that she +had an infirmity of the eyes which caused her +to see everything with rainbow fringes, bigger +and brighter and better than it was. All +her days were fruitful, a handful of pine nuts +as much to make merry over as a feast; every +lad who went by a-hunting with his bow at +his back looked to be a painted brave, and +every old woman digging roots as fine as a +medicine man in all his feathers. All the +faces at the campoodie, dark as the mingled +sand and lava of the Black Rock country, +deep lined with work and weather, shone for +this singular old woman with the glory of the +late evening light on Pahranagat. The door +of her wickiup opened toward the campoodie +with the smoke going up from cheerful +hearths, and from the shadow of the bank +where she sat to make baskets she looked +down the stony wash where all the trails converged +that led every way among the dunes,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span> +and saw an enchanted mesa covered with +misty bloom and gentle creatures moving on +trails that seemed to lead to the places where +one had always wished to be.</p> + +<p>Since all this was so, it was not surprising +that her baskets turned out to be such wonderful +affairs, and the tribesmen, though they +winked and wagged their heads, were very +glad to buy them for a haunch of venison +or a bagful of mesquite meal. Sometimes, as +they stroked the perfect curves of the bowls +or traced out the patterns, they were heard to +sigh, thinking how fine life would be if it +were so rich and bright as she made it seem, +instead of the dull occasion they had found +it. There were some who even said it was a +pity, since she was so clever at the craft, that +the weaver was not more like other people, +and no one thought to suggest that in that +case her weaving would be no better than +theirs. For all this the basket-maker did not +care, sitting always happily at her weaving or +wandering far into the desert in search of +withes and barks and dyes, where the wild<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> +things showed her many a wonder hid from +those who have not rainbow fringes to their +eyes; and because she was not afraid of anything, +she went farther and farther into the +silent places until in the course of time she +met the Coyote-Spirit.</p> + +<p>Now a Coyote-Spirit, from having been a +man, is continually thinking about men and +wishing to be with them, and, being a coyote +and of the wolf's breed, no sooner does he +have his wish than he thinks of devouring. +So as soon as this one had met the Weaving +Woman he desired to eat her up, or to work +her some evil according to the evil of his nature. +He did not see any opportunity to begin +at the first meeting, for on account of the +infirmity of her eyes the woman did not see +him as a coyote, but as a man, and let down +her wicker water bottle for him to drink, so +kindly that he was quite abashed. She did +not seem in the least afraid of him, which is +disconcerting even to a real coyote; though +if he had been, she need not have been afraid +of him in any case. Whatever pestiferous<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> +beast the Indian may think the dog of the +wilderness, he has no reason to fear him except +when by certain signs, as having a larger +and leaner body, a sharper muzzle, and more +evilly pointed ears, he knows him the soul of +a bad-hearted man going about in that guise. +There are enough of these coyote-spirits ranging +in Mesquite Valley and over towards Funeral +Mountains and about Pahranagat to give +certain learned folk surmise as to whether +there may not be a strange breed of wolves in +that region; but the Indians know better.</p> + +<p>When the coyote-spirit who had met the +basket woman thought about it afterward, he +said to himself that she deserved all the mischance +that might come upon her for that +meeting. "She knows," he said, "that this +is my range, and whoever walks in a coyote-spirit's +range must expect to take the consequences. +She is not at all like the Goat-Girl."</p> + +<p>The Coyote-Spirit had often watched the +Goat-Girl from the top of Pahranagat, but +because she was always in the open where no +lurking-places were, and never far from the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> +corn lands where the old men might be working, +he had made himself believe he would not +like that kind of a girl. Every morning he saw +her come out of her leafy hut, loose the goats +from the corral, which was all of cactus stems +and broad leaves of prickly-pear, and lead them +out among the wind-blown hillocks of sand +under which the trunks of the mesquite flourished +for a hundred years, and out of the tops +of which the green twigs bore leaves and fruit; +or along the mesa to browse on bitterbrush +and the tops of scrubby sage. Sometimes she +plaited willows for the coarser kinds of basket-work, +or, in hot noonings while the flock dozed, +worked herself collars and necklaces of white +and red and turquoise-colored beads, and other +times sat dreaming on the sand. But whatever +she did, she kept far enough from the place of +the Coyote-Spirit, who, now that he had met +the Weaving Woman, could not keep his mind +off her. Her hut was far enough from the +campoodie so that every morning he went +around by the Black Rock to see if she was +still there, and there she sat weaving patterns<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span> +in her baskets of all that she saw or thought. +Now it would be the winding wash and the +wattled huts beside it, now the mottled skin +of the rattlesnake or the curled plumes of the +quail.</p> + +<p>At last the Coyote-Spirit grew so bold that +when there was no one passing on the trail he +would go and walk up and down in front of the +wickiup. Then the Weaving Woman would +look up from her work and give him the news +of the season and the tribesmen in so friendly +a fashion that he grew less and less troubled +in his mind about working her mischief. He +said in his evil heart that since the ways of +such as he were known to the Indians,—as indeed +they were, with many a charm and spell +to keep them safe,—it could be no fault of +his if they came to harm through too much +familiarity. As for the Weaving Woman, he +said, "She sees me as I am, and ought to +know better," for he had not heard about the +infirmity of her eyes.</p> + +<p>Finally he made up his mind to ask her to +go with him to dig for roots around the foot<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span> +of Pahranagat, and if she consented,—and of +course she did, for she was a friendly soul,—he +knew in his heart what he would do. They +went out by the mesa trail, and it was a soft +and blossomy day of spring. Long wands of the +creosote with shining fretted foliage were hung +with creamy bells of bloom, and doves called +softly from the Dripping Spring. They passed +rows of owlets sitting by their burrows and saw +young rabbits playing in their shallow forms. +The Weaving Woman talked gayly as they +went, as Indian women talk, with soft mellow +voices and laughter breaking in between the +words like smooth water flowing over stones. +She talked of how the deer had shifted their +feeding grounds and of whether the quail had +mated early that year as a sign of a good season, +matters of which the Coyote-Spirit knew +more than she, only he was not thinking of +those things just then. Whenever her back +was turned he licked his cruel jaws and whetted +his appetite. They passed the level mesa, +passed the tumbled fragments of the Black +Rock and came to the sharp wall-sided cañons<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span> +that showed the stars at noon from their deep +wells of sombre shade, where no wild creature +made its home and no birds ever sang. Then +the Weaving Woman grew still at last because +of the great stillness, and the Coyote-Spirit said +in a hungry, whining voice,—</p> + +<p>"Do you know why I brought you here?"</p> + +<p>"To show me how still and beautiful the +world is here," said the Weaving Woman, and +even then she did not seem afraid.</p> + +<p>"To eat you up," said the Coyote. With +that he looked to see her fall quaking at his +feet, and he had it in mind to tell her it was no +fault but her own for coming so far astray with +one of his kind, but the woman only looked +at him and laughed. The sound of her laughter +was like water in a bubbling spring.</p> + +<p>"Why do you laugh?" said the Coyote, +and he was so astonished that his jaws remained +open when he had done speaking.</p> + +<p>"How could you eat me?" said she. "Only +wild beasts could do that."</p> + +<p>"What am I, then?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, you are only a man."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I am a coyote," said he.</p> + +<p>"Do you think I have no eyes?" said the +woman. "Come!" For she did not understand +that her eyes were different from other people's, +what she really thought was that other people's +were different from hers, which is quite another +matter, so she pulled the Coyote-Spirit +over to a rain-fed pool. In that country the +rains collect in basins of the solid rock that +grow polished with a thousand years of storm +and give back from their shining side a reflection +like a mirror. One such lay in the bottom +of the black cañon, and the Weaving Woman +stood beside it.</p> + +<p>Now it is true of coyote-spirits that they +are so only because of their behavior; not +only have they power to turn themselves to +men if they wish—but they do not wish, or +they would not have become coyotes in the +first place—but other people in their company, +according as they think man-thoughts or beast-thoughts, +can throw over them such a change +that they have only to choose which they will +be. So the basket-weaver contrived to throw<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span> +the veil of her mind over the Coyote-Spirit, so +that when he looked at himself in the pool +he could not tell for the life of him whether +he was most coyote or most man, which so +frightened him that he ran away and left the +Weaving Woman to hunt for roots alone. He +ran for three days and nights, being afraid of +himself, which is the worst possible fear, and +then ran back to see if the basket-maker had +not changed her mind. He put his head in at +the door of her wickiup.</p> + +<p>"Tell me, now, am I a coyote or a +man?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, a man," said she, and he went off to +Pahranagat to think it over. In a day or two +he came back.</p> + +<p>"And what now?" he said.</p> + +<p>"Oh, a man, and I think you grow handsomer +every day."</p> + +<p>That was really true, for what with her insisting +upon it and his thinking about it, the +beast began to go out of him and the man to +come back. That night he went down to the +campoodie to try and steal a kid from the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span> +corral, but it occurred to him just in time that +a man would not do that, so he went back to +Pahranagat and ate roots and berries instead, +which was a true sign that he had grown into +a man again. Then there came a day when +the Weaving Woman asked him to stop at her +hearth and eat. There was a savory smell +going up from the cooking-pots, cakes of +mesquite meal baking in the ashes, and sugary +white buds of the yucca palm roasting on the +coals. The man who had been a coyote lay +on a blanket of rabbit skin and heard the +cheerful snapping of the fire. It was all so +comfortable and bright that somehow it made +him think of the Goat-Girl.</p> + +<p>"That is the right sort of a girl," he said +to himself. "She has always stayed in the +safe open places and gone home early. She +should be able to tell me what I am," for he +was not quite sure, and since he had begun +to walk with men a little, he had heard about +the Weaving Woman's eyes.</p> + +<p>Next day he went out where the flock fed, +not far from the corn lands, and the Goat-Girl<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> +did not seem in the least afraid of him. So he +went again, and the third day he said,—</p> + +<p>"Tell me what I seem to you."</p> + +<p>"A very handsome man," said she.</p> + +<p>"Then will you marry me?" said he; and +when the Goat-Girl had taken time to think +about it she said yes, she thought she would.</p> + +<p>Now, when the man who had been a coyote +lay on the blanket of the Weaving Woman's +wickiup, he had taken notice how it was made +of willows driven into the ground around a +pit dug in the earth, and the poles drawn +together at the top, and thatched with brush, +and he had tried at the foot of Pahranagat +until he had built another like it; so when he +had married the Goat-Girl, after the fashion +of her tribe, he took her there to live. He +was not now afraid of anything except that +his wife might get to know that he had once +been a coyote. It was during the first month +of their marriage that he said to her, "Do +you know the basket-maker who lives under +the bank of the stony wash? They call her +the Weaving Woman."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I have heard something of her and I have +bought her baskets. Why do you ask?"</p> + +<p>"It is nothing," said the man, "but I hear +strange stories of her, that she associates with +coyote-spirits and such creatures," for he +wanted to see what his wife would say to +that.</p> + +<p>"If that is the case," said she, "the less we +see of her the better. One cannot be too careful +in such matters."</p> + +<p>After that, when the man who had been +a coyote and his wife visited the campoodie, +they turned out of the stony wash before they +reached the wickiup, and came in to the camp +by another trail. But I have not heard +whether the Weaving Woman noticed it.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE CHEERFUL GLACIER</h2> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span></p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span></p> +<h3>THE CHEERFUL GLACIER</h3> + + +<p>Very many years ago, at the foot of a nameless +peak between Mount Ritter and Togobah, +after three successive years of deep snow +there was a glacier born. It crept out fanwise +from a furrow on the mountain-side, +very high up, above the limit of the white-barked +pines, and its upper end was lost under +the drift of loose snow that trailed down the +slope. For three successive winters the gray +veil of storms hung month-long about the +crest of the Sierras, while the snow came falling, +falling, and the wind kept heaping, heaping, +until the drifts sagged and slipped of +their own weight down the long groove of the +mountain; and since it lay on the sunless +northern slope, and as it happened the summers +that came between fell cool and rainy, +there, when the spring thaw had cleared the +loose snow, spread out on a little stony flat lay +the rim of the glacier. Yet it was a very little<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span> +one, a rod or two of clear shining ice that ran +into deep blue and gray sludge under a drift +of coarse, whitish granules, and very high up, +fine dry particles of snow like powdered glass. +So it lay at the time of year when the mountain +sheep began to come back to their summer +feeding-grounds.</p> + +<p>When the thaw had cleared the heather +and warmed the lichened rocks, they loosed +their hold of the ice, and the great weight of +it began to crawl down the mountain. At the +first slow thrill of motion the little glacier +creaked with delight.</p> + +<p>"Ah," it said, "it is evident that I am not +a mere snow bank, for in that case I should +remain in one place. Now I know myself +truly a glacier." For up to that time it had +been in some doubt.</p> + +<p>By the end of the summer it had advanced +more than a span in the shadow of the peak. +Then the snows began, deep and heavy, but +the glacier did not complain; it hugged the +floor of the rift where it lay, and thought of +the time when it should start on its travels<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> +again. So, because of thinking about it so +much, or because the snows were deeper and +the summers not so warm, the glacier increased +and went forward until it had quite +crossed the stony flat, and began to believe it +might make its mark in the world. There +were any number of reasons for thinking so. +To begin with, all that neighborhood was +deeply scarred and scoured by the trail of old +glaciers, and the high peaks glittered with the +keen polish of ice floes. All down the slope +shone glassy bosses of clear granite succeeding +to beds of cassiope and blue heather, polished +slips of granite, pentstemon and more +heather, smooth granite that the feet could +take no hold upon, then saxifrage and meadowsweet, +and so down to the stream border, +where the water quarreled with the stones. +And by the time the little glacier had settled +that it would leave such a mark on the mountain-side, +shining and softened by small blossomy +things, it had come quite to the farthest +border of the flat, and looked over the edge +of a sharp descent. It was much too far to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> +bend over, for though the glacier was all of +brittle ice, it could bend a little.</p> + +<p>"But it is really nothing," said the glacier. +"I have only to grind down the cliff until it +is the proper height;" and it took a firmer +hold on the sharp fragments of stones it had +gathered on its way down the ravine. The +pressure of the sodden snow above kept on, +however, and before the glacier had fairly +begun its grinding the ice rim was pushed out +beyond the bluff, broke off, and lay at the foot +in a shining heap.</p> + +<p>"So much the better," said the cheerful +glacier. "What with grinding above and filling +with broken ice below, the work will be +accomplished in half the time."</p> + +<p>But that never really happened, for this +was the last season the ice reached to the far +edge of the flat. The next year there was +less snow and more sun. The long slope of +bare rocks gathered up the heat and held it +so that the ice began to melt underneath, and +a stream ran from it and fell over the cliff in +a fine silvery veil.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span></p> + +<p>"How very fortunate," said the glacier, +"to become the head of a river so early in my +career. Besides, this is a much easier way of +getting over the falls."</p> + +<p>Then the water began to purr in sheer content +where it went among the stones; it increased +and went down the cañon toward the +white torrent of the creek that flowed from +Togobah, and the next summer a water ousel +found it. She came whirling up the course +of the stream like a thrown pebble, plump +and slaty blue, scattering a spray of sound +as clear and round as the trickle of ice water +that went over the falls. The ousel sat on +the edge of the ice rim to finish her song, and +it timed with the running of the stream.</p> + +<p>"You should understand," said the glacier, +"that I started in life with the intention of +cutting my way down the mountain. But +now I am become a river I am quite as well +pleased."</p> + +<p>"Everything is the best," said the ousel; +"that has been the motto of my family for a +long time, and I am sure I have proved it."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span> +And if one listened close as she flew in and +out of the falls and sought in the white torrent +for her food, one understood that it was +the burden of her song. "Everything is the +best," she sang, and kept on singing it when +the glacier had grown so small by running +that it was quite hollowed out under the roof +of granulated snow, and the light came +through it softly and wonderfully blue. Then +the ousel would go far up into this ice cave +until the sound of her singing came out wild +and sweet, mixed with the water and the +tinkle of the ice. As for the words of her +song, the glacier never disagreed with her, +though by now it had retreated clear across +its stony flat. But the wind brought in the +seeds of dwarf willow that sprouted and took +root, and bright little buttercups began to +come up and shiver in the flood of ice water.</p> + +<p>"It seems I am to have a meadow of my +own," said the glacier, by the time there was +stone-crop and purple pentstemon blowing in +the damp crevices about its border. "I do +not believe there is a prettier ice garden on<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span> +this side of the mountain. And to think that +all I once wished was to leave a track of bare +and shining stones! The ousel is right, everything +is for the best."</p> + +<p>The ousel always went downstream at the +beginning of the winter, when the running +waters were shut under snow bridges and the +pools were puddles of gray sludge, down and +down to the foothill borders, and at the turn +of the year followed up again in the wake of +the thaw. So it was not often that the ousel +and the glacier saw each other between October +and June.</p> + +<p>"But of course," said the glacier, "the +longer you are away, the more we have to say +to each other when you come."</p> + +<p>"And anyway it cannot be helped," said +the ousel. For though she did not mind the +storms and cold weather, one cannot really +exist without eating.</p> + +<p>After one of these winter trips, the ousel +noticed that the stream that came over the +fall had quite failed, ran only a slender trickle +that dripped among the shivering fern and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span> +was lost in the rock crevices, and though she +was such a cheerful little body, she did not +like to be the first to speak of it. It seemed +as if the glacier could not last much longer +at that rate. So she flitted about in the lace-work +caverns of the ice, and sang airily and +sweet, and the words of her song were what +they had always been.</p> + +<p>"That is quite true," said the glacier. "You +see how it is with me; once I was very proud +to run over the fall with a splashing sound, +but now I find it better to keep all the water +for my meadow."</p> + +<p>In fact, there was quite a border of sod all +about where the ice had been, and a great mat +of white-belled cassiope in the middle. It grew +greener and more blossomy every year. The +ousel grew so used to finding it there, and so +pleased with the society of the glacier, which +was quite after her own heart, that it was a +great grief to her as she came whirling up the +stream in the flood tide of the year to find +that they had both, the meadow and the ice, +wholly disappeared.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span></p> + +<p>That had been a winter of long, thunderous +storms, and a great splinter of granite had +fallen away from the mountain peaks and slid +down in a heap of rubble over the place where +the glacier had been. There was now no trace +of it under sharp, broken stones.</p> + +<p>But because they had been friends, the ousel +could not keep quite away from the place, but +came again and again and flew chirruping +around the foot of the hill. One of those days +when the sun was strong and the heather +white on the wild headlands, she saw a slender +rill of water creeping out at the bottom +of the rubbish heap, and knew at once by the +cheerful sound of it that it must be her friend +the glacier, or what was left of it.</p> + +<p>"Yes, indeed," bubbled the spring, "it is +really surprising what good luck I have. As +a glacier, I suppose I should have quite melted +away in a few summers; but with all this protection +of loose stones, I shouldn't wonder if +I became a perennial spring."</p> + +<p>And in fact that is exactly what occurred, +for with the snow that sifted down between<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span> +the broken boulders, and the snow water that +collected in the hollow where the meadow had +been, the spring has never gone quite dry. +Every summer, when the heather and pentstemon +and saxifrage on the glacier slip are at +their best, the cheerful water comes out of +the foot of the nameless peak and the ousel +comes up from the white torrent and sits upon +the stones. Then they sing together, and their +voices blend perfectly; but if you listen carefully, +you will observe that the words of their +song are always the same.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE MERRY-GO-ROUND</h2> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span></p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span></p> +<h3>THE MERRY-GO-ROUND</h3> + + +<p>The Basket Woman was washing for the +homesteader's wife at the spring, and Alan, +by this time very good friends with her, was +pulling up sagebrush for the fire, when the +coyote came by. It was a clear, wide morning, +warm and sweet, with gusty flaws of +cooler air moving down from Pine Mountain. +There was a lake of purple lupins in the swale, +and the last faint flush of wild almonds burning +on the slope. The grapevines at the spring +were full of bloom and tender leaf. Eastward, +above the high tilted mesa under the open +sky, the buzzards were making a merry-go-round. +That was the way Alan always thought +of their performance when he saw them circling +slantwise under the sun. Round and +round they went, now so low that he could +see how the shabby wing feathers frayed out +at the edges, now so high that they became +mere specks against the sky.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span></p> + +<p>"What makes them go round and round?" +asked Alan of the mahala.</p> + +<p>"They go about to wait for their dinner, +but the table is not yet spread," said she. The +Basket Woman did not use quite such good +English; but though Alan understood her +broken talk, you probably would not. The +little boy could not imagine, though he tried, +what a buzzard's dinner might be like. The +high mesa, with the water of mirage rolling +over it, was a kind of enchanted land to him +where almost anything might happen. He +would lie contentedly for hours with his head +pillowed on the hillocks of blown sand about +the roots of the sage, and look up at the +merry-go-round. He noticed that, although +others joined them from the invisible upper +sky, none ever seemed to go away, but hung +and circled and faded into the thin blue deeps +of air. Often he saw them settle flockwise +below the rim of the mesa and beyond his +sight, wondering greatly what they might be +about.</p> + +<p>The morning at the spring he watched them<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span> +in the intervals of tending the sagebrush fire, +and then it was that the coyote came by, going +in that direction. His head was cocked to +one side, and he seemed to watch the merry-go-round +out of the corner of his eye as he +went.</p> + +<p>Alan thought the little gray beast had not +seen them at the spring, but in that he was +mistaken. A quarter of an hour before, as he +came up out of the gully that hid his lair, the +coyote had sighted the boy and the Basket +Woman and made sure in his own mind that +they had no gun. So, as it lay in his way, he +came quite close to them; opposite the spring +he paused a moment with one foot lifted, and +eyed them with a wise and secret look. He +went on toward the mesa, stopped again, +looked back and then up at the whirling buzzards, +and went on again.</p> + +<p>"Where does that one go?" asked Alan.</p> + +<p>"Eh," said the Basket Woman, "he goes +also to the dinner. It is good eating they have +out there on the mesa together."</p> + +<p>Alan looked after him, and the coyote paused<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span> +and looked back over his shoulder as one who +expects to be followed, and quite suddenly it +came into the boy's mind to go up on the mesa +and see what it was all about. The Basket +Woman was bent above her tubs and did not +see him go; when she missed him she supposed +he had gone back to the house. Alan trotted +on after the coyote until he lost him in a +sunken place full of boulders and black sage; +but he had been headed still toward that spot +above which the black wings beat dizzily, and +that way Alan went, climbing by the help +of stout shrubs to the mesa, which here fell +off steeply to the valley, and then on until he +saw his coyote or another one, going steadily +toward the merry-go-round.</p> + +<p>The mesa was very warm, and swam in misty +blueness although the day was clear. Dim +shapes of mountains stood up on the far edge, +and near by a procession of lonely, low hills +rounded like the backs of dolphins appearing +out of the sea. Stubby shrubs as tall as Alan's +shoulder covered the mesa sparingly, and in +wide spaces there were beds of yellow-flowered<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span> +prickly-pear; singly and far stood up tall stems +of white-belled yucca, called in that country +Candles of Our Lord. Alan could not follow +the coyote close among the scrub, but dropped +presently into a cattle trail that ran toward the +place where he supposed the coyote's dinner +must be, and so trudged on in it while the sun +wheeled high in the heavens and the whole air +of the mesa quivered with the heat.</p> + +<p>It is certain that in his wanderings Alan +must have traveled that day and the next as +much as twenty miles from the spring, though +he might easily have been lost in less time, for +his head hardly came above the tops of the +scrub, and there were no landmarks to guide +by, other than the low hills which seemed to +alter nothing whichever way one looked at +them. As for the buzzards, they rose higher +and higher into the dim, quivering air. Alan +began to be thirsty, next tired, and then hungry. +He tried to turn toward home, but got +no nearer, and finally understood that he might +be lost, so he ran about wildly for a time, which +made matters no better. He began to cry and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span> +to run eagerly at the same time until, blind +and breathless, he would fall and lie sobbing, +and wish that he might see his mother or the +Basket Woman come walking across the mesa +with her basket on her back. By this time it +was hot and close and he had come where the +scant-leaved shrubs were far between, and +with heat and running the tears were dried out +of him. He sobbed in his breath and his lips +were cracked and dry. It fell cooler as night +drew on, but he grew sick with hunger, and +shuddered with the fear of darkness. Far off +across the mesa the coyotes began to howl.</p> + +<p>Down in the homesteader's cabin nobody +slept that night. When they first missed Alan, +which was at noon, no one had the least idea +where he was. His mother had supposed him +at the spring, and the Basket Woman thought +he had gone to his mother. It was all open +ground about the cabin from the mesa and the +foot of the hills, and below it toward the valley +bare stretches of moon-white sands.</p> + +<p>The homesteader thought that the boy +might have gone to the campoodie; but there<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span> +they found he had not been, and none of the +Indians had seen him; but by three of the clock +they were all out beating about the spring to +pick up the light trail of his feet, and there +they were when the quick dark came on and +stopped them.</p> + +<p>By the earliest light of the next morning +the Basket Woman, who was really very fond +of him, had come out of her hut to ask for +news, but when she had looked up to the sky +for a token of what the day was to be, she +saw the buzzards come slantwise out of space +and begin the merry-go-round. All at once +she remembered Alan's question of the day +before, and though she could not reasonably +expect any one to take any notice of it, an idea +came into her head and a gleam into her beady +eyes. She caught her pony from the corral, +riding him astride as Indian women ride, with +the wicker water bottle slung across her +shoulder and a parcel of food hid in her bosom. +She went up the mesa rim toward the spot +where the buzzards swung circling in the sky.</p> + +<p>When Alan awoke that morning under the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> +creosote bush, he thought he must have come +nearly to the place he had meant to find the +day before. There was the coyote skulking +out in the cactus scrub, and the buzzards +wheeling low and large. It was a hot, smoky +morning, the soil was all of coarse gravel, loose +and white. Over to the right of him lay a still +blue pool, and a broad river flowed into it in +soft billows without sound. The coyote went +toward it, looking back over his shoulder, and +Allan followed, for his tongue was swollen in +his mouth with thirst. The little boy was quite +clear in his mind; he knew that he was lost, +that he was very hungry, and that it was +necessary to find his father and mother very +soon. As he had come toward the mountains +the day before, he thought that he should start +directly away from them. He thought he could +not be far from the campoodie, for it came +to him dimly that he had heard the Indians +singing the coyote song in the night, but he +meant to have a drink in the soft still billows +of the stream. A little ahead of him the coyote +seemed to have gone into it, his head just<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span> +cleared the surface, and the water heaved to +the movements of his shoulders. But somehow +Alan got no nearer to it. The stream seemed +to loop and curve away from him, and presently +he saw the lake behind him and could +not think how that could be, for he did not understand +that it was a lake and river of mirage. +He saw the trees stand up on its borders, and +fancied that the air which came from it was +moist and cool. Always the coyote went before +and showed him the way, and at last he +lifted up his long thin muzzle and made a +doleful cry. Mostly it seemed to Alan that the +coyotes howled like dogs, but a little crazily; +now it appeared that this one spoke in words +that he could understand. When he told his +mother of it afterwards, she said it was only +the fever of his thirst and fatigue, but the +Basket Woman believed him.</p> + +<p>"Ho, ho!" cried the coyote, "come, come, +my brothers, to the hunting! Come!"</p> + +<p>A great black shadow of wings fell over +them and a voice cried huskily, "What of the +quarry?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span></p> + +<p>"The quarry is close at hand," said the +coyote, and Alan wondered dizzily what they +might be talking about. He could not look up, +for his eyes were nearly blinded by the light +that beat up from the sand, but he saw wing +shadows thickening on the ground.</p> + +<p>"Where do you go now?" cried the voice +in the upper air.</p> + +<p>"Round and about to the false water until +he is very weary," said the coyote; and it +seemed to Alan that he must follow where the +gray dog went in a maze of moving shadows. +He trembled and fell from weakness a great +many times and lay with his face in the shelter +of the prickle bushes, but always he got +up and went on again.</p> + +<p>"Have a care," cried the voice in the air, +"here comes one of his own kind."</p> + +<p>"What and where?" said the coyote.</p> + +<p>"It is a brown one riding on a horse; she +comes up from the gully of big rocks."</p> + +<p>"Does she follow a trail?" panted the +coyote.</p> + +<p>"She follows no trail, but rides fast in this<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span> +direction," croaked the voice, but Alan took +no interest in it. He did not know that it was +the Basket Woman coming to rescue him. He +thought of the merry-go-round, for he saw that +he had come back to the creosote bush where +he had spent the night, and he thought the +earth had come round with him, for it rocked +and reeled as he went. His tongue hung out +of his mouth and his lips cracked and bled, +his feet were blistered and aching from the +sharp rocks, the hot sands, and cactus thorns. +Round and round with him went scrub and +sand, on one side the shadow of black wings, +and on the other the smooth flow of mirage +water which he might never reach. Through +it all he could hear the soft <i>biff, biff</i> of the +broad wings and the long, hungry, whining +howl that seemed to detach itself from any +throat and come upon him from all quarters of +the quivering air. Dizzily went the merry-go-round, +and now it seemed that the false water +swung nearer, that it went around with him, +that it bore him up, for he no longer felt the +earth under him, that it buoyed and floated<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> +him far out from the place where he had been, +that it grew deliciously cool at last, that it +laved his face and flowed in his parched throat; +and at last he opened his eyes and found the +Basket Woman trickling water in his mouth +from her wicker water bottle. It was noon of +his second day from home when she found +him on Cactus Flat, by going straight to the +point where she saw the black wings hanging +in the air. She laid him on the horse before +her and dripped water in his mouth and +coaxed and called to him, but never left off +riding nor halted until she came up with others +of the search party who had followed up by +the place where Alan had climbed to the mesa, +and followed slowly by a faint trail. But to +Alan it was all as if he had dreamed that the +Basket Woman had brought him as before +from the valley of Corn Water. The first that +he realized was that his father had him, and +that his mother was crying and kissing the +Basket Woman. It was several days before he +was able to be about again, and then only +under promise that he would go no farther<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> +than the spring. The first thing he saw when +he looked up was the buzzards high up over +the mesa making a merry-go-round in the +clear blue, and it was then he remembered +that he had not yet found out what it was all +about.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span></p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE CHRISTMAS TREE</h2> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span></p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span></p> +<h3>THE CHRISTMAS TREE</h3> + + +<p>Eastward from the Sierras rises a strong red +hill known as Pine Mountain, though the Indians +call it The Hill of Summer Snow. At +its foot stands a town of a hundred board +houses, given over wholly to the business of +mining. The noise of it goes on by day and +night,—the creak of the windlasses, the growl +of the stamps in the mill, the clank of the cars +running down to the dump, and from the open +doors of the drinking saloons, great gusts of +laughter and the sound of singing. Billows +of smoke roll up from the tall stacks and by +night are lit ruddily by the smelter fires all +going at a roaring blast.</p> + +<p>Whenever the charcoal-burner's son looked +down on the red smoke, the glare, and the hot +breath of the furnaces, it seemed to him like +an exhalation from the wickedness that went +on continually in the town; though all he knew<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span> +of wickedness was the word, a rumor from +passers-by, and a kind of childish fear. The +charcoal-burner's cabin stood on a spur of Pine +Mountain two thousand feet above the town, +and sometimes the boy went down to it on +the back of the laden burros when his father +carried charcoal to the furnaces. All else that +he knew were the wild creatures of the mountain, +the trees, the storms, the small flowering +things, and away at the back of his heart a +pale memory of his mother like the faint forest +odor that clung to the black embers of the +pine. They had lived in the town when the +mother was alive and the father worked in +the mines. There were not many women or +children in the town at that time, but mining +men jostling with rude quick ways; and the +young mother was not happy.</p> + +<p>"Never let my boy grow up in such a place," +she said as she lay dying; and when they had +buried her in the coarse shallow soil, her husband +looked for comfort up toward The Hill +of Summer Snow shining purely, clear white +and quiet in the sun. It swam in the upper<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span> +air above the sooty reek of the town and +seemed as if it called. Then he took the young +child up to the mountain, built a cabin under +the tamarack pines, and a pit for burning +charcoal for the furnace fires.</p> + +<p>No one could wish for a better place for +a boy to grow up in than the slope of Pine +Mountain. There was the drip of pine balm +and a wind like wine, white water in the springs, +and as much room for roaming as one desired. +The charcoal-burner's son chose to go far, +coming back with sheaves of strange bloom +from the edge of snow banks on the high +ridges, bright spar or peacock-painted ores, +hatfuls of berries, or strings of shining trout. +He played away whole mornings in glacier +meadows where he heard the eagle scream; +walking sometimes in a mist of cloud he came +upon deer feeding, or waked them from their +lair in the deep fern. On snow-shoes in winter +he went over the deep drifts and spied among +the pine tops on the sparrows, the grouse, and +the chilly robins wintering under the green +tents. The deep snow lifted him up and held<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span> +him among the second stories of the trees. +But that was not until he was a great lad, +straight and springy as a young fir. As a +little fellow he spent his days at the end of +a long rope staked to a pine just out of reach +of the choppers and the charcoal-pits. When +he was able to go about alone, his father made +him give three promises: never to follow a +bear's trail nor meddle with the cubs, never to +try to climb the eagle rocks after the young +eagles, never to lie down nor to sleep on the +sunny, south slope where the rattlesnakes frequented. +After that he was free of the whole +wood.</p> + +<p>When Mathew, for so the boy was called, +was ten years old, he began to be of use about +the charcoal-pits, to mark the trees for cutting, +to sack the coals, to keep the house, and cook +his father's meals. He had no companions of +his own age nor wanted any, for at this time +he loved the silver firs. A group of them grew +in a swale below the cabin, tall and fine; the +earth under them was slippery and brown with +needles. Where they stood close together with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span> +overlapping boughs the light among the tops +was golden green, but between the naked +boles it was a vapor thin and blue. These were +the old trees that had wagged their tops together +for three hundred years. Around them +stood a ring of saplings and seedlings scattered +there by the parent firs, and a little apart +from these was the one that Mathew loved. +It was slender of trunk and silvery white, the +branches spread out fanwise to the outline of +a perfect spire. In the spring, when the young +growth covered it as with a gossamer web, it +gave out a pleasant odor, and it was to him like +the memory of what his mother had been. +Then he garlanded it with flowers and hung +streamers of white clematis all heavy with +bloom upon its boughs. He brought it berries +in cups of bark and sweet water from the +spring; always as long as he knew it, it seemed +to him that the fir tree had a soul.</p> + +<p>The first trip he had ever made on snow-shoes +was to see how it fared among the drifts. +That was always a great day when he could find +the slender cross of its topmost bough above the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span> +snow. The fir was not very tall in those days, +but the snows as far down on the slope as the +charcoal-burner's cabin lay shallowly. There +was a time when Mathew expected to be as +tall as the fir, but after a while the boy did not +grow so fast and the fir kept on adding its +whorl of young branches every year.</p> + +<p>Mathew told it all his thoughts. When at +times there was a heaviness in his breast which +was really a longing for his mother, though he +did not understand it, he would part the low +spreading branches and creep up to the slender +trunk of the fir. Then he would put his +arms around it and be quiet for a long beautiful +time. The tree had its own way of comforting +him; the branches swept the ground +and shut him in dark and close. He made a +little cairn of stones under it and kept his treasures +there.</p> + +<p>Often as he sat snuggled up to the heart of +the tree, the boy would slip his hand over the +smooth intervals between the whorls of boughs, +and wonder how they knew the way to grow. +All the fir trees are alike in this, that they<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> +throw out their branches from the main stem +like the rays of a star, one added to another +with the season's growth. They stand out +stiffly from the trunk, and the shape of each +new bough in the beginning and the shape of +the last growing twig when they have spread +out broadly with many branchlets, bending +with the weight of their own needles, is the +shape of a cross; and the topmost sprig that +rises above all the star-built whorls is a long +and slender cross, until by the springing of +new branches it becomes a star. So the two +forms go on running into and repeating each +other, and each star is like all the stars, and +every bough is another's twin. It is this trim +and certain growth that sets out the fir from +all the mountain trees, and gives to the young +saplings a secret look as they stand straight +and stiffly among the wild brambles on the +hill. For the wood delights to grow abroad at +all points, and one might search a summer +long without finding two leaves of the oak +alike, or any two trumpets of the spangled +mimulus. So, as at that time he had nothing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span> +better worth studying about, Mathew noticed +and pondered the secret of the silver fir, and +grew up with it until he was twelve years old +and tall and strong for his age. By this time +the charcoal-burner began to be troubled about +the boy's schooling.</p> + +<p>Meantime there was rioting and noise and +coming and going of strangers in the town at +the foot of Pine Mountain, and the furnace +blast went on ruddily and smokily. Because +of the things he heard Mathew was afraid, +and on rare occasions when he went down to +it he sat quietly among the charcoal sacks, and +would not go far away from them except when +he held his father by the hand. After a time +it seemed life went more quietly there, flowers +began to grow in the yards of the houses, and +they met children walking in the streets with +books upon their arms.</p> + +<p>"Where are they going, father?" said the +boy.</p> + +<p>"To school," said the charcoal-burner.</p> + +<p>"And may I go?" asked Mathew.</p> + +<p>"Not yet, my son."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span></p> + +<p>But one day his father pointed out the +foundations of a new building going up in the +town.</p> + +<p>"It is a church," he said, "and when that +is finished it will be a sign that there will be +women here like your mother, and then you +may go to school."</p> + +<p>Mathew ran and told the fir tree all about it.</p> + +<p>"But I will never forget you, never," he +cried, and he kissed the trunk. Day by day, +from the spur of the mountain, he watched +the church building, and it was wonderful +how much he could see in that clear, thin atmosphere; +no other building in town interested +him so much. He saw the walls go up +and the roof, and the spire rise skyward with +something that glittered twinkling on its top. +Then they painted the church white and hung +a bell in the tower. Mathew fancied he could +hear it of Sundays as he saw the people moving +along like specks in the streets.</p> + +<p>"Next week," said the father, "the school +begins, and it is time for you to go as I promised. +I will come to see you once a month,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span> +and when the term is over you shall come +back to the mountain." Mathew said good-by +to the fir tree, and there were tears in his +eyes though he was happy. "I shall think of +you very often," he said, "and wonder how you +are getting along. When I come back I will +tell you everything that happens. I will go to +church, and I am sure I shall like that. It has +a cross on top like yours, only it is yellow and +shines. Perhaps when I am gone I shall learn +why you carry a cross, also." Then he went +a little timidly, holding fast by his father's +hand.</p> + +<p>There were so many people in the town +that it was quite as strange and fearful to him +as it would be to you who have grown up in +town to be left alone in the wood. At night, +when he saw the charcoal-burner's fires glowing +up in the air where the bulk of the mountain +melted into the dark, he would cry a little +under the blankets, but after he began to +learn, there was no more occasion for crying. +It was to the child as though there had been +a candle lighted in a dark room. On Sunday<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span> +he went to the church and then it was both +light and music, for he heard the minister +read about God in the great book and believed +it all, for everything that happens in +the woods is true, and people who grow up in +it are best at believing. Mathew thought it +was all as the minister said, that there is nothing +better than pleasing God. Then when he +lay awake at night he would try to think how +it would have been with him if he had never +come to this place. In his heart he began to +be afraid of the time when he would have to +go back to the mountain, where there was no +one to tell him about this most important +thing in the world, for his father never talked +to him of these things. It preyed upon his +mind, but if any one noticed it, they thought +that he pined for his father and wished himself +at home.</p> + +<p>It drew toward midwinter, and the white +cap on The Hill of Summer Snow, which +never quite melted even in the warmest +weather, began to spread downward until it +reached the charcoal-burner's home. There<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span> +was a great stir and excitement among the +children, for it had been decided to have a +Christmas tree in the church. Every Sunday +now the Christ-child story was told over and +grew near and brighter like the Christmas +star. Mathew had not known about it before, +except that on a certain day in the year his +father had bought him toys. He had supposed +that it was because it was stormy and +he had to be indoors. Now he was wrapped +up in the story of love and sacrifice, and felt +his heart grow larger as he breathed it in, +looking upon clear windless nights to see if +he might discern the Star of Bethlehem rising +over Pine Mountain and the Christ-child come +walking on the snow. It was not that he +really expected it, but that the story was so +alive in him. It is easy for those who have +lived long in the high mountains to believe +in beautiful things. Mathew wished in his +heart that he might never go away from this +place. He sat in his seat in church, and all +that the minister said sank deeply into his +mind.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span></p> + +<p>When it came time to decide about the +tree, because Mathew's father was a charcoal-burner +and knew where the best trees grew, +it was quite natural to ask him to furnish the +tree for his part. Mathew fairly glowed with +delight, and his father was pleased, too, for +he liked to have his son noticed. The Saturday +before Christmas, which fell on Tuesday +that year, was the time set for going for the +tree, and by that time Mathew had quite +settled in his mind that it should be his silver +fir. He did not know how otherwise he could +bring the tree to share in his new delight, nor +what else he had worth giving, for he quite +believed what he had been told, that it is +only through giving the best beloved that +one comes to the heart's desire. With all his +heart Mathew wished never to live in any +place where he might not hear about God. +So when his father was ready with the ropes +and the sharpened axe, the boy led the way +to the silver firs.</p> + +<p>"Why, that is a little beauty," said the +charcoal-burner, "and just the right size."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span></p> + +<p>They were obliged to shovel away the +snow to get at it for cutting, and Mathew +turned away his face when the chips began to +fly. The tree fell upon its side with a shuddering +sigh; little beads of clear resin stood +out about the scar of the axe. It seemed as +if the tree wept. But how graceful and trim it +looked when it stood in the church waiting +for gifts! Mathew hoped that it would understand.</p> + +<p>The charcoal-burner came to church on +Christmas eve, the first time in many years. +It makes a difference about these things when +you have a son to take part in them. The +church and the tree were alight with candles; +to the boy it seemed like what he supposed +the place of dreams might be. One large candle +burned on the top of the tree and threw +out pointed rays like a star; it made the charcoal-burner's +son think of Bethlehem. Then +he heard the minister talking, and it was all +of a cross and a star; but Mathew could only +look at the tree, for he saw that it trembled, +and he felt that he had betrayed it. Then the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span> +choir began to sing, and the candle on top of +the tree burned down quite low, and Mathew +saw the slender cross of the topmost bough +stand up dark before it. Suddenly he remembered +his old puzzle about it, how the smallest +twigs were divided off in each in the shape +of a cross, how the boughs repeated the star +form every year, and what was true of his +fir was true of them all. Then it must have +been that there were tears in his eyes, for he +could not see plainly: the pillars of the church +spread upward like the shafts of the trees, and +the organ playing was like the sound of the +wind in their branches, and the stately star-built +firs rose up like spires, taller than the +church tower, each with a cross on top. The +sapling which was still before him trembled +more, moving its boughs as if it spoke; and the +boy heard it in his heart and believed, for it +spoke to him of God. Then all the fear went +out of his heart and he had no more dread of +going back to the mountain to spend his days, +for now he knew that he need never be away +from the green reminder of hope and sacrifice<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span> +in the star and the cross of the silver fir; and +the thought broadened in his mind that he +might find more in the forest than he had ever +thought to find, now that he knew what to look +for, since everything speaks of God in its own +way and it is only a matter of understanding +how.</p> + +<p>It was very gay in the little church that +Christmas night, with laughter and bonbons +flying about, and every child had a package of +candy and an armful of gifts. The charcoal-burner +had his pockets bulging full of toys, +and Mathew's eyes glowed like the banked fires +of the charcoal-pits as they walked home in +the keen, windless night.</p> + +<p>"Well, my boy," said the charcoal-burner, +"I am afraid you will not be wanting to +go back to the mountain with me after +this."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, I will," said Mathew happily, "for +I think the mountains know quite as much +of the important things as they know here in +the town."</p> + +<p>"Right you are," said the charcoal-burner,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> +as he clapped his boy's hand between both his +own, "and I am pleased to think you have +turned out such a sensible little fellow." But +he really did not know all that was in his son's +heart.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE FIRE BRINGER</h2> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span></p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span></p> +<h3>THE FIRE BRINGER</h3> + + +<p>This is one of the stories that Alan had from +the Basket Woman after she came to understand +that the boy really loved her tales and +believed them. She would sit by the spring +with her hands clasped across her knees while +the clothes boiled and Alan fed the fire with +broken brush, and tell him wonder stories as +long as the time allowed, which was never so +long as the boy liked to hear them. The story +of the Fire Bringer gave him the greatest delight, +and he made a game of it to play with +little Indian boys from the campoodie who +sometimes strayed in the direction of the homesteader's +cabin. It was the story that came +oftenest to his mind when he lay in his bed at +night, and saw the stars in the windy sky shine +through the cabin window.</p> + +<p>He heard of it so often and thought of it so +much that at last it seemed to him that he had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span> +been part of the story himself, but his mother +said he must have dreamed it. The experience +came to him in this way: He had gone with +his father to the mountains for a load of wood, +a two days' journey from home, and they had +taken their blankets to sleep upon the ground, +which was the first time of Alan's doing so. +It was the time of year when white gilias, +which the children call "evening snow," were +in bloom, and their musky scent was mingled +with the warm air in the soft dark all about +him.</p> + +<p>He heard the camp-fire snap and whisper, +and saw the flicker of it brighten and die on +the lower branches of the pines. He looked +up and saw the stars in the deep velvet void, +and now and then one fell from it, trailing +all across the sky. Small winds moved in the +tops of the sage and trod lightly in the dark, +blossomy grass. Near by them ran a flooding +creek, the sound of it among the stones +like low-toned, cheerful talk. Familiar voices +seemed to rise through it and approach distinctness. +The boy lay in his blanket hark<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span>ing +to one recurring note, until quite suddenly +it separated itself from the babble and called +to him in the Basket Woman's voice. He was +sure it was she who spoke his name, though +he could not see her; and got up on his feet +at once. He knew, too, that he was Alan, and +yet it seemed, without seeming strange, that +he was the boy of the story who was afterward +to be called the Fire Bringer. The skin of his +body was dark and shining, with straight, +black locks cropped at his shoulders, and he +wore no clothing but a scrap of deerskin belted +with a wisp of bark. He ran free on the mesa +and mountain where he would, and carried +in his hand a cleft stick that had a longish +rounded stone caught in the cleft and held by +strips of skin. By this he knew he had waked +up into the time of which the Basket Woman +had told him, before fire was brought to the +tribes, when men and beasts talked together +with understanding, and the Coyote was the +Friend and Counselor of man. They ranged +together by wood and open swale, the boy who +was to be called Fire Bringer and the keen,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span> +gray dog of the wilderness, and saw the tribesmen +catching fish in the creeks with their +hands and the women digging roots with sharp +stones. This they did in summer and fared +well, but when winter came they ran nakedly +in the snow or huddled in caves of the rocks +and were very miserable. When the boy saw +this he was very unhappy, and brooded over +it until the Coyote noticed it.</p> + +<p>"It is because my people suffer and have no +way to escape the cold," said the boy.</p> + +<p>"I do not feel it," said the Coyote.</p> + +<p>"That is because of your coat of good fur, +which my people have not, except they take it +in the chase, and it is hard to come by."</p> + +<p>"Let them run about, then," said the Counselor, +"and keep warm."</p> + +<p>"They run till they are weary," said the +boy, "and there are the young children and +the very old. Is there no way for them?"</p> + +<p>"Come," said the Coyote, "let us go to the +hunt."</p> + +<p>"I will hunt no more," the boy answered +him, "until I have found a way to save my<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span> +people from the cold. Help me, O Counselor!"</p> + +<p>But the Coyote had run away. After a time +he came back and found the boy still troubled +in his mind.</p> + +<p>"There is a way, O Man Friend," said the +Coyote, "and you and I must take it together, +but it is very hard."</p> + +<p>"I will not fail of my part," said the boy.</p> + +<p>"We will need a hundred men and women, +strong and swift runners."</p> + +<p>"I will find them," the boy insisted, "only +tell me."</p> + +<p>"We must go," said the Coyote, "to the +Burning Mountain by the Big Water and bring +fire to your people."</p> + +<p>Said the boy, "What is fire?"</p> + +<p>Then the Coyote considered a long time how +he should tell the boy what fire is. "It is," +said he, "red like a flower, yet it is no flower; +neither is it a beast, though it runs in the grass +and rages in the wood and devours all. It is +very fierce and hurtful and stays not for asking, +yet if it is kept among stones and fed with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span> +small sticks, it will serve the people well and +keep them warm."</p> + +<p>"How is it to be come at?"</p> + +<p>"It has its lair in the Burning Mountain, +and the Fire Spirits guard it night and day. +It is a hundred days' journey from this place, +and because of the jealousy of the Fire Spirits +no man dare go near it. But I, because +all beasts are known to fear it much, may +approach it without hurt and, it may be, bring +you a brand from the burning. Then you +must have strong runners for every one of the +hundred days to bring it safely home."</p> + +<p>"I will go and get them," said the boy; but +it was not so easily done as said. Many there +were who were slothful and many were afraid, +but the most disbelieved it wholly, for, they +said, "How should this boy tell us of a thing +of which we have never heard!" But at the +last the boy and their own misery persuaded +them.</p> + +<p>The Coyote advised them how the march +should begin. The boy and the Counselor +went foremost, next to them the swiftest run<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span>ners, +with the others following in the order of +their strength and speed. They left the place +of their home and went over the high mountains +where great jagged peaks stand up above +the snow, and down the way the streams led +through a long stretch of giant wood where +the sombre shade and the sound of the wind in +the branches made them afraid. At nightfall +where they rested one stayed in that place, and +the next night another dropped behind, and so +it was at the end of each day's journey. They +crossed a great plain where waters of mirage +rolled over a cracked and parching earth and +the rim of the world was hidden in a bluish +mist; so they came at last to another range of +hills, not so high but tumbled thickly together, +and beyond these, at the end of the hundred +days, to the Big Water quaking along the sand +at the foot of the Burning Mountain.</p> + +<p>It stood up in a high and peaked cone, and +the smoke of its burning rolled out and broke +along the sky. By night the glare of it reddened +the waves far out on the Big Water +when the Fire Spirits began their dance.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span></p> + +<p>Then said the Counselor to the boy who +was soon to be called the Fire Bringer, "Do +you stay here until I bring you a brand from +the burning; be ready and right for running, +and lose no time, for I shall be far spent +when I come again, and the Fire Spirits will +pursue me." Then he went up the mountain, +and the Fire Spirits when they saw him come +were laughing and very merry, for his appearance +was much against him. Lean he was, +and his coat much the worse for the long +way he had come. Slinking he looked, inconsiderable, +scurvy, and mean, as he has always +looked, and it served him as well then as it +serves him now. So the Fire Spirits only +laughed, and paid him no farther heed. Along +in the night, when they came out to begin their +dance about the mountain, the Coyote stole +the fire and began to run away with it down +the slope of the Burning Mountain. When +the Fire Spirits saw what he had done, they +streamed out after him red and angry in pursuit, +with a sound like a swarm of bees.</p> + +<p>The boy saw them come, and stood up in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span> +his place clean limbed and taut for running. +He saw the sparks of the brand stream +back along the Coyote's flanks as he carried +it in his mouth and stretched forward +on the trail, bright against the dark bulk of +the mountain like a falling star. He heard +the singing sound of the Fire Spirits behind +and the labored breath of the Counselor +nearing through the dark. Then the good +beast panted down beside him, and the brand +dropped from his jaws. The boy caught it +up, standing bent for the running as a bow +to speeding the arrow; out he shot on the +homeward path, and the Fire Spirits snapped +and sung behind him. Fast as they pursued +he fled faster, until he saw the next runner +stand up in his place to receive the brand. +So it passed from hand to hand, and the Fire +Spirits tore after it through the scrub until +they came to the mountains of the snows. +These they could not pass, and the dark, +sleek runners with the backward-streaming +brand bore it forward, shining star-like in +the night, glowing red through sultry noons,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span> +violet pale in twilight glooms, until they came +in safety to their own land. Here they kept +it among stones, and fed it with small sticks, +as the Coyote had advised, until it warmed +them and cooked their food. As for the boy +by whom fire came to the tribes, he was +called the Fire Bringer while he lived, and +after that, since there was no other with so +good a right to the name, it fell to the +Coyote; and this is the sign that the tale is +true, for all along his lean flanks the fur is +singed and yellow as it was by the flames +that blew backward from the brand when he +brought it down from the Burning Mountain. +As for the fire, that went on broadening and +brightening and giving out a cheery sound +until it broadened into the light of day, and +Alan sat up to hear it crackling under the +coffee-pot, where his father was cooking their +breakfast.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span></p> + +<h2>THE CROOKED FIR</h2> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span></p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span></p> +<h3>THE CROOKED FIR</h3> + + +<p>The pipsissawa, which is sometimes called +prince's pine, is half as tall as the woodchuck +that lives under the brown boulder; +and the seedling fir in his first season was as +tall as the prince's pine, so for the time they +made the most of each other's company. The +woodchuck and the pipsissawa were never to +be any taller, but the silver fir was to keep +on growing as long as he stood in the earth +and drew sap. In his second season, which +happened to be a good growing year, the fir +was as tall as the woodchuck and began to +look about him.</p> + +<p>The forest of silver firs grew on a hill-slope +up from a water-course as far as the +borders of the long-leaved pines. Where the +trees stood close together the earth was brown +with the litter of a thousand years, and little +gray hawks hunted in their green, windy<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span> +glooms. In the open spaces there were thickets +of meadowsweet, fireweed, monkshood, +and columbine, with saplings and seedlings +in between. When the fir which was as tall +as the woodchuck had grown a year or two +longer, he made a discovery. All the firs on +the hill-slope were crooked! Their trunks +bulged out at the base toward the downward +pitch of the hill; and it is the proper destiny +of fir trees to be straight.</p> + +<p>"They should be straight," said the seedling +fir. "I feel it in my fibres that a fir tree +should be straight." He looked up at the fir +mother very far above him on her way to the +sky, with the sun and the wind in her star-built +boughs.</p> + +<p>"I shall be straight," said the seedling fir.</p> + +<p>"Ah, do not be too sure of it," said the fir +mother. But for all that the seedling fir was +very sure, and when the snow tucked him in +for the winter he took a long time to think +about it. The snows are wonderfully deep in +the cañon of the silver firs. From where they +gather in the upper air the fir mother shakes<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> +them lightly down, packing so softly and so +warm that the seedlings and the pipsissawas do +not mind.</p> + +<p>About the time the fir had grown tall +enough to be called a sapling he made another +discovery. The fir mother had also a crooked +trunk. The sapling was greatly shocked; he +hardly liked to speak of it to the fir mother. +He remembered his old friend the pipsissawa, +but he had so outgrown her that there was +really no comfort in trying to make himself +understood, so he spoke to the woodchuck. +The woodchuck was no taller than he used to +be, but when he climbed up on the brown boulder +above his house he was on a level with the +sapling fir, and though he was not much of a +talker he was a great thinker and had opinions.</p> + +<p>"Really," said the fir, "I hardly like to +speak of it, but you are such an old friend; +do you see what a crook the fir mother has in +her trunk? We firs you know were intended +to be straight."</p> + +<p>"That," said the woodchuck, "is on account +of the snow."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span></p> + +<p>"But, oh, my friend," said the sapling, +"you must be mistaken. The snow is soft +and comfortable and braces one up. I ought +to know, for I spend whole winters in it."</p> + +<p>"<i>Gru-r-ru-</i>," said the woodchuck crossly; +"well for you that you do, or I should have +eaten you off by now."</p> + +<p>After this the little fir kept his thoughts to +himself; he was very much afraid of the woodchuck, +and there is nothing a young fir fears so +much as being eaten off before it has a chance +to bear cones. But in fact the woodchuck +spent the winter under the snow himself. He +went into his house and shut the door when +the first feel of snow was in the air, and did +not come out until green things began to +grow in the cleared spaces.</p> + +<p>Not many winters after that the fir was +sufficiently tall to hold the green cross, that +all firs bear on their topmost bough, above +the snow most of the winter through. Now +he began to learn a great many things. The +first of these was about the woodchuck.</p> + +<p>"Really that fellow is a great braggart,"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span> +said the fir; "I cannot think how I came to +be afraid of him."</p> + +<p>In those days the sapling saw the deer +getting down in the flurry of the first snows +to the feeding grounds on the lower hills, saw +the mountain sheep nodding their great horns +serenely in the lee of a tall cliff through the +wildest storms. In the spring he saw the +brown bears shambling up the trails, ripping +the bark off of dead trees to get at the +worms and grubs that harbored there; lastly +he saw the woodchuck come out of his hole +as if nothing had ever happened.</p> + +<p>And now as the winters came on, the fir +began to feel the weight of the snow. When +it was wet and heavy and clung to its +branches, the little fir shivered and moaned.</p> + +<p>"Droop your boughs," creaked the fir +mother; "droop them as I do, and the snow +will fall."</p> + +<p>So the sapling drooped his fan-spread +branches until they lay close to the trunk; +and the snow wreaths slipped away and piled +thickly about his trunk. But when the snow<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span> +lay deep over all the slope, it packed and slid +down toward the ravine and pressed strongly +against the sapling fir.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I shall be torn from my roots," he +cried; "I shall be broken off."</p> + +<p>"Bend," said the fir mother, "bend, and +you will not break." So the young fir bent +before the snow until he was curved like a +bow, but when the spring came and the sap +ran in his veins, he straightened his trunk +anew and spread his branches in a star-shaped +whorl.</p> + +<p>"After all," said the sapling, "it is not +such a great matter to keep straight; it only +requires an effort."</p> + +<p>So he went on drooping and bending to the +winter snows, growing strong and straight +with the spring, and rejoicing. About this +time the fir began to feel a tingling in his +upper branches.</p> + +<p>"Something is going to happen," he said; +something agreeable in fact, for the tree was +fifty years old, and it was time to grow cones. +For fifty years a silver fir has nothing to do<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span> +but to grow branches, thrown out in annual +circles, every one in the shape of a cross. +Then it grows cones on the topmost whorl, +royal purple and burnished gold, erect on the +ends of the branches like Christmas candles. +The sapling fir had only three in his first +season of bearing, but he was very proud of +them, for now he was no longer a sapling, but +a tree.</p> + +<p>When one has to devote the whole of a +long season to growing cones, one has not +much occasion to think of other things. By +the time there were five rows of cone-bearing +branches spread out broadly from the silver +fir, the woodchuck made a remark to the +pipsissawa which is sometimes called prince's +pine. It was not the same pipsissawa, nor the +same woodchuck, but one of his descendants, +and his parents had told him the whole story.</p> + +<p>"It seems to me," said he, "that the fir +tree is not going to be straight after all. He +never seems quite to recover from the winter +snow."</p> + +<p>"Ah," said the pipsissawa, "I have always<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span> +thought it better to have your seeds ripe +and put away under ground before the snow +comes. Then you do not mind it at all."</p> + +<p>The woodchuck was right about the fir; +his trunk was beginning to curve toward the +downward slope of the hill with the weight +of the drifts. And that went on until the +curve was quite fixed in the ripened wood, +and the fir tree could not have straightened +up if he had wished. But to tell the truth, +the fir tree did not wish. By the end of +another fifty years, when he wagged his high +top above the forest gloom, he grew to be +quite proud of it.</p> + +<p>"There is nothing," he said to the sapling +firs, "like being able to endure hard times +with a good countenance. I have seen a +great deal of life. There are no such snows +now as there used to be. You can see by the +curve of my trunk what a weight I have +borne."</p> + +<p>But the young firs did not pay any attention +to him. They had made up their minds +to grow up straight.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span></p> + +<h2>THE SUGAR PINE</h2> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span></p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span></p> +<h3>THE SUGAR PINE</h3> + + +<p>Before the sugar pine came up in the meadow +of Bright Water it had swung a summer long +in the burnished cone of the parent tree, until +the wind lifted it softly to the earth where it +swelled with the snow water and the sun, and +began to grow into a tree. But it knew nothing +whatever of itself except that it was alive and +growing; and in its first season was hardly +so tall as the Little Grass of Parnassus that +crowded the sod at the Bright Water. In fact, +it was a number of years before it began to +overtop the meadowsweet, the fireweed, the +tall lilies, the monkshood, and columbine, and +under these circumstances it could not be expected +to have much of an opinion of itself.</p> + +<p>During those years the young pine suffered +a secret mortification because it had no flowers. +It stood stiff and trimly in its plain dark +green, every needle like every other one, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span> +no honey-gatherer visited it. When all the +meadow ran over with rosy and purple bloom, +the pine tree trembled and beads of clear resin +oozed out upon its bark like tears; and the +trouble really seemed worse than it was because +everybody made so much of it. Even the hummingbirds +as they came hurtling through the +air would draw back conspicuously when they +came to the pine, and though they said politely, +"I beg your pardon, I took you for a flower," +the seedling felt it would have been better had +they said nothing at all.</p> + +<p>"Well, why don't you grow flowers?" said +the meadowsweet; "it is easy enough. Just do +as I do," and she spread her drift of blossoms +like a fragrant snow. But the sugar pine found +it impossible to be anything but stiff and +plainly green, though every year in the stir and +tingle of new sap he felt a promise of better +things.</p> + +<p>"I suppose," he said one day, "I must be +in some way different from the rest of you."</p> + +<p>"Ah, that is the way with you solemn +people," said the fireweed, "always ima<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span>gining +yourself better than those about you +to excuse your disagreeableness. Any one +can see by the way you hold yourself that +you have too much of an opinion of yourself."</p> + +<p>The little pine tree sighed; he had not +said "better," only "different," and he began +to realize year by year that this was so.</p> + +<p>"You should try to be natural," said the +meadowsweet; "do not be so stiff, and then +every one will love you though you are so +plain."</p> + +<p>Then the sugar pine reached out and tried +to mingle with the flowers, but the sharp +needles tore their frills and the stiff branches +did not suit with their graceful swaying, so +he was obliged to give it up. It seemed, in +fact, the more he tried to be like the others +the worse he grew.</p> + +<p>"If only you were not so odd," said all the +flowers. None of the young growing things +in the meadow understood that it is natural +for a pine tree to be stiff.</p> + +<p>The sugar pine was not always unhappy.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span> +There were days when he caught golden glints +of the stream that ran smoothly about the +meadow, in a bed of leopard-colored stones, +and, reflecting all the light that fell into the +hollow of the hills, gave the place its name; +days when the air was warm and the sky was +purely blue, and the resinous smell of the +pines on the meadow border came to the +seedling like a sweet savor in a dream, for as +yet he did not understand what he was to be. +He was pleased just to be looking at the summer +riot of the flowering things, and loved +the cool softness of the snow when he was +tucked into comfortable darkness to dream of +the spring odor of the pines. Then, when it +seemed that the meadow had forgotten him, +the little tree would fall to thinking the +thoughts proper to his kind, and found the +time pass pleasantly.</p> + +<p>"I suppose," he thought, "it is not good +for me to flower as the other plants. If I +began like them I should probably end like +them, and I feel that I could not be satisfied +with that. After all, one should not try to be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span> +so much like others, but to be the very best +of one's own sort."</p> + +<p>Very early the young tree had noticed that +he was the only one of all that company that +kept green and growing the winter through. +He would have been secretly very proud of +it, but the flowers took good care to let +him know their opinion of such airs.</p> + +<p>"It is simply that you wish to be considered +peculiar," said the columbine; "one +sees that you like nothing so much as to be +in other people's mouths, but let me tell you, +you will not get yourself any better liked +by such behavior." After that the little tree +wished nothing so much as that he might be +the commonest summer-flowering weed.</p> + +<p>"But I am not," he said; "no, I am not, +and I would do very well as I am if they +would let me be happy in my own way."</p> + +<p>That summer the seedling grew as tall as +the meadowsweet, and could look across the +open space to the parent pine poised on her +noble shaft, her spreading crown gathering +sunshine from the draughts of upper air. She<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span> +seemed to rock a little as if she dozed upon +her feet, and the great sweep of limbs with +pendulous golden cones made a gentle sighing. +Then the despised little seedling felt a +thrill go through him, and felt a shaking in all +his slender twigs. He bowed himself among +the lilies, and was both glad and ashamed, for +though he could not well believe it, he knew +himself akin to the great sugar pines. After +that he gave up trying to be one of the +flowers. Once he even ventured to speak of it +to the meadowsweet.</p> + +<p>"Well, if it is any satisfaction to you to +think so; but do not let any one else hear +you say that. You are likely to get yourself +misunderstood. I tell you this because I am +your friend," said the meadowsweet, but really +she had misunderstood him herself.</p> + +<p>Then a rumor arose in the neighborhood +that the sombre, stubborn shrub conceited +himself to be a pine, and the rumor ran with +laughter and nodding the length of the meadow +until it reached the old alder on the edge of +Bright Water. The alder had stood with his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span> +feet in the stream for longer than the meadowsweet +could remember, and saw everything +that went on by reflection.</p> + +<p>"Do not laugh too soon," said the alder +tree, "I have seen stranger things than that +happen in this meadow," for he was indeed +very old.</p> + +<p>"We have known him a good many seasons," +said the fireweed, "and he has not done +anything worth mentioning yet."</p> + +<p>All this was very hard for the young pine +to bear, but there was better coming. That +summer the forest ranger came riding in +Bright Water and a learned man rode with +him, praising the flowers and counting the +numbers and varieties of bloom. How they +prinked and flaunted in their pride!</p> + +<p>"That is all very pretty, as you say," +answered the ranger as they came by the +place of the pine, "and I suppose they perform +a sort of service in keeping the soil covered, +but the trees are the real strength of the +mountain. Ah, here is a seedling of the right +sort! I must give that fellow a chance," and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span> +he began pulling up great handfuls of the +blossoming things around the tree.</p> + +<p>"What is it?" asked his companion.</p> + +<p>"A sugar pine," he said; "probably a seedling +of that splendid specimen yonder," and +he went on clearing the ground to let in sun +and air.</p> + +<p>"But you must admit," said his friend, +"that a seedling pine cuts rather a poor +figure among all this flare of bloom."</p> + +<p>"Oh, you wait fifty or sixty years," said +the ranger, "and then you will see what sort +of a figure it makes. It really takes a pine of +this sort a couple of hundred years to reach +its prime," and they rode talking up the trail.</p> + +<p>Word of what had happened was carried +all about the meadow and made a great stir. +When it came to the alder tree he wagged +his old head. "Ah, well," he said, "I told +you so."</p> + +<p>"I will not believe it until I see it," said +the fireweed.</p> + +<p>"They might have known it before," sighed +the young pine, "and they ought to be proud<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span> +to think I grew up in the same meadow with +them."</p> + +<p>But they were not; they went on flaunting +their blossoms as if nothing had occurred, +and the young tree grew up as he was meant +to be, and the pines on the meadow border +sent him greeting on the wind. He still kept +his trim spire-shaped habit, but he could very +well put up with that for the time being. He +felt within himself the promise of what he was +to be. After fifty or sixty years, as the ranger +had said, he began to put out strong cone-bearing +boughs that shaped themselves by +the storms and the wind in sweeping, graceful +lines, and spread out to shelter the horde +of flowering things below. Squirrels ran up +the trunk and whistled cheerily in his windy +top.</p> + +<p>"He grew here in our neighborhood," said +the tall lilies; "we knew him when he was a +seedling sprig, and now he is the tallest of the +pines."</p> + +<p>"Suppose he is," said the fireweed. "What +is the good of a pine tree anyway?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span></p> + +<p>But the sugar pine did not hear. He had +grown far above the small folk of the meadow, +and went on growing for a hundred years. He +gathered the sun in his high branches and +rocked upon his shaft. He talked gently in +his own fashion with his own kind.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE GOLDEN FORTUNE</h2> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 643px;"> +<span class="caption">AN OLD MINE</span> +<img src="images/i163.jpg" width="643" height="1024" alt="AN OLD MINE" title="" /> +<p style='text-align:right'>From photograph by A. A. Forbes</p> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span></p> +<h3>THE GOLDEN FORTUNE</h3> + + +<p>A little way up from the trail that goes +toward Rex Monte, not far from the limit of +deep snows, there is what looks to be a round +dark hole in the side of the mountain. It +is really the ruined tunnel of an old mine. +Formerly a house stood on the ore dump at +one side of the tunnel, a little unpainted cabin +of pine; but a great avalanche of snow and +stones carried them, both the house and the +dump, away. The cabin was built and owned +by a solitary miner called Jerry, and whether +he ever had any other name no one in the +town below Kearsarge now remembers.</p> + +<p>Jerry was old and lean, and his hair, which +had been dark when he was young, was now +bleached to the color of the iron-rusted rocks +about his mine. For thirty years he had prospected +and mined through that country from +Kearsarge to the Coso Hills, but always in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span> +the pay of other men, and at last he had hit +upon this ledge on Rex Monte. To all who +looked, it showed a very slender vein between +the walls of country rock, and the ore of so +poor a quality that with all his labor he could +do no more than keep alive; but to all who +listened, Jerry could tell a remarkable story +of what it had been, and what he expected it +to be. Very many years ago he had discovered +it at the end of a long prospect, when he +was tired and quite discouraged for that time. +There was not much passing then on the Rex +Monte, and Jerry drew out of the trail here +in the middle of the afternoon to rest in the +shadow of a great rock. So while he lay +there very weary, between sleeping and waking, +he gazed out along the ground, which was +all strewn with rubble between the stiff, scant +grass. As he looked it seemed that certain +bits of broken stone picked themselves out of +the heap, and grew larger, in some way more +conspicuous, until, Jerry averred, they winked +at him. Then he reached out to draw them +in with his hand, and saw that they were all<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span> +besprinkled with threads and specks of gold. +You may guess that Jerry was glad, then +that he sprang up and began to search for +more stones, and so found a trail of them, and +followed it through the grass stems and the +heather until he came to the ledge cropping +out by a dike of weathered rocks. And in +those days the ledge was ah, so rich! Now it +seemed that Jerry was to have a mine of his +own. So he named it the Golden Fortune, and +told no man what he had found, but went +down to the town which lies in a swale at the +foot of Kearsarge, and brought back as much +as was needful for working the mine in a simple +way.</p> + +<p>It was nearing the end of the summer, +when the hills expect the long thunder and +drumming rain, and, not many weeks after +that, the quiet storms that bring the snow. +Jerry had enough to do to make all safe and +comfortable at the Golden Fortune before +winter set in. It was too steep here on the +hill-slope for the deep snows to trouble him +much, so he built his cabin against the rock,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span> +with a covered way from it to the tunnel of +the mine, that he might work on all winter at +no unease because of storms.</p> + +<p>It was perhaps a month later, with Jerry +as busy as any of the wild folk thereabout, +and the nights turning off bitter cold with +frost. Of mornings he could hear the thin +tinkle of the streams along fringes of delicate +ice. It was the afternoon of a day that fell +warm and dry with a promise of snow in the +air. Jerry was roofing in his cabin, so intent +that a voice hailed him before he was aware +that there was a man on the trail. Jerry knew +at once by his dress and his speech that he +was a stranger in those parts, and he saw that +he was not very well prepared for the mountain +passes and the night. He knew this, +I say, with the back of his mind, but took +no note of it, for he was so occupied with +his house and his mine. He suffered a fear to +have any man know of his good fortune lest +it should somehow slip away from him. So +when the stranger asked him some questions +of the trail, it seemed that what Jerry most<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span> +wished was to get rid of him as quickly as +possible. He was a young man, ruddy and +blue-eyed, and a foreigner, what was called in +careless miners' talk, "some kind of a Dutchman," +and could not make himself well understood. +Jerry gathered that he desired to know +if he were headed right for the trail that +went over to the Bighorn Mine, where he had +the promise of work. So they nodded and +shrugged, and Jerry made assurance with his +hands, as much as to say, it is no great +way; and when the young man had looked +wistfully at the cabin and the boding sky, +he moved slowly up the trail. When he came +to the turn where it goes toward Rex Monte, +he lingered on the ridge to wave good-by, so +Jerry waved again, and the man dropped out +of sight. At that moment the sun failed +behind a long gray film that deepened and +spread over all that quarter of the sky.</p> + +<p>Jerry had cause to remember the stranger +in the night and fret for him, for the wind +came up and began to seek in the cañon, +and the snow fell slanting down. It fell three<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span> +days and nights. All that while the gray veil +hung about Jerry's house; now and then the +wind would scoop a great lane in it to show +how the drifts lay on the heather, then shut +in tight and dim with a soft, weary sound, +and Jerry, though he worked on the Golden +Fortune, could not get the young stranger +out of his mind.</p> + +<p>When the sun and the frost had made a +crust over the snow able to bear up a man, +he went over the Pass to Bighorn to inquire if +the stranger had come in, though he did not +tell at that time, nor until long after, how late +it was when the man passed his cabin, how +wistfully he turned away, nor what promise +was in the air. The snow lay all about the +Pass, lightly on the pines, deeply in the hollows, +so deeply that a man might lie under it +and no one be the wiser. And there it seemed +the stranger must be, for at the Bighorn they +had not heard of him, but if he were under +the snow, there he must lie until the spring +thaw. Of whatever happened to him, Jerry +saw that he must bear the blame, for, by his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span> +own account, from that day the luck vanished +from the Golden Fortune; not that the ore +dwindled or grew less, but there were no +more of the golden specks. With all he could +do after that, Jerry could not maintain himself +in the cabin on the slope of Rex Monte. So +it came about that the door was often shut, +and the picks rusted in the tunnel of the +Golden Fortune for months together, while +Jerry was off earning wages in more prosperous +mines.</p> + +<p>All his days Jerry could not quite get his +mind away from the earlier promise of the +mine, and as often as he thought of that he +thought of the stranger whom he had sent +over the trail on the evening of the storm. +Gradually it came into his mind in a confused +way that the two things were mysteriously +connected, that he had sent away his luck +with the stranger into the deep snow. For certainly +Jerry held himself accountable, and in +that country between Kearsarge and the Coso +Hills to be inhospitable is the worst offense.</p> + +<p>Every year or so he came back to the mine<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span> +to work a little, and sometimes it seemed to +promise better and sometimes not. Finally, +Jerry argued that the luck would not come +back to it until he had made good to some +other man the damage he had done to one. +This set him looking for an opportunity. +Jerry mentioned his belief so often that he +came at last, as is the way of miners, to +accept it as a thing prophesied of old time. +Afterward, when he grew old himself, and +came to live out his life at the Golden Fortune, +he would be always looking along the +trail at evening time for passers-by, and never +one was allowed to go on who could by any +possibility be persuaded to stay the night in +Jerry's cabin. Often when there was a wind, +and the snow came slanting down, Jerry fancied +he heard one shouting in the drift; then +he would light a lantern and sally forth into +the storm, peering and crying.</p> + +<p>About that time, when he went down into +the town below Kearsarge once in a month or +so for supplies, the people smiled and wagged +their heads, but Jerry conceived that they<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span> +whispered together about the unkindness he +had done to the stranger so many years gone, +and he grew shyer and went less often among +men. So he companioned more with the wild +things, and burrowed deeper into the hill. +His cabin weathered to a semblance of the +stones, rabbits ran in and out at the door, +and deer drank at his spring.</p> + +<p>From the slope where the cabin stood, the +trail, which led up from the town, winding +with the winding of the cañon, went over the +Pass, and so into a region of high meadows +and high, keen peaks, the feeding-ground of +deer and mountain sheep. The ravine of Rex +Monte was the easiest going from the high +valleys to the foothills, where all winter the +feed kept green. Every year Jerry marked the +trooping of the wild kindred to the foothill +pastures when the snow lay heavily on all the +higher land, and saw their returning when +the spring pressed hard upon the borders of +the melting drifts. So, as he grew older and +stayed closer by his mine, Jerry learned to +look to the furred and feathered folk for news<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> +of how the seasons fared, and what was doing +on the high ridges. When the grouse and +quail went down, it was a sign that the snow +had covered the grass and small seed-bearing +herbs; the passing of deer—shapely bulks in +a mist of cloud—was a portent of deep drifts +over the buckthorn and the heather. Lastly, +if he saw the light fleeting of the mountain +sheep, he looked for wild and bitter work on +the crest of Kearsarge and Rex Monte. It was +mostly at such times that Jerry heard voices +in the storm, and he would go stumbling +about with his lantern into the swirl of falling +snow, until the wind that played up and +down the great cañon, like the draughts in a +chimney, made his very bones a-cold. Then +he would creep back to drowse by the warmth +of his fire and dream that the blue-eyed stranger +had come back and brought the luck of +the Golden Fortune. So he passed the years +until the winter of the Big Snow. It was so +called many winters after, for no other like it +ever fell on the east slope of Kearsarge.</p> + +<p>It came early in the season, following a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span> +week of warm weather, when the sky was full +of a dry mist that showed ghostly gray against +the sun and the moon; great bodies of temperate +air moved about the pines with a sound +of moaning and distress. The deer, warned +by their wild sense, went down before ever a +flake fell, and Jerry, watching, shivered in +sympathy, recalling that so they had run together, +and such a spell of warm weather had +gone before a certain snow, years ago before +the luck departed from the Golden Fortune. +As the fume of the storm closed in about the +cabin, and flakes began to form lightly in the +middle air, the old man's wits began to fumble +among remembrances of the stranger on the +trail, and he would hearken for voices. The +snow began, then increased, and fell steadily, +wet and blinding.</p> + +<p>The third night of its falling Jerry waked +out of a doze to hear his name shouted, muffled +and feebly, through the drift. So it +seemed to him, and he made haste to answer +it. There was no wind; on the very steep +slope where the cabin stood was a knee-deep<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span> +level, soft and clogging; in the hollows it +piled halfway up the pines. Jerry's lantern +threw a faint and stifled gleam. There was no +further cry, but something struggled on the +trail below him; dim, unhuman shapes wrestled +in the smother of the snow. Jerry sent +them a hail of assurance cut off short by the +white wall of the storm.</p> + +<p>There was a little sag in the hill-front where +the trail turned off to the cabin, and here +the moist snow fell in a lake, into which the +trail ran like a spit, and was lost. Down +this trail at the last fierce end of the storm +came the great wild sheep, the bighorn, the +heaviest-headed, lightest-footed, winter-proof +sheep of the mountains that God shepherds +on the high battlements of the hills. Down +they came when there was no meadow, nor +thicket, nor any smallest twig of heather left +uncovered on the highlands, and took the lake +of soggy snow by Jerry's cabin in the dark. +They had come far under the weight of the +great curved horns through the clogging +drifts. Here where the trail failed in the white<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span> +smudge they found no footing, floundered +at large, sinking belly-deep where they stood, +and not daring to stand lest they sink deeper. +If any cry of theirs, hoarse and broken, had +reached old Jerry's dreaming, they spent no +further breath on it. By something the same +sense that made him aware of their need, +Jerry understood rather than saw them strain +through the falling veil of snow. It was a +sharp struggle without sound as they won out +of the wet drift to the firmer ground. They +went on like shadows pursued by the ghost +of a light that wavered with the old man's +wavering feet. It was no night for a man to +be abroad in, but Jerry plowed on in the +drift till he found the work that was cut out +for him. There where the snow was deepest, +yielding like wool, he found the oldest wether +of the flock, sunk to the shoulders, too feeble +for the struggle, and still too noble for complaining. +How many years had Jerry waited +to do a good turn on the trail where he had +done his worst: and in all these years he had +lost the sense of distinction which should be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span> +between man and beast. He put his shoulder +under the fore shoulder of the sheep, where he +could feel the heart pound with certain fear.</p> + +<p>Jerry knew the trail, as he knew the floor +of his mine, by the feel of the ground under +him, so as he heaved and guided with his +shoulder, the great ram grew quieter and lent +himself to the effort till they came clear of the +swale, and the sweat ran down from Jerry's +forehead. But the bighorn could do no more. +In the soft fleece of the snow he stood cowed +and trembling. The snow came on faster, and +wiped out the trail of the flock; he made +no motion to go after. Such a death comes to +the wild sheep of the mountains often enough: +to fail from old age in some sudden storm, to +sink in the loose snow and await the quest of +the wolf, or the colder mercy of the drift. He +turned his back to the storm which began to +slant a little with the rising wind, and looked +not once at Jerry nor at the hills where he had +been bred. But Jerry cast his eye upon the +sheep, which was full heavier then than he, and +then up at the steep where his cabin stood,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span> +remembering that he had nothing there that +might serve a sheep for food. Then he bent +down again, and by dint of pulling and pushing, +and by a dim sense that began to filter +through the man's brain to the beast, they +made some progress on the trail. They went +over broken boulders and floundered in the +drifts, where Jerry half carried the sheep and +was half borne up and supported by the spread +of the great horns. They crossed Pine Creek, +which ran dumbly under the snow, housed +over by the stream tangle. The flakes hissed +softly on Jerry's lantern and struck blindingly +on his eyes, but ever as they went the sheep +was eased of his labor, grew assured, and +carried himself courageously. Finally they +came where the storm thinned out, and whole +hill-slopes covered with buckthorn and cherry +warded off the snow by springy arches, and +Jerry drew up to rest under a long-leaved pine +while the sheep went on alone, nodding his +great horns under the branches of the scrub. +He neither lingered nor looked back, and met +the new chance of life with as much quietness<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span> +as the chance of death. Jerry was worn and +weary, and there was a singing in his brain. +The pine trees broke the wind and shed off +the snow in curling wreaths. It seemed to the +old man most good to rest, and he drowsed +upon his feet.</p> + +<p>"If I sleep I shall freeze," he said; and it +seemed on the whole a pleasant thing to do. +So it went on for a little space; then there +came a shape out of the dark, a hand shook +him by the shoulder, and a voice called him +by name. Then he started out of dreaming +as he had started at that other call an hour ago, +and it seemed not strange to him, the night, +nor the storm, nor the face of the blue-eyed +man that shone out of the dark, but whether +by the light of his lantern he could not tell. +He shook the snow from his shoulders.</p> + +<p>"I have expected you long," he said.</p> + +<p>"And now I have come," said the stranger +and smiled.</p> + +<p>"Have you brought the luck again?"</p> + +<p>"Come and see," said the man.</p> + +<p>Then Jerry took his hand and leaned upon<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span> +him, and together they went up the trail between +the drifts.</p> + +<p>"You bear me no ill-will for what I did?" +said Jerry.</p> + +<p>And the stranger answered, "None."</p> + +<p>"I have wished it undone many times," +said the old man. "I have tried this night to +repay it."</p> + +<p>"By what you have done this night I am +repaid," said the stranger.</p> + +<p>"It was only a sheep."</p> + +<p>"It was one of God's creatures," said the +man.</p> + +<p>So they went on up the trail, and it seemed +sometimes to Jerry that he wandered alone in +the dark, that he was cold, and his lantern had +gone out; and again he would hear the stranger +comfort and encourage him. At last they came +toward the cabin, and saw the light stream out +of the window and the fire leap in the stove. +Then Jerry thought of the mine, and that the +stranger had brought back the luck again. It +seemed that the young man had promised him +this, though he could not be sure of that, nor<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span> +very clear in his mind on any point except that +he had come home again. But as he drew near, +it seemed a brightness came out of the tunnel +of the mine, a warmth and a great light. As he +came into it tremblingly, he saw that the light +came from the walls, and from the lode at the far +end of it, and it was the brightness of pure gold. +And Jerry smiled and stretched out his arms to +it, making sure that the luck had come again.</p> + +<p>After the week of the Big Snow there were +people in the town who remembered Jerry, and +wondered how he fared. So when the snow +had a crust over it, they came up by the windy +cañon and sought him in his house, where the +door stood open and a charred wick flared feebly +in the lamp, and in his mine, where they +found him at the far end of the tunnel, and it +seemed as if he slept and smiled.</p> + +<p>"It is a worthless lode," they said, "but he +loved it."</p> + +<p>So they took powder and made a blast, and +with it a great heap of stones, shutting off the +end of the tunnel from the outer air, and so left +him with his luck and the Golden Fortune.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span></p> + +<h2>THE WHITE-BARKED PINE</h2> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span></p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span></p> +<h3>THE WHITE-BARKED PINE</h3> + + +<p>The white-barked pine grew on the slope of +Kearsarge highest up of all the pines, so high +that nothing grew above it but brown tufts of +grass and the rosy Sierra primroses that shelter +under the edges of broken boulders. The +white-barked pines are squat and short, trunks +creeping along the rocks, and foliage all matted +in a close green thatch by the winter's weight. +Snow lies on the slope of Kearsarge eight +months in the year, deep and smooth over the +pines and the jagged rocks; other months +there are great storms of rain, and always a +strong wind roaring through the Pass, so that, +try as it might, no tree could stand erect on +those heights. The white-barked pine stretched +its body along the ground, and though it was +four hundred years old, it was no thicker than +a man's leg, and its young branches of seventy-five +or a hundred years were still so supple<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span> +that one could tie knots in them. It grew +near the trail, which here crossed through +a gap in the crest of the range and straggled +on down the other side of the mountain.</p> + +<p>Along this trail went many strange things +in their season. Early in the year, before the +snow had melted at all on the high places, +went a great lumbering bear that had a lair +above Big Meadows, going down to the calf-pens +and pig-sties of the town at the foot of +Kearsarge. He ranged back and forth on these +little excursions of fifteen or twenty miles in +the hungry season of the year, and sometimes +there were hunters on his trail with dogs and +guns, but nothing ever came of it. When the +trail began to run a rivulet from the drip of +melting snow banks, the forest ranger went up +the Pass, singing as he went and beating his +arms to keep himself warm. Afterwards when +the snow water was all drained off, he came +back and mended the trail. All through the +summer there would be parties of miners and +hunters with long strings of pack mules, going +over Kearsarge to camp in Big Meadows<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span> +or on the fork of King's River. Sometimes +there were parties of Indians with women +and children, making very merry with berries, +fish, and deer meat. Nearly always, whatever +went over the mountain came back again, and +the white pine noticed that the same people +came again another season. In four hundred +years one has space for observation and reflection. +Gradually the pine tree grew into the +conviction that the other side of the mountain +must be much finer than this.</p> + +<p>"Else why," said he, "should so many people +go there every year?"</p> + +<p>It was very fine, you may be sure, on the +white pine's side, but the tree had known it all +for so many years, it no longer pleased him. +From where he grew he looked down between +the ridges on a great winding cañon full of +singing trees, with blue lakes like eyes winking +between them. He could watch in the open +places the white feet of the water on its way to +the valley, and from the falls long rainbows of +spray blown out as if they were blowing kisses +to the white-barked pine. Below all this lay the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span> +valley, hollow like a cup, full of fawn-colored +and violet mist, and the farms and orchards lay +like dregs at the bottom of the cup. Beyond +the valley rose other noble ranges with cloud +shadows playing all along their slopes.</p> + +<p>"It is very tiresome to look at the same things +for four hundred years," said the white-barked +pine. "If I could only get to the top, now. Do +tell me, what is it like on the other side?" he +said to the wind.</p> + +<p>"Oh!" said the wind, "it rains and snows. +There are trees and bushes and blue lakes. It +is not at all different from this side."</p> + +<p>A deer said the same thing when it slept +one night under the thatch of the highest pine. +"It is all meadows and hills, only sometimes +the grass is not so good there, and again sometimes +it is better. It is very much like this."</p> + +<p>"I do not believe them," said the pine to +himself. "They are simply trying to console +me for not realizing my ambition. But I +am not a sapling any longer, let me tell you +that."</p> + +<p>"At least," said a young tree that grew a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span> +little farther down, "you are higher up than +any of us."</p> + +<p>"Of what use is that if I do not get to the +top?" said the unhappy pine. "There is a +bunch of blue flowers there, I can see it quite +plainly just where the trail dips over the ridge. +Surely I am as capable of climbing as any blue +weed."</p> + +<p>"But," said the young pine, "weeds do not +have to grow cones."</p> + +<p>"Oh, as for cones," cried the tree quite +crossly, "the seasons are so short I hardly +ever ripen any, and if I do the squirrels get +them. I do believe I have not started a seedling +these two hundred years. It is no use to +talk to me, I shall be happy only when I have +seen the other side of the mountain."</p> + +<p>It seems what one desires with all one's heart +for a long time finally comes to pass in some +fashion or other. That very season the white-barked +pine went up over Kearsarge to the +other side. Early in the summer, when the +rosy primroses had just begun to blow beside +the drifts that hugged the shade of the boul<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span>ders, +a party of miners went up the trail with +a long string of pack mules burdened with +picks and shovels, flour and potatoes, and other +things that miners use. The last pull up the +Kearsarge trail is the hardest, over a steep +waste of loose stones that want very little +encouragement to go roaring down as an +avalanche into the ravine below. The miners +shouted, the mules scrambled and panted on +the steep, but just as they came by the last +of the white-barked pines, one slipped and +went rolling over and over on the jagged +stones. As happens very frequently when a +pack animal falls, the mule was not very much +hurt, but the pack saddle was quite ruined.</p> + +<p>"We must do the best we can," said one +of the men, and he cut down the white-barked +pine. He chopped off the boughs, and split +the trunk in four pieces to mend the pack. +It was a very small tree though it was so +old.</p> + +<p>"Ah! Ah!" said the tree, "it hurts, but +one does not mind that when one is realizing +an ambition. Now I shall go to the top." So<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span> +he went over Kearsarge on mule-back quite +like an old traveler.</p> + +<p>"Well, we are rid of his complaining," said +the pine who stood next to him, "and now <i>I</i> +am the highest up of all the pines. I wonder +if it is really so much finer on the other +side."</p> + +<p>His old companion, in four pieces, was +swinging down the other side of the mountain, +and as he went, he saw high peaks and +soddy meadows, long winding cañons with +white glancing waters; and heard the chorus +of the falls. When it was night the miners lit +a fire and loosened up the packs, and after +dark, when the wind began to move among the +trees and the fire burned low, one of the men +threw a piece of the white-barked pine on it.</p> + +<p>"Oh! Oh!" cried the pine as the flames +caught hold of it, "and is this really the end +of all my travels?"</p> + +<p>"How that green wood sputters!" said the +man; "it is not fit even for firewood."</p> + +<p>The next day the wind took up the ash and +carried it back over the pass, and dropped it<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span> +where the chopped boughs lay fainting on the +ground.</p> + +<p>"Ah, is that you?" they said; "now you +can tell us what it is like on the other side."</p> + +<p>"How ignorant you are," said the ash of +the white-barked pine, "one would know you +have never traveled. It is exactly like this +side." But he could not hear what they had +to say to that, for the wind whirled him away.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span></p> + +<h2>NA'ŸANG-WIT'E, THE FIRST RABBIT<br /> +DRIVE</h2> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span></p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span></p> +<h3>NA'ŸANG-WIT'E, THE FIRST RABBIT +DRIVE</h3> + + +<p>The Basket Woman was walking over the +mesa with the great carrier at her back. Behind +her straggled the children and the other +women of the campoodie, each with a cone-shaped +basket slung between her shoulders. +Alan clapped his hands when he saw them +coming, and ran out along the path.</p> + +<p>"You come see rabbit drive," she said, +twinkling her shrewd black eyes under the +border of her basket cap. Alan took hold of +a fold of her dress as he walked beside her, for +he was still a little afraid of the other Indians, +but since the time of his going out to see the +buzzards making a merry-go-round, he knew +he should never be afraid of the Basket +Woman again. The other women laughed a +great deal as they looked at him, showing +their white teeth and putting back the black<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span> +coarse hair out of their eyes, and Alan felt +that the things they said to each other were +about him, though they could hardly have +been unpleasant with so much smiling. Now +he could see the men swarm out of the huts +under the hill, all afoot but a dozen of the old +men, who rode small kicking ponies at a tremendous +pace, digging their heels into the +horses' ribs. They passed up the mesa in a +blur of golden dust; westward they dwindled +to a speck, something ran between them from +man to man, now thick like a cord, then shaken +out and vanishing in air. Then the riders +dropped from their horses and fumbled on the +ground. Alan plucked at the Basket Woman's +dress.</p> + +<p>"Tell me what it is they do," he said.</p> + +<p>"It is the net which they set with forked +stakes of willow," answered the Basket Woman. +Now the young men and the middle-aged +began to form a line across the mesa, +standing three man's lengths apart in the sage. +Some of them were armed with guns and +others had only clubs; all were merry, laugh<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span>ing +and calling to one another. They began +to move forward evenly with a marching movement, +beating the brush as they went. Presently +up popped a rabbit from the sage and +ran before them in long flying leaps; far down +the line another bounded from a stony wash, +his lean flanks turned broadside to the sun.</p> + +<p>Then the hunters broke into shouts of +laughter and clapping, then one began to sing +and the song passed from man to man along +the line; then the men crouched a little as +Indians do in singing, then their bodies swayed +and they stamped with each staccato note as +they moved forward. Rabbits sprang up in +the scrub and went before them like the wind, +and as each one leaped into view and laid back +his ears in flight, the cries and laughter grew +and the singing rose louder. The wind blew +it back to the women and children straggling +far behind, who took it up, and the burden of +it was this,—</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 800px;"> +<img src="images/i175.jpg" width="800" height="158" alt="E - ya - ha hi, E - ya, E - ya - hi!" title="" /> +<span class="caption">E - ya - ha hi, E - ya, E - ya - hi!</span> +</div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span></p> + +<p>But every man sang it for himself, beginning +when he liked and leaving off, and when +a rabbit started up under foot or one over-leaped +himself and went sprawling to the sand +the refrain broke out again, but the words, +when there were any, seemed not to have +anything to do with the hunt, and sounded +to Alan like a game.</p> + +<p>"<i>He-yah-hi, hi!</i> he has it; he has it, he has +the white, he has it!"</p> + +<p>"<i>Na'ÿang-wit'e!</i>" chuckled the Basket +Woman. "<i>Na'ÿang-wit'e, na'ÿang-wit'e!</i> It +is as it was of old time, look now and you +shall see."</p> + +<p>Alan looked at the hunters again, and +whether it was because of the blown dust of +the mesa, or the quiver of heat that rose up +from the sand, or because the Basket Woman +had laid her hand upon him, he saw that they +were not as they had been a moment since. +Now they wore no hats and were naked from +the waist up, clothed below with deerskin garments. +Quivers of the skin of cougars with the +tails hanging down were slung between their<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span> +shoulders, and the arrows in them were pointed +with tips of obsidian and winged with eagle +feathers. Every man carried his bow or his +spear in his hand. Bright beads and bits of +many-colored shell hung and glittered in their +hair. Rabbits went before them like grasshoppers +for number, and the song and the +shouting were fierce and wild. "But what is +it all about?" asked Alan.</p> + +<p>"<i>Na'ÿang-wit'e, na'ÿang-wit'e</i>," laughed +the Basket Woman. "Wait and I will tell you +the story of that song, for it is so that every +song has its story, without which no one may +understand it. It is not well to go too near +the guns; sit you here and I will tell."</p> + +<p>So Alan bent down the sagebrush to make +him a springy seat and the Basket Woman sat +upon the ground with her hands clasped about +her knees.</p> + +<p>"Long and long ago," said the Basket +Woman, "when men and beasts talked together, +there were none so friendly and none +so much about the wickiups as the rabbit people, +and some of our fathers have told that it<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span> +was they who taught my people the game of +<i>na'ÿang-wit'e</i>. I know not if that be true, but +there were none so cunning as they to play it. +And this is the manner of the game: there +should be two sticks, or better, two bits of +bone of the fore leg of a deer, made smooth +and small to fit the palm. One of them is all +white and the other has sinew of deer stained +black and wound about it. These the players +pass from hand to hand, and another will guess +where is the place of the white, and he who +guesses best shall win all the other's goods. +It is good sport playing, and between man +and man it comes even in the end, for sometimes +one has the goods and sometimes another, +but when my people played with the +rabbit people it was not good, for the rabbits +won every time. Then my people drew +together, all the Indians of every sort, and +made a great game against the rabbit people. +There were two long rows across the mesa, +and between them were all the goods piled +high, all the beads and ornaments of shell, +all the feather work and fine dressed deerskin,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span> +all the worked moccasins, the quivers, the +bows, all the blankets, the baskets, and the +woven mats. So they played at sunrise, so at +noon, so when it was night and the fires were +lit. So on into the night, and when it was +morning the game was done, for the Indians +had no more goods. <i>Ay-aiy!</i>" said the Basket +Woman, "long will the rabbit people sorrow +for that day, for it was then that the +Indians first contrived together how they +might be rid of them. Then they gathered +up the milkweed," and she reached out and +plucked a tall stem of it growing beside her, +white flowered and slender, with fine leaves +like grass. "Then they broke it so," and she +laid it across a stone and beat it lightly with +a stick, "then they drew out the threads soft +and white, and so they rolled it into string."</p> + +<p>She stretched the fibre with one hand and +rolled it on her knee with the other, twisting +and twining it. "Thus was the string made +and afterward woven into nets. The mesh of +the net was just enough to let a rabbit's head +through, but not his body, and the net was a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span> +little wider than a rabbit's jump when he goes +fast and fleeing, and long enough to stretch +half across the world. So on a day the net was +set and the drive was begun as you have seen +it, and as the Indians went they remembered +their anger and taunted the rabbit people. So +the song of <i>Na'ÿang-wit'e</i> was made. Now let +us go and see how it fares with the rabbit people, +for as it was of old so will it be to-day."</p> + +<p>All this time the line of men moved steadily +across the mesa toward the net. Now and +then a rabbit turned, made bold by fright, and +passed between the men as they marched. Then +the nearest turned to shoot him as he ran, but +it was left to the women to pick up the game. +Already the foremost rabbits were at the net, +turned back by it, leaping toward the hunters +and fleeing again to the net. The old men +closed in the ends of the lane where the rabbits +ran about distractedly with shrill squeals of +anguished fear. Some got their heads through +the mesh but never their bodies, and as it is +not the nature of rabbits to go backward they +struggled and cried, getting themselves the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span> +more entangled; some blind with their haste +came against it in mid-leap, and were thrown +back stunned upon the sand. The men sang no +more, for they had work to do, serious work, +for on the dried flesh of the rabbits and the +blankets made of their skins the campoodie +must largely count for food and warmth in the +winter season. They closed in to the killing +and made short work of it with clubs and the +butt ends of their guns. Then the women came +up with the children and heaped up the great +carriers with the game while the men wrung the +sweat from their foreheads and counted up the +kill. Most of the rabbits were the kind Alan +had learned to call jack rabbits, but the Basket +Woman picked up a fat little cotton-tail.</p> + +<p>"This is little Tavwots," said she, "and +you shall have him for your supper." Alan's +mind still ran on the story of the first drive. +"But is it true?" he asked her, before he +had given thanks for the gift.</p> + +<p>"Now this is the sign I shall give you that +the tale is true," said the Basket Woman. +"Ever since that day if one of the rabbit peo<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span>ple +meets an Indian in the trail he flees before +him as you saw them flee to-day, and that is +because of <i>na'ÿang-wit'e</i> and the first rabbit +drive." Then she laughed, but Alan took his +share of the kill on his shoulder and went back +across the mesa slowly, wondering.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span></p> +<h2>MAHALA JOE</h2> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 1024px;"> +<span class="caption">A “WICKIUP,” OR INDIAN HUT</span> +<img src="images/i207.jpg" width="1024" height="644" alt="A "WICKIUP," OR INDIAN HUT" title="" /> +<p style='text-align:right'>From photograph by A. A. Forbes</p> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span></p> +<h3>MAHALA JOE</h3> + + +<h4>I</h4> + +<p>In the campoodie of Three Pines, which you +probably know better by its Spanish name of +Tres Pinos, there is an Indian, well thought +of among his own people, who goes about +wearing a woman's dress, and is known as +Mahala Joe. He should be about fifty years +old by this time, and has a quiet, kindly face. +Sometimes he tucks up the skirt of his woman's +dress over a pair of blue overalls when +he has a man's work to do, but at feasts and +dances he wears a ribbon around his waist +and a handkerchief on his head as the other +mahalas do. He is much looked to because +of his knowledge of white people and their +ways, and if it were not for the lines of deep +sadness that fall in his face when at rest, +one might forget that the woman's gear is +the badge of an all but intolerable shame. At<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span> +least it was so used by the Paiutes, but when +you have read this full and true account of how +it was first put on, you may not think it so.</p> + +<p>Fifty years ago the valley about Tres Pinos +was all one sea of moving grass and dusky, +greenish sage, cropped over by deer and antelope, +north as far as Togobah, and south to +the Bitter Lake. Beside every considerable +stream which flowed into It from the Sierras +was a Paiute campoodie, and all they knew of +white people was by hearsay from the tribes +across the mountains. But soon enough cattlemen +began to push their herds through the +Sierra passes to the Paiutes' feeding-ground. +The Indians saw them come, and though they +were not very well pleased, they held still by +the counsel of their old men; night and day +they made medicine and prayed that the white +men might go away.</p> + +<p>Among the first of the cattlemen in the +valley about Tres Pinos was Joe Baker, who +brought a young wife, and built his house not +far from the campoodie. The Indian women +watched her curiously from afar because of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span> +a whisper that ran among the wattled huts. +When the year was far gone, and the sun-cured +grasses curled whitish brown, a doctor +came riding hard from the fort at Edswick, +forty miles to the south, and though they +watched, they did not see him ride away. It +was the third day at evening when Joe Baker +came walking towards the campoodie, and +his face was set and sad. He carried something +rolled in a blanket, and looked anxiously +at the women as he went between the +huts. It was about the hour of the evening +meal, and the mahalas sat about the fires +watching the cooking-pots. He came at last +opposite a young woman who sat nursing +her child. She had a bright, pleasant face, +and her little one seemed about six months +old. Her husband stood near and watched +them with great pride. Joe Baker knelt +down in front of the mahala, and opened +the roll of blankets. He showed her a day-old +baby that wrinkled up its small face and +cried.</p> + +<p>"Its mother is dead," said the cattleman.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span> +The young Indian mother did not know English, +but she did not need speech to know what +had happened. She looked pitifully at the +child, and at her husband timidly. Joe Baker +went and laid his rifle and cartridge belt at +the Paiute's feet. The Indian picked up the +gun and fingered it; his wife smiled. She +put down her own child, and lifted the little +white stranger to her breast. It nozzled +against her and hushed its crying; the young +mother laughed.</p> + +<p>"See how greedy it is," she said; "it is +truly white." She drew up the blanket around +the child and comforted it.</p> + +<p>The cattleman called to him one of the +Indians who could speak a little English.</p> + +<p>"Tell her," he said, "that I wish her to +care for the child. His name is Walter. Tell +her that she is to come to my house for +everything he needs, and for every month +that he keeps fat and well she shall have a +fat steer from my herd." So it was agreed.</p> + +<p>As soon as Walter was old enough he +came to sleep at his father's house, but the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span> +Indian woman, whom he called <i>Ebia</i>, came +every day to tend him. Her son was his +brother, and Walter learned to speak Paiute +before he learned English. The two boys +were always together, but as yet the little +Indian had no name. It is not the custom +among Paiutes to give names to those who +have not done anything worth naming.</p> + +<p>"But I have a name," said Walter, "and +so shall he. I will call him Joe. That is my +father's name, and it is a good name, too."</p> + +<p>When Mr. Baker was away with the cattle +Walter slept at the campoodie, and Joe's +mother made him a buckskin shirt. At that +time he was so brown with the sun and the +wind that only by his eyes could you tell that +he was white; he was also very happy. But +as this is to be the story of how Joe came to +the wearing of a woman's dress, I cannot tell +you all the plays they had, how they went on +their first hunting, nor what they found in +the creek of Tres Pinos.</p> + +<p>The beginning of the whole affair of Mahala +Joe must be laid to the arrow-maker. The<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span> +arrow-maker had a stiff knee from a wound +in a long-gone battle, and for that reason he +sat in the shade of his wickiup, and chipped +arrow points from flakes of obsidian that the +young men brought him from Togobah, fitting +them to shafts of reeds from the river +marsh. He used to coax the boys to wade in +the brown water and cut the reeds, for the +dampness made his knee ache. They drove +bargains with him for arrows for their own +hunting, or for the sake of the stories he +could tell. For an armful of reeds he would +make three arrows, and for a double armful +he would tell tales. These were mostly of +great huntings and old wars, but when it +was winter, and no snakes in the long +grass to overhear, he would tell Wonder-stories. +The boys would lie with their toes +in the warm ashes, and the arrow-maker would +begin.</p> + +<p>"You can see," said the arrow-maker, "on +the top of Waban the tall boulder looking on +the valleys east and west. That is the very +boundary between the Paiute country and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span> +Shoshone land. The boulder is a hundred +times taller than the tallest man, and thicker +through than six horses standing nose to tail; +the shadow of it falls all down the slope. At +mornings it falls toward the Paiute peoples, +and evenings it falls on Shoshone land. Now +on this side of the valley, beginning at the +campoodie, you will see a row of pine trees +standing all upstream one behind another. +See, the long branches grow on the side +toward the hill; and some may tell you it is +because of the way the wind blows, but I +say it is because they reach out in a hurry to +get up the mountain. Now I will tell you how +these things came about.</p> + +<p>"Very long ago all the Paiutes of this valley +were ruled by two brothers, a chief and a +medicine man, Winnedumah and Tinnemaha. +They were both very wise, and one of them +never did anything without the other. They +taught the tribes not to war upon each +other, but to stand fast as brothers, and so +they brought peace into the land. At that +time there were no white people heard of, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span> +game was plenty. The young honored the +old, and nothing was as it is now."</p> + +<p>When the arrow-maker came to this point, +the boys fidgeted with their toes, and made +believe to steal the old man's arrows to distract +his attention. They did not care to hear +about the falling off of the Paiutes; they +wished to have the tale. Then the arrow-maker +would hurry on to the time when +there arose a war between the Paiutes and +the Shoshones. Then Winnedumah put on +his war bonnet, and Tinnemaha made medicine. +Word went around among the braves +that if they stood together man to man as +brothers, then they should have this war.</p> + +<p>"And so they might," said the arrow-maker, +"but at last their hearts turned to +water. The tribes came together on the top of +Waban. Yes; where the boulder now stands, +for that is the boundary of our lands, for no +brave would fight off his own ground for fear +of the other's medicine. So they fought. The +eagles heard the twang of the bowstring, and +swung down from White Mountain. The vul<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span>-tures +smelled the smell of battle, and came in +from Shoshone land. Their wings were dark +like a cloud, and underneath the arrows flew +like hail. The Paiutes were the better bowmen, +and they caught the Shoshone arrows +where they struck in the earth and shot +them back again. Then the Shoshones were +ashamed, and about the time of the sun going +down they called upon their medicine men, +and one let fly a magic arrow,—for none +other would touch him,—and it struck in the +throat of Tinnemaha.</p> + +<p>"Now when that befell," went on the +arrow-maker, "the braves forgot the word +that had gone before the battle, for they +turned their backs to the medicine man, all +but Winnedumah, his brother, and fled this +way from Waban. Then stood Winnedumah +by Tinnemaha, for that was the way of those +two; whatever happened, one would not leave +the other. There was none left to carry on +the fight, and yet since he was so great a +chief the Shoshones were afraid to take him, +and the sun went down. In the dusk they<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span> +saw a bulk, and they said, 'He is still standing;' +but when it was morning light they +saw only a great rock, so you see it to this +day. As for the braves who ran away, they +were changed to pine trees, but in their hearts +they are cowards yet, therefore they stretch +out their arms and strive toward the mountain. +And that," said the arrow-maker, "is +how the tall stones came to be on the top of +Waban. But it was not in my day nor my +father's." Then the boys would look up at +Winnedumah, and were half afraid, and as +for the tale, they quite believed it.</p> + +<p>The arrow-maker was growing old. His +knee hurt him in cold weather, and he could +not make arrow points fast enough to satisfy +the boys, who lost a great many in the winter +season shooting at ducks in the tulares. Walter's +father promised him a rifle when he was +fifteen, but that was years away. There was +a rock in the cañon behind Tres Pinos with a +great crack in the top. When the young men +rode to the hunting, they shot each an arrow +at it, and if it stuck it was a promise of good<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span> +luck. The boys scaled the rock by means +of a grapevine ladder, and pried out the old +points. This gave them an idea.</p> + +<p>"Upon Waban where the fighting was, +there must be a great many arrow points," +said Walter.</p> + +<p>"So there must be," said Joe.</p> + +<p>"Let us go after them," said the white +boy; but the other dared not, for no Paiute +would go within a bowshot of Winnedumah; +nevertheless, they talked the matter over.</p> + +<p>"How near would you go?" asked Walter.</p> + +<p>"As near as a strong man might shoot an +arrow," said Joe.</p> + +<p>"If you will go so far," said Walter, "I +will go the rest of the way."</p> + +<p>"It is a two days' journey," said the Paiute, +but he did not make any other objection.</p> + +<p>It was a warm day of spring when they +set out. The cattleman was off to the river +meadow, and Joe's mother was out with the +other mahalas gathering taboose.</p> + +<p>"If I were fifteen, and had my rifle, I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span> +would not be afraid of anything," said Walter.</p> + +<p>"But in that case we would not need to go +after arrow points," said the Indian boy.</p> + +<p>They climbed all day in a bewildering waste +of boulders and scrubby trees. They could +see Winnedumah shining whitely on the ridge +ahead, but when they had gone down into the +gully with great labor, and up the other side, +there it stood whitely just another ridge away.</p> + +<p>"It is like the false water in the desert," +said Walter. "It goes farther from you, and +when you get to it there is no water there."</p> + +<p>"It is magic medicine," said Indian Joe. +"No good comes of going against medicine."</p> + +<p>"If you are afraid," said Walter, "why do +you not say so? You may go back if you like, +and I will go on by myself."</p> + +<p>Joe would not make any answer to that. +They were hot and tired, and awed by the +stillness of the hills. They kept on after that, +angry and apart; sometimes they lost sight of +each other among the boulders and underbrush. +But it seemed that it must really have been<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span> +as one or the other of them had said, for +when they came out on a high mesa presently, +there was no Winnedumah anywhere in sight. +They would have stopped then and taken +counsel, but they were too angry for that, so +they walked on in silence, and the day failed +rapidly, as it will do in high places. They +began to draw near together and to be afraid. +At last the Indian boy stopped and gathered +the tops of bushes together, and began to +weave a shelter for the night, and when Walter +saw that he made it large enough for two, +he spoke to him.</p> + +<p>"Are we lost?" he said.</p> + +<p>"We are lost for to-night," said Joe, "but +in the morning we will find ourselves."</p> + +<p>They ate dried venison and drank from the +wicker bottle, and huddled together because +of the dark and the chill.</p> + +<p>"Why do we not see the stone any more?" +asked Walter in a whisper.</p> + +<p>"I do not know," said Joe. "I think it has +gone away."</p> + +<p>"Will he come after us?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I do not know. I have on my elk's tooth," +said Joe, and he clasped the charm that hung +about his neck. They started and shivered, +hearing a stone crash far away as it rolled +down the mountain-side, and the wind began +to move among the pines.</p> + +<p>"Joe," said Walter, "I am sorry I said that +you were afraid."</p> + +<p>"It is nothing," said the Paiute. "Besides, +I am afraid."</p> + +<p>"So am I," whispered the other. "Joe," +he said again after a long silence, "if he comes +after us, what shall we do?"</p> + +<p>"We will stay by each other."</p> + +<p>"Like the two brothers, whatever happens," +said the white boy, "forever and ever."</p> + +<p>"We are two brothers," said Joe.</p> + +<p>"Will you swear it?"</p> + +<p>"On my elk's tooth."</p> + +<p>Then they each took the elk's tooth in his +hand and made a vow that whether Winnedumah +came down from his rock, or whether +the Shoshones found them, come what would, +they would stand together. Then they were<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span> +comforted, and lay down, holding each other's +hands.</p> + +<p>"I hear some one walking," said Walter.</p> + +<p>"It is the wind among the pines," said +Joe.</p> + +<p>A twig snapped. "What is that?" said the +one boy.</p> + +<p>"It is a fox or a coyote passing," said the +other, but he knew better. They lay still, +scarcely breathing, and throbbed with fear. +They felt a sense of a presence approaching +in the night, the whisper of a moccasin on the +gravelly soil, the swish of displaced bushes +springing back to place. They saw a bulk +shape itself out of the dark; it came and stood +over them, and they saw that it was an Indian +looking larger in the gloom. He spoke to +them, and whether he spoke in a strange +tongue, or they were too frightened to understand, +they could not tell.</p> + +<p>"Do not kill us!" cried Walter, but the +Indian boy made no sound. The man took +Walter by the shoulders and lifted him up.</p> + +<p>"White," said he.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span></p> + +<p>"We are brothers," said Joe; "we have +sworn it."</p> + +<p>"So," said the man, and it seemed as if he +smiled.</p> + +<p>"Until we die," said both the boys. The +Indian gave a grunt.</p> + +<p>"A white man," he said, "is—white." It +did not seem as if that was what he meant to +say.</p> + +<p>"Come, I will take you to your people. They +search for you about the foot of Waban. These +three hours I have watched you and them." +The boys clutched at each other in the dark. +They were sure now who spoke to them, and +between fear and fatigue and the cramp of cold +they staggered and stumbled as they walked. +The Indian stopped and considered them.</p> + +<p>"I cannot carry both," he said.</p> + +<p>"I am the older," said Joe; "I can walk." +Without any more words the man picked up +Walter, who trembled, and walked off down +the slope. They went a long way through the +scrub and under the tamarack pines. The man +was naked to the waist, and had a quiver full<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span> +of arrows on his shoulder. The buckthorn +branches whipped and scraped against his +skin, but he did not seem to mind. At last +they came to a place where they could see a +dull red spark across an open flat.</p> + +<p>"That," said the Indian, "is the fire of your +people. They missed you at afternoon, and +have been looking for you. From my station +on the hill I saw." Then he took the boy by +the shoulders.</p> + +<p>"Look you," he said, "no good comes of +mixing white and brown, but now that the +vow is made, see to the keeping of it." Then +he stepped back from them and seemed to melt +into the dark. Ahead of them the boys saw the +light of the fire flare up with new fuel, and +shadows, which they knew for the figures of +their friends, moved between them and the +flame. Swiftly as two scared rabbits they ran +on toward the glow.</p> + +<p>When Walter and Joe had told them the +story at the campoodie, the Paiutes made a +great deal of it, especially the arrow-maker.</p> + +<p>"Without a doubt," he said, "it was Win<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span>nedumah +who came to you, and not, as some +think, a Shoshone who was spying on our land. +It is a great mystery. But since you have made +a vow of brothers, you should keep it after +the ancient use." Then he took a knife of +obsidian and cut their arms, and rubbed a +little of the blood of each upon the other.</p> + +<p>"Now," he said, "you are one fellowship +and one blood, and that is as it should be, for +you were both nursed at one breast. See that +you keep the vow."</p> + +<p>"We will," said the boys solemnly, and they +went out into the sunlight very proud of the +blood upon their bared arms, holding by each +other's hands.</p> + + +<h4>II</h4> + +<p>When Walter was fifteen his father gave him +a rifle, as he had promised, and a word of advice +with it.</p> + +<p>"Learn to shoot quickly and well," he said, +"and never ride out from home without it. No +one can tell what this trouble with the Indians +may come to in the end."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span></p> + +<p>Walter rode straight to the campoodie. He +was never happy in any of his gifts until he +had showed them to Joe. There was a group of +older men at the camp, quartering a deer which +they had brought in. One of them, called Scar-Face, +looked at Walter with a leering frown.</p> + +<p>"See," he said, "they are arming the very +children with guns."</p> + +<p>"My father promised it to me many years +ago," said Walter. "It is my birthday gift."</p> + +<p>He could not explain why, and he grew angry +at the man's accusing tone, but after it he did +not like showing his present to the Indians.</p> + +<p>He called Joe, and they went over to a cave +in the black rock where they had kept their boyish +treasures and planned their plays since they +were children. Joe thought the rifle a beauty, +and turned it over admiringly in the shadow of +the cave. They tried shooting at a mark, and +then decided to go up Oak Creek for a shot at +the gray squirrels. There they sighted a band +of antelope that led them over a tongue of hills +into Little Round Valley, where they found +themselves at noon twelve miles from home and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span> +very hungry. They had no antelope, but four +squirrels and a grouse. The two boys made +a fire for cooking in a quiet place by a spring +of sweet water.</p> + +<p>"You may have my rifle to use as often +as you like," said Walter, "but you must not +lend it to any one in the campoodie, especially +to Scar-Face. My father says he is the one +who is stirring up all this trouble with the +whites."</p> + +<p>"The white men do not need any one to +help them get into trouble," said Joe. "They +can do that for themselves."</p> + +<p>"It is the fault of the Indians," said Walter. +"If they did not shoot the cattle, the +white men would leave them alone."</p> + +<p>"But if the white men come first to our +lands with noise and trampling and scare +away the game, what then will they shoot?" +asked the Paiute.</p> + +<p>Walter did not make any answer to that. +He had often gone hunting with Joe and his +father, and he knew what it meant to walk +far, and fasting, after game made shy by the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span> +rifles of cattlemen, and at last to return empty +to the campoodie where there were women +and children with hungry eyes.</p> + +<p>"Is it true," he said after a while, "that +Scar-Face is stirring up all the Indians in the +valley?"</p> + +<p>"How should I know?" said Joe; "I am +only a boy, and have not killed big game. +I am not admitted to the counsels of the +old men. What does it matter to us whether +of old feuds or new? Are we not brothers +sworn?"</p> + +<p>Then, as the dinner was done, they ate +each of the other's kill, for it was the custom +of the Paiutes at that time that no youth +should eat game of his own killing until he +was fully grown. As they walked homeward +the boys planned to get permission to go up +on Waban for a week, after mountain sheep, +before the snows began.</p> + +<p>Mr. Baker looked grave when Walter spoke +to him.</p> + +<p>"My boy," he said, "I wish you would not +plan long trips like this without first speaking<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span> +to me. It is hardly safe in the present state +of feeling among the Indians to let you go +with them in this fashion. A whole week, +too. But as you have already spoken of it, +and it has probably been talked over in the +campoodie, for me to refuse now would look +as if I suspected something, and might bring +about the thing I most fear."</p> + +<p>"You should not be afraid for me with +Joe, father, for we are brothers sworn," said +Walter, and he told his father how they had +mixed the blood of their arms in the arrow-maker's +hut after they had come back from +their first journey on Waban.</p> + +<p>"Well," said Mr. Baker, who had not +heard of this before, "I know that they set +great store by these superstitious customs, +but I have not much faith in the word of a +Paiute when he is dealing with a white man. +However, you had better go on with this +hunting trip. Take Hank with you, and Joe's +father, and do not be gone more than five +days at the outside."</p> + +<p>Hank was one of Mr. Baker's vaqueros,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span> +and very glad to get off for a few days' hunting +on the blunt top of Waban. On the Monday +following they left the Baker ranch for +the mountain. As the two boys rode up the +boulder-strewn slope it set them talking of +the first time they had gone that way on their +fruitless hunt for arrow points about the foot +of Winnedumah, and of all that happened to +them at that time. The valley lay below them +full of purple mist, and away by the creek of +Tres Pinos the brown, wattled huts of the +campoodie like great wasps' nests stuck in the +sage. Hank and Joe's father, with the pack +horses, were ahead of them far up the trail; +Joe and Walter let their own ponies lag, and +the nose of one touched the flank of the +other as they climbed slowly up the steep, +and the boys turned their faces to each other, +as if they had some vague warning that they +would not ride so and talk familiarly again, +as if the boiling anger of the tribes in the +valley had brewed a sort of mist that rose up +and gloomed the pleasant air on the slope of +Waban.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Joe," said Walter, "my father says if it +came to a fight between the white settlers +and the Paiutes, that you would not hold by +the word we have passed."</p> + +<p>"That is the speech of a white man," said +Joe.</p> + +<p>"But would you?" the other insisted.</p> + +<p>"I am a Paiute," said Joe; "I will hold +by my people, also by my word; I will not +fight against you."</p> + +<p>"Nor I against you, but I would not like +to have my father think you had broken your +word."</p> + +<p>"Have no care," said the Indian, "I will +not break it."</p> + +<p>Mr. Baker looked anxiously after his son +as he rode to the hunting on Waban; he +looked anxiously up that trail every hour +until the boy came again, and that, as it +turned out, was at the end of three days. +For the trouble among the Indians had come +to something at last,—the wasps were all +out of nest by the brown creeks, and with +them a flight of stinging arrows. The trouble<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span> +began at Cottonwood, and the hunting party +on Waban the second day out saw a tall, pale +column of smoke that rose up from the notch +of the hill behind the settlement, and fanned +out slowly into the pale blueness of the sky.</p> + +<p>It went on evenly, neither more nor less, +thick smoke from a fire of green wood steadily +tended. Before noon another rose from +the mouth of Oak Creek, and a third from +Tunawai. They waved and beckoned to one +another, calling to counsel.</p> + +<p>"Signal fires," said Hank; "that means +mischief."</p> + +<p>And from that on he went with his rifle +half cocked, and walked always so that he +might keep Joe's father in full view. By +night that same day there were seven smoke +trees growing up in the long valley, and +spreading thin, pale branches to the sky. +There was no zest left in the hunt, and in +the morning they owned it. Walter was worried +by what he knew his father's anxiety +must be. Then the party began to ride down +again, and always Hank made the Indian go<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span> +before. Away by the foot of Oppapago rose +a black volume of smoke, thick, and lighted +underneath by flames. It might be the reek +of a burning ranch house. The boys were +excited and afraid. They talked softly and +crowded their ponies together on the trail.</p> + +<p>"Joe," said Walter whisperingly, "if there +is battle, you will have to go to it."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Joe.</p> + +<p>"And you will fight; otherwise they will +call you a coward, and if you run away, they +will kill you."</p> + +<p>"So I suppose," said Joe.</p> + +<p>"Or they will make you wear a woman's +dress like To-go-na-tee, the man who got up +too late." This was a reminder from one of +the arrow-maker's tales. "But you have promised +not to fight."</p> + +<p>"Look you," said the Indian boy; "if a +white man came to kill me, I would kill him. +That is right. But I will not fight you nor +your father's house. That is my vow."</p> + +<p>The white boy put out his hand, and laid +it on the flank of the foremost pony. The<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span> +Indian boy's fingers came behind him, and +crept along the pony's back until they reached +the other hand. They rode forward without +talking.</p> + +<p>Toward noon they made out horsemen +riding on the trail below them. As it wound +in and out around the blind gullies they saw +and lost sight of them a dozen times. At last, +where the fringe of the tall trees began, they +came face to face. It was Mr. Baker and a +party of five men; they carried rifles and +had set and anxious looks.</p> + +<p>"What will you have?" said Indian Joe's +father as they drew up before him under a +tamarack pine.</p> + +<p>"My son," said the cattleman.</p> + +<p>"Is there war?" said the Indian.</p> + +<p>"There is war. Come, Walter."</p> + +<p>The boys were still and scared. Slowly +Hank and Walter drew their horses out of +the path and joined the men. Indian Joe and +his father passed forward on the trail.</p> + +<p>"Do them no harm," said Joe Baker to +those that were with him.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Good-by, Joe," said Walter half aloud.</p> + +<p>The other did not turn his head, but as he +went they noticed that he had bared his right +arm from the hunting shirt, and an inch above +the elbow showed a thin, white scar. Walter +had the twin of that mark under his flannels.</p> + +<p>Mr. Baker did not mind fighting Indians; +he thought it a good thing to have their +troubles settled all at once in this way, but he +did not want his son mixed up in it. The first +thing he did when he got home was to send +him off secretly by night to the fort, and from +there he passed over the mountains with other +of the settlers' families under strong escort, +and finally went to his mother's people in the +East, and was put to school. As it turned out +he never came back to Tres Pinos, he does +not come into this story any more.</p> + +<p>When the first smoke rose up that showed +where the fierce hate of the Paiutes had broken +into flame, the Indians took their women and +children away from the pleasant open slopes, +and hid them in deep cañons in secret places +of the rocks. There they feathered arrows,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span> +and twisted bowstrings of the sinew of deer. +And because there were so many grave things +done, and it was not the custom for boys +to question their elders, Joe never heard how +Walter had been sent away. He thought him +still at the ranch with his father, and it is +because of this mistake that there is any +more story at all.</p> + +<p>You may be sure that, of those two boys, +Joe's was the deeper loving, for, besides having +grown up together, Walter was white, +therefore thinking himself, and making the +other believe it, the better of the two. But +for this Walter made no difference in his behavior; +had Joe to eat at his table, and would +have him sleep in his bed, but Joe laughed, +and lay on the floor. All this was counted a +kindness and a great honor in the campoodie. +Walter could find out things by looking in a +book, which was sheer magic, and had taught +Joe to write a little, so that he could send word +by means of a piece of paper, which was cleverer +than the tricks Joe had taught him, of +reading the signs of antelope and elk and deer.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span> +The white boy was to the Indian a little of all +the heroes and bright ones of the arrow-maker's +tales come alive again. Therefore he +quaked in his heart when he heard the rumors +that ran about the camp.</p> + +<p>The war began about Cottonwood, and ran +like wildfire that licked up all the ranches in +its course. Then the whites came strongly +against the Paiutes at the Stone Corral, and +made an end of the best of their fighting men. +Then the Indians broke out in the north, +and at last it came to such a pass that the +very boys must do fighting, and the women +make bowstrings. The cattlemen turned in to +Baker's ranch as a centre, and all the northern +campoodies gathered together to attack +them. They had not much to hope for, only +to do as much killing as possible before the +winter set in with the hunger and the deep +snows.</p> + +<p>By this time Joe's father was dead, and his +mother had brought the boy a quiver full of +arrows and a new bowstring, and sent him +down to the battle.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span></p> + +<p>And Joe went hotly enough to join the men +of the other village, nursing his bow with +great care, remembering his father, but when +he came to counsel and found where the fight +must be, his heart turned again, for he remembered +his friend. The braves camped by +Little Round Valley, and he thought of the +talk he and Walter had there; the war party +went over the tongue of hills, and Joe saw +Winnedumah shining whitely on Waban, and +remembered his boyish errand, the mystery of +the tall, strange warrior that came upon them +in the night, their talk in the hut of the arrow-maker, +and the vow that came afterward.</p> + +<p>The Indians came down a ravine toward +Tres Pinos, and there met a band of horses +which some of their party had run in from the +ranches; among them was a pinto pony which +Walter had used to ride, and it came to Joe's +hand when he called. Then the boy wondered +if Walter might be dead, and leaned his head +against the pony's mane; it turned its head +and nickered softly at his ear.</p> + +<p>The war party stayed in the ravine until it<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span> +grew dark, and Joe watched how Winnedumah +swam in a mist above the hills long after +the sun had gone quite down, as if in his +faithfulness he would outwatch the dark; and +then the boy's heart was lifted up to the great +chief standing still by Tinnemaha. "I will +not forget," he said. "I, too, will be faithful." +Perhaps at this moment he expected a +miracle to help him in his vow as it had +helped Winnedumah.</p> + +<p>In the dusk the mounted Indians rode down +by the Creek of Tres Pinos. When they came +by the ruined hut where his father had lived, +Joe's heart grew hot again, and when he +passed the arrow-maker's, he remembered his +vow. Suddenly he wheeled his pony in the +trail, hardly knowing what he would do. The +man next to him laid an arrow across his bow +and pointed it at the boy's breast.</p> + +<p>"Coward," he whispered, but an older Indian +laid his hand on the man's arm.</p> + +<p>"Save your arrows," he said. Then the +ponies swept forward in the charge, but Joe +knew in an instant how it would be with him.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span> +He would be called false and a coward, killed +for it, driven from the tribe, but he would not +fight against his sworn brother. He would +keep his vow.</p> + +<p>A sudden rain of arrows flew from the +advancing Paiutes; Joe fumbled his and +dropped it on the ground. He was wondering +if one of the many aimed would find his +brother. Bullets answered the arrow flight. +He saw the braves pitch forward, and heard +the scream of wounded ponies.</p> + +<p>He hoped he would be shot; he would not +have minded that; it would be better than +being called a coward. And then it occurred +to him, if Walter and his father came out and +found him when the fight was done, they +would think that he had broken his word. The +Paiutes began to seek cover, but Joe drove +out wildly from them, and rode back in the +friendly dark, and past the ruined campoodie, +to the black rocks. There he crept into the +cave which only he and Walter knew, and lay +on his face and cried, for though he was an +Indian he was only a boy, and he had seen<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span> +his first fight. He was sick with the thought +of his vow. He lay in the black rocks all the +night and the day, and watched the cattlemen +and the soldiers ranging all that county for +the stragglers of his people, and guessed that +the Paiutes had made the last stand. Then +in the second night he began to work back by +secret paths to the mountain camp. It never +occurred to him not to go. He had the courage +to meet what waited for him there, but he +had not the heart to go to it in the full light +of day. He came in by his mother's place, +and she spat upon him, for she had heard +how he had carried himself in the fight.</p> + +<p>"No son of mine," said she.</p> + +<p>He went by the women and children and +heard their jeers. His heart was very sick. +He went apart and sat down and waited what +the men would say. There were few of them +left about the dying fire. They had washed +off their war paint, and their bows were +broken. When they spoke at last, it was with +mocking and sad scorn.</p> + +<p>"We have enough of killing," said the one<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span> +called Scar-Face. "Let him have a woman's +dress and stay to mend the fire."</p> + +<p>So it was done in the presence of all the +camp; and because he was a boy, and because +he was an Indian, he said nothing of +his vow, nor opened his mouth in his defense, +though his heart quaked and his knees shook. +He had the courage to wear the badge of +being afraid all his life. They brought him +a woman's dress, though they were all too +sad for much laughter, and in the morning +he set to bringing the wood for the fire.</p> + +<p>Afterward there was a treaty made between +the Paiutes and the settlers, and the remnant +went back to the campoodie of Tres Pinos, +and Joe learned how Walter had been sent +out of the valley in the beginning of the war, +but that did not make any difference about +the woman's dress. He and Walter never met +again. He continued to go about in dresses, +though in time he was allowed to do a man's +work, and his knowledge of English helped to +restore a friendly footing with the cattlemen. +The valley filled very rapidly with settlers<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span> +after that, and under the slack usage of the +tribe, Mahala Joe, as he came to be known, +might have thrown aside his woman's gear +without offense, but he had the courage to +wear it to his life's end. He kept his sentence +as he kept his vow, and yet it is certain that +Walter never knew.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span></p> +<h2>PRONOUNCING VOCABULARY Of<br /> +INDIAN NAMES AND WORDS</h2> + + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p><span class="smcap">Campoodie</span> (kămp´ō-dy). A group of Indian huts, from +the Spanish campo, a field or prairie. In some localities +written "<i>campody</i>."</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Hinono</span> (hĭ-nŏ-nŏ). A legendary Indian hero.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mahala</span> (mȧ-hä´lă). An Indian woman, perhaps a corruption +from the Spanish <i>mujer</i>, woman.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mesa</span> (mā´sä). A table-land, or plateau with a steeply sloping +side or sides.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mesquite</span> (mĕs-kēt´). A thorny desert shrub, bearing edible +pods, like the locust tree, which are ground into meal for +food.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Na´Ÿang-Wit´e.</span> An Indian gambling game.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Oppapago</span> (op-pă-pā´gō). A mountain peak near Mt. Whitney. +The name signifies "The Weeper," in reference to +the streams that run down from it continually like tears.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Pahrump</span> (pȧh-rŭmp´). From the Indian words <i>pah</i>, water, +and rump, corn, "corn-water," i. e. a place where there is +water enough to grow corn.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Paiutes</span> (pī´ūt). The name of a large tribe of Indians +inhabiting middle California and Nevada. The name is +derived from the Indian word <i>pah</i>, water, and is used to +distinguish this tribe from the related tribe of Utes, who +lived in the desert away from running water.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Penstemon</span> (pĕni-stē´mŏn). A wild flower common to the +lower slopes of the Sierra Nevada Mountains.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span></p> +<p><span class="smcap">Pharanagat</span> (phă-răn-ă-găt´). An Indian name of a place. +The meaning is uncertain.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Piñon</span> (pē̇-nyōn´). The Spanish name for the one-leaved, +nut pine.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Pipsisewa</span> (pĭp-sĭs´ē̇-wȧ). A wild flower common to the +lower slopes of the Sierra Nevada Mountains.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Quern</span> (kwûrn). A primitive mill for grinding corn. It +consists of two circular stones, the upper being turned by +hand.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Shoshone</span> (shō̇-shō´nē̇). An Indian tribe split in two by the +Pintes, and living north and south of them. In this book +the southern division only is referred to.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Taboose</span> (tȧ-bo͝os´). Small tubercles of the joint grass; they +appear on the joints of the roots early in spring, and are +an important item of food to the Indians.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Tavwots</span> (tăv-wŏts´). The rabbit.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Tinnemaha</span> (tin-ny-mȧ-hä´). A legendary Indian hero.</p> + +<p> +<span class="smcap">Togobah</span> (tō-gō-bä´). <span class="lbrace"><span class="ft20">}</span> Indian names of places. The meaning is uncertain.</span><br /> +<span class="smcap">Togonatee</span> (tō-gō-nă-tē´). +</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Tulare</span> (to͞o-lä´re). A marshy place overgrown with the +bulrushes known as <i>tule</i>.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Vaquero</span> (vä-kā´rō). The Spanish word for cowboy (from +<i>vaca</i>, a cow).</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Waban</span> (wă-băn´). An Indian name of a place. The meaning +is uncertain.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Wickiup</span> (wĭk´ĭ-ŭp). An Indian hut of brush, or reeds. It +is often pieced out with blankets and tin cans.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Winnedumah</span> (win-ny-dū´măh). A legendary Indian hero.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span></p></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span></p> + +<h5>The Riverside Press<br /> +CAMBRIDGE. MASSACHUSETTS<br /> +U. S. A.<br /> +</h5> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>Books by Mary Austin</h2> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>THE FLOCK. Fully illustrated by E. Boyd Smith. +Square crown 8vo. $2.00, <i>net</i>. Postage, 18 cents.</p> + +<p>ISIDRO. Illustrated by Eric Pape. 12mo, $1.50.</p> + +<p>THE LAND OF LITTLE RAIN. California Sketches. +With Illustrations by E. Boyd Smith. 8vo, $2.00, <i>net</i>. +Postage, 24 cents.</p> + +<p>THE BASKET WOMAN. Square 12mo, $1.50.</p> +</div> + +<h4>HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY<br /> +<span class="smcap">Boston and New York</span></h4> + + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Basket Woman, by Mary Austin + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BASKET WOMAN *** + +***** This file should be named 35502-h.htm or 35502-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/5/5/0/35502/ + +Produced by Chris Curnow, Joseph Cooper and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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