o the trading-post or depot and sell them; but the money must be
turned over to the wife or accounted for to her full satisfaction.

All the Indian women are tireless and fearless riders. They ride
astride, with or without a saddle, and carry two or three of the smaller
children with them. However, if there is only one pony, wifie walks,
while her lordly mate rides. That is Indian etiquette.

[Illustration]

_Chapter XIV: THE PASSING SHOW_

Tourists! Flocks of them, trainloads and carloads! They came and looked,
and passed on, and were forgotten, nine-tenths of them at least.

Anyone who is interested in the study of human nature should set up shop
on the Rim of the Grand Canyon and watch the world go by. I have never
been able to determine why Eastern people can't act natural in the West!
For instance: Shy spinster schoolma'ams, the essence of modesty at home,
catch the spirit of adventure and appear swaggering along in the
snuggest of knickers. They would die of shame should their home-town
minister or school president catch them in such apparel. Fat ladies
invariably wear breeches--tight khaki breeches--and with them they wear
georgette blouses, silk stockings, and high-heeled pumps. I have even
seen be-plumed chapeaux top the sport outfit. One thing is a safe
bet--the plumper the lady, the snugger the breeches!

Be-diamonded dowagers, hand-painted flappers, timid wives from Kansas,
one and all seem to fall for the "My God" habit when they peer down
into the Canyon. Ranger Winess did tell me of one original damsel; she
said: "Ain't it cute?"

I was standing on the Rim one day, watching a trail party through field
glasses, when a stout, well-dressed man stopped and asked to borrow my
glasses. He spoke of the width and depth of the Canyon, and stood
seemingly lost in contemplation of the magnificent sight. I had him
classified as a preacher, and I mentally rehearsed suitable Biblical
quotations. He turned to me and asked, "Do you know what strikes me most
forcibly about this place?"

"No, what is it?" I hushed my soul to listen to some sublime sentiment.

"_I haven't seen a fly since I've been here!_"

I was spluttering to White Mountain about it and wishing I had pushed
him over the edge, but the Chief thought it was funny. He said the man
must have been a butcher.

It is a strange fact that tourists will not listen to what Rangers tell
them to do or not to do. The Government pays men who have spen