one a lad twelve years old.
The line twists through the fringe of visitors, as oblivious of any
onlookers as if they were going through this ceremony five hundred years
ago when not a white face was dreamed of and when the Hopi was doing
exactly what old Thisdoa and his grandson are doing to-day.

Then from out the other kiva the stately snake priests emerge, a group
of twelve old men each bearing the rattle which contains the grains of
corn. The incessant pattering of the rattles is the only sound heard in
the plaza until the soft moccasined feet reach the board over the hole
in front of the kisi. The thump, thump, thump of the feet pound over the
board to call the attention of the underworld gods to the needs of their
children up here. The sandy plaza is traversed and the two lines of
priests circle about, finally stopping in front of the kisi, facing one
another; then rises the "wo, wo, wo, wo," the guttural chant. The Hopis
have been for many years a peaceful people, but this monotonous chant,
rising occasionally into a swelling crescendo howl sends delightful cold
shivers down the backs of the visitors, and even Elijah Clifford says he
wouldn't want to meet that howl unexpectedly around the corner. Then the
priests file past the kisi one by one, stoop by the opening and receive
from the old warrior priest sitting within, a snake. Each one raises his
snake to his mouth and holds it there between his teeth as he walks
about the plaza accompanied by his hugger or companion. Suddenly the
snakes are released and thrown down upon the sand. They make swift and
desperate efforts to escape but are caught up again with such rapidity
of movement that the closest attention paid by the tourists can not
discover how it is done. Round and round the procession of twenty-four
moves. Out from the houses near the snake kiva a group of girls and
women suddenly run. They stop at the edge of the plaza near the Tolchaco
party and scatter the sacred corn meal on the ground. Navajo horsemen
dismount and pick up pinches of this sacred meal to put in their pouches
for good luck. The twenty-four priests with their snakes twisting in
their sinewy brown hands turn together and with a common movement all
dart up to the place where the meal lies. They circle about the spot.
Paul raises Helen up a little higher so that she can throw a horrified
gaze into that astonishing scene. For a moment the only thing she and
the rest can see is a squirming, h