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By N. C. Wyeth

ILLUSTRATIONS BY THE AUTHOR

WO GRAY HILLS," a remote Navajo Indian trading-post in New Mexico, looks for all the world like a play-village of tiny squared mud-cakes, built on a vast, undulating play-ground of sandhills, with a long, low strip of blue-paper mountains slid in behind it. And not until you get within calling distance of the "Post" can you fully determine its identity. In reality it is mud, with a few small windows pierced in three of its sides resembling port-holes, and a dirt roof, growing a veritable garden of grass and weeds, out of which peeps the top of a gray stone chimney. To the right of the main building stand two low adobe barns, and to the left a long, flat sheep-shed, fraying off into a spindly corral.

As I came upon "Two Gray Hills" one warm October afternoon, after two days of slow, thirsty travel across the desert from Farmington, Sel Ritchie, trader, received me with the hearty hospitality so characteristic of these remote merchants of the desert; and after I explained to him my great interest in the Indians and anxiety to see something of their life, he instantly invited me to make his "Post" my head-quarters. What a remarkable vantage-point it was! Surrounding us and extending endlessly to the east lay the great gray desert, the skyline broken by freakish shapes of earth and rock and the tumbled ruins of ancient Pueblo dwellings that bore strange tales of superstition and encounter; and hidden below the gray levels, in the canyons and arroyos, were mysterious caves, poisonous springs, and enchanted pools, the site and scene of many Indian festivities and ceremonies.

And to the west of the "Post," not half a day's ride, stretched the Pine Ridge, an imposing range of jagged mountains, the home of many cold, sparkling brooks, grassy uplands, shady groves of cottonwoods, fragrant pine forests, and great spreading groups of nut-laden piñon trees. Hidden amidst this abundance are se

VOL. XLV.-2

questered many Navajo settlements of dome-shaped huts, built of mud and logs; thatch-roofed sheep-barns, large corrals of gnarled roots and brush; and like gems laid deep in slumbrous colors, one would often come upon blanket weavers seated before ponderous looms, upon which would be stretched blankets of brilliant scarlet and black, or blue and white; and mingled with the chatter of the weavers or the calls of the children one could always hear the distant musical tinkle of the sheep-bells, as the many herds wandered above and below on the steep slopes of the mountain-sides.

This remote tinkle of bells was from the first fascinating and alluring to me; so one morning, while roaming around the mountains, I decided to hunt out one of the roving bands and its keeper. For three hours I climbed over ledges, crawled through thickets, crossed innumerable mountain streams, toward that always far-away tinkle; but not until the noon-day sun threw its shortest shadows did I discover that my quest was an echo; that I had climbed the wrong side of the ravine!

It was too late that day to resume the search, but on the morrow, after a delightful night's sleep under the venerable roof of a mighty pine grove, I found my will-o'-thewisp.

From my night's resting-place, in the cool morning shadows at the base of the long steep slope, I could distinctly hear the silvery ring of that elusive bell, from far above where the morning sun shone and where the dews sparkled. How I wished I could be invisibly and silently placed amid that mountain pastoral, without disturbing the unconscious peacefulness of it all; could absorb that vision of poetry without intruding my commonplace self to disconcert the herder, to frighten the sheep, and arouse the watchful dog!

As I feared, my entrance upon the scene spoiled it all. But, thanks to my almost noiseless approach, I was able first to get at least a glimpse of the life with all its charm.

17

Before a small fire, its thin, blue skein of smoke floating upward on the light morning air, kneeled a Navajo boy; he was about twelve years old, his bobbed hair hung down to his shoulders in a dense mass, which was held back from his eyes with a deep crimson "bandy" of silk tied around his head. He wore a faded blue blouse, belted in very low on the hips with a frayed sash. Tight trousers, split from the knee down on the outside, a little the worse for wear, and a pair of smoke-tanned moccasins completed his costume. Beside him, in a heap, lay his blanket of many colors, and upon it his bow and quiver of arrows. On a long, slender spit he was roasting a piece of meat, which was eagerly watched by a big, shaggy dog seated close at his side. Behind this group and running at a slant up the mouuntain-side were the sheep, busily feeding. The bell, even at so close range, sounded soft and muffled, and I wondered that the sound could carry as far as I knew it did. But this fragment of unconscious beauty lasted but a brief moment. My presence was discovered. The dog barked and bounded toward me, the boy jumped to his feet and gathered his blanket about him, the sheep ceased their quiet feeding and disappeared into the thickets. The dog's threatening behavior occupied my attention for a few moments; meanwhile the boy, my prize, had fled; and when the dog discovered that he was left alone with me, he turned and scampered likewise.

For a long time I sat there and listened to the diminishing sound of the bell, until finally, far up on the heights, I heard the slow, uneven chime telling me that peace and quietude reigned once more. I hadn't courage to molest them again, so retraced my tracks down the mountain, took my horse at one of the settlements at its base, and reached "Two Gray Hills" that evening. Of course I related my experience to Ritchie, and it apparently struck him as being wholly to be expected. He related similar experiences of his own, and practically discouraged me from ever trying to become in the least familiar with the Indians. One morning, not long after, I was in the corral trying to rope an old, scraggly, motheaten looking burro. I had caged my droll target, and resolved to practice a new throw upon it until I at least understood the method. I had made about half a dozen

very crude and unsuccessful attempts, and was preparing my rope for the next one. when my captive made a run for the gate. The bar I knew was too high for the stifflegged burro to jump-but lo and behold! he made a sort of running slide and rolled under it. I saw his trick quick enough to make a ragged, awkward cast, and as luck would have it, my loop made fast to a kicking hind leg just as he rolled under the bar. This sudden success came as a surprise, but the surprise that immediately followed had it "beaten a mile"-his trip-hammer kicks jerked the end of the rope out of my hand, and away he galloped, stiff-legged and awkward like a calf, with my new hemp and horse-hair rope dangling and snapping after him. I watched him with disgust until he disappeared in a cloud of dust, my chief thought being a hope that no one had witnessed this "tenderfoot" predicament; but no sooner had it flashed through my mind than I heard behind me a shrill, boyish laugh, and, turning, whom should I see, looking through one of the larger openings, but my sheep-herder from the mountains! I felt humiliated. I tried to intercept his continued laughter with an explanation, but he wouldn't listen, and suddenly left me and disappeared in the big door of the "store."

Disgusted, I made a détour of the "Post" buildings, thinking perhaps that I might locate the burro on the near-by sandhills; but he had fled from sight, so I, too, strolled into the store, determined to face out my discomfiture. There were a number of Indians inside, and when I entered they greeted me with broad, knowing grins and started talking about me among themselves. I felt like a spanked child. The boy stood over behind the big chunk-stove, his black eyes sparkling with delight. I smiled at him, and he grinned back, disclosing two rows of handsome teeth that looked like pearls against the mahogany-copper colored skin of his face, and his hair looked blacker than ever. His shining eyes followed every movement I made, and I perceived that he was intently looking at my watch-fob, a miniature stirrup of silver.

The older Indians, as they finished the bargaining, departed one by one, and finally there remained only the trader, the boy, and myself. Now was my chance! I asked Ritchie to explain to the boy who I was and

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