r primitive condition
than any others on the continent with whom I am acquainted. They have
never received anything from the government and are too poor to tempt
the trader, and their country is so nearly inaccessible that the white
man never visits them. The sunny mountain side is covered with: wild
fruits, nuts, and native grains, upon which they subsist. The _oose,_
the fruit of the yucca, or Spanish bayonet, is rich, and not unlike the
pawpaw of the valley of the Ohio. They eat it raw and also roast it in
the ashes. They gather the fruits of a cactus plant, which are rich and
luscious, and eat them as grapes or express the juice from them, making
the dry pulp into cakes and saving them for winter and drinking the wine
about their camp fires until the midnight is merry with their revelries.

They gather the seeds of many plants, as sunflowers, golden-rod, and
grasses. For this purpose they have large conical baskets, which hold
two or more bushels. The women carry them on their backs, suspended from
their foreheads by broad straps, and with a smaller one in the left hand
and a willow-woven fan in the right they walk among the grasses and
sweep the seed into the smaller basket, which is emptied now and then
into the larger, until it is full of seeds and chaff; then they winnow
out the chaff and roast the seeds. They roast these curiously; they put
seeds and a quantity of red-hot coals into a willow tray and, by rapidly
and dexterously shaking and tossing them, keep the coals aglow and the
seeds and tray from burning. So skilled are the crones in this work they
roll the seeds to one side of the tray as they are roasted and the coals
to the other as if by magic.

Then they grind the seeds into a fine flour and make it into cakes and
mush. It is a merry sight, sometimes, to see the women grinding at the
mill. For a mill, they use a large flat rock, lying on the ground, and
another small cylindrical one in their hands. They sit prone on the
ground, hold the large flat rock between the feet and legs, then fill
their laps with seeds, making a hopper to the mill with their dusky
legs, and grind by pushing the seeds across the larger rock, where they
drop into a tray. I have seen a group of women grinding together,
keeping time to a chant, or gossiping and chatting, while the younger
lassies would jest and chatter and make the pine woods merry with their
laughter.

Mothers carry their babes curiously in baskets. They make a