tly paying taxes,
Godiva-like. She tells us that her people are at the spring; that it is
only two hours' ride; that her good master has gone on to tell them we
are coming; and that she is harvesting seeds.

We sit down and eat our luncheon and share our biscuits with the woman
of the mountains; then on we go over a divide between two rounded peaks.
I send the party on to the village and climb the peak on the left,
riding my horse to the upper limit of trees and then tugging up afoot.
From this point I can see the Grand Canyon, and I know where I am. I can
see the Indian village, too, in a grassy valley, embosomed in the
mountains, the smoke curling up from their fires; my men are turning out
their horses and a group of natives stand around. Down the mountain I go
and reach camp at sunset. After supper we put some cedar boughs on the
fire; the dusky villagers sit around, and we have a smoke and a talk. I
explain the object of my visit, and assure them of my friendly
intentions. Then I ask them about a way down into the canyon. They tell
me that years ago a way was discovered by which parties could go down,
but that no one has attempted it for a long time; that it is a very
difficult and very dangerous undertaking to reach the "Big Water." Then
I inquire about the Shi'vwits, a tribe that lives about the springs on
the mountain sides and canyon cliffs to the southwest. They say that
their village is now about 30 miles away, and promise to send a
messenger for them to-morrow morning.

Having finished our business for the evening, I ask if there is a
_tugwi'nagunt_ in camp; that is, if there is any one present who is
skilled in relating their mythology. Chuar'ruumpeak says
Tomor'rountikai, the chief of these Indians, is a very noted man for his
skill in this matter; but they both object, by saying that the season
for _tugwi'nai_ has not yet arrived. But I had anticipated this, and
soon some members of the party come with pipes and tobacco, a large
kettle of coffee, and a tray of biscuits, and, after sundry ceremonies
of pipe lighting and smoking, we all feast, and, warmed up by this, to
them, unusually good living, it is decided that the night shall be spent
in relating mythology. I ask Tomor'rountikai to tell us about the So'kus
Wai'unats, or One-Two Boys, and to this he agrees.

The long winter evenings of an Indian camp are usually devoted to the
relation of mythologic stories, which purport to give a history of an
a