et! Since the return of the Lewis & Clark expedition I am probably
the only white person who has ever done this. Goodness knows the call
was strong enough and the opportunities abundant enough; blankets were
available for my inspection at every railroad station, at every hotel,
and at every one of two hundred thousand souvenir stores that I
encountered--but I was under orders from headquarters.

As we were bidding farewell to our family before starting West, our wife
said to us in firm, decided accents: "I have already picked out a place
where we can hide the Cheyenne war-bonnet. We can get rid of the
moccasins and the stone hatchets and the beadwork breastplates by
storing them in a trunk up in the attic. But do not bring a Navajo
blanket back to this already crowded establishment!" So we restrained
ourselves. But it was a hard struggle and took a heroic effort.

I recall one blanket, done in gray and black and red and white, and
decorated with the figures of the Thunder Bird and the Swastika, the
Rising Sun and the Jig Saw, and other Indian signs, symbols and emblems.
It was with the utmost difficulty that I wrenched myself away from the
vicinity of this treasure. And then, when I got back home, feeling proud
as Punch over having withstood temptation in all its forms, almost the
first words I heard, spoken in tones of deep disappointment, were these:
"Well, why didn't you bring a Navajo blanket for the den? You know we've
always wanted one!" Wasn't that just like a woman?

Though I refrained from seeking bargains in the blankets of the
aborigine, I sought diligently enough for the aborigine himself. I had
my first glimpse of him in Northern New Mexico just after we had come
down out of Colorado. Accompanied by his lady, he was languidly reposing
on the platform in front of a depot, with his wares tastefully arranged
at his feet. As a concession to the acquired ideals of the Eastern
visitor he had a red sofa tidy draped round his shoulders, and there was
a tired-looking hen-feather caught negligently in his back hair; and his
squaw displayed ornamented leggings below the hems of her simple calico
walking skirt. But these adornments, I gathered, constituted the calling
costume, so to speak.

When at home in his village the universal garment of the Pueblo male is
the black sateen shirt of commerce. He puts it on and wears it until it
is taken up by absorption, and then it is time to put on another. These
shirts do not