lling war whoop he pulled the mare to her haunches and
laughed down at me. He was dressed as a white man would be and spoke
perfect English. He was just home from Sherman, he explained, and was
going to race his mare against the visitors. I took his picture on the
mare, and he told me where to send it to him after it was finished. "I
hope you win. I'm betting on you for Mollie," I told him and gave him
some money. He did win! Around the smooth hillside the ponies swept, and
when almost at the goal he leaned forward and whistled in the mare's
ear. She doubled up like a jackknife and when she unfolded she was a
nose ahead of them all. Every race ended the same way. He told me he won
two hundred silver dollars all told. I am wearing a bracelet now made
from one of them. Very seldom does one see a rattlesnake portrayed in
any Hopi or Navajo work, but I had my heart set on a rattlesnake
bracelet. Silversmith after silversmith turned me down flat, until at
last Mollie and the boy told me they would see that I got what I wanted.
A month later a strange Indian came to my house, handed me a package
with a grunt, and disappeared. It was my bracelet. I always wear it to
remind me of my visit to Navajo Land.

[Illustration]

_Chapter VI: "THEY KILLED ME"_

White Mountain and I walked out to the cemetery one evening at sunset,
and I asked him to tell me about the four sleeping there. One trampled
grave, without a marker, was the resting-place of a forest ranger who
had died during the flu epidemic. At that time no body could be shipped
except in a metal casket, and since it had been impossible to secure one
he was buried far from his home and people. The mother wrote she would
come and visit the grave as soon as she had enough money, but death took
her too and she was spared seeing his neglected grave.

The Chief stood looking down at the third grave, which still held the
weather-beaten debris of funeral wreaths.

"Cap Hance is buried here," he said. "He was a dear friend of mine."

From his tone I scented a story, and as we strolled back to Headquarters
he told me something of the quaint old character. In the days that
followed, I heard his name often. Travelers who had not been at the
Canyon for several years invariably inquired for "Cap" as soon as they
arrived. I always felt a sense of personal shame when I heard a ranger
directing them to his grave. He had begged with his last breath to be
buried in the Canyon, or