Chapter 13

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 wicker board by plaiting willows and sew a buckskin cloth to either edge, and this is fulled in the middle so as to form a sack closed at the bottom. At the top they make a wicker shade, like "my grandmother's sunbonnet," and wrapping the little one in a wild-cat robe, place it in the basket, and this they carry on their backs, strapped over the forehead, and the little brown midgets are ever peering over their mothers' shoulders. In camp, they stand the basket against the trunk of a tree or hang it to a limb.

There is little game in the country, yet they get a mountain sheep now and then or a deer, with their arrows, for they are not yet supplied with guns. They get many rabbits, sometimes with arrows, sometimes with nets. They make a net of twine, made of the fibers of a native flax. Sometimes this is made a hundred yards in length, and is placed in a half-circular position, with wings of sage brush. Then they have a circle hunt, and drive great numbers of rabbits into the snare, where they are shot with arrows. Most of their bows are made of cedar, but the best are made of the horns of mountain sheep. These are soaked in water until quite soft, cut into long thin strips, and glued together; they are then quite elastic. During the autumn, grasshoppers are very abundant, can be gathered by the bushel. At such a time, they dig a hole in the sand, heat stones in a fire near by, put some hot stones in the bottom of the hole, put on a layer of grasshoppers, then a layer of hot stones, and continue this, until they put bushels on to roast. There they are. powell-canyons-198.jpg

A ZUÑÍ CHAIR.

When cold weather sets in, these insects are numbed and

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AN ANCIENT CIRCULAR DOORWAY OR "STONE CLOSE" IN KIN-TIEL.

left until cool, when they are taken out, thoroughly dried, and ground into meal. Grasshopper gruel or grasshopper cake is a great treat.

Their lore consists of a mass of traditions, or mythology. It is very difficult to induce them to tell it to white men; but the old Spanish priests, in the days of the conquest of New Mexico, spread among the Indians of this country many Bible stories, which the Indians are usually willing to tell. It is not always easy to recognize them; the Indian mind is a strange receptacle for such stories and they are apt to sprout new limbs. Maybe much of their added quaint-ness is due to the way in which they were told by the "fathers." But in a confidential way, while alone, or when admitted to their camp fire on a winter night, one may hear the stories of their mythology. I believe that the greatest mark of friendship or confidence that an Indian can give is to tell you his religion. After one has so talked with me I should ever trust him; and I feel on very good terms with these Indians since our experience of the other night.

A knowledge of the watering places and of the trails and passes is considered of great importance and is necessary to give standing to a chief.

This evening, the Shi'vwits, for whom we have sent, come in, and after supper we hold a long council. A blazing fire is built, and around this we sit--the Indians living here, the Shi'vwits, Jacob Hamblin, and myself.

This man, Hamblin, speaks their language well and has a great influence over all the Indians in the region round about. He is a silent, reserved man, and when he speaks it is in a slow, quiet way that inspires great awe. His talk is so low that they must listen attentively to hear, and they sit around him in deathlike silence. When he finishes a powell-canyons-200.jpg

A GAMING RING.

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measured sentence the chief repeats it and they all give a solemn grunt. But, first, I fill my pipe, light it, and take a few whiffs, then pass it to Hamblin; he smokes, and gives it to the man next, and so it goes around. When it has passed the chief, he takes out his own pipe, fills and lights it, and passes it around after mine. I can smoke my own pipe in turn, but when the Indian pipe comes around, I am nonplused. It has a large stem, which has at some time been broken, and now there is a buckskin rag wound around it and tied with sinew, so that the end of the stem is a huge mouthful, exceedingly repulsive. To gain time, I refill it, then engage in very earnest conversation, and, all unawares, I pass it to my neighbor unlighted.

I tell the Indians that I wish to spend some months in their country during the coming year and that I would like them to treat me as a friend. I do not wish to trade; do not want their lands. Heretofore I have found it very difficult to make the natives understand my object, but the gravity of the Mormon missionary helps me much. I tell them that all the great and good white men are anxious to know very many things, that they spend much time in learning, and that the greatest man is he who knows the most; that the white men want to know all about the mountains and the valleys, the rivers and the canyons, the beasts and birds and snakes. Then I tell them of many Indian tribes, and where they live; of the European nations; of the Chinese, of Africans, and all the strange things about them that come to my mind. I tell them of the ocean, of great rivers and high mountains, of strange beasts and birds. At last I tell them I wish to learn about their canyons and mountains, and about themselves, to tell other men at home; and that I want to take pictures of everything and show them to my friends. All this occupies much time, and the matter and manner make a deep impression.

Then their chief replies: "Your talk is good, and we believe what you say. We believe in Jacob, and look upon you as a father. When you are hungry, you may have our game. You may gather our sweet fruits. We will give you food when you come to our land. We will show you the springs and you may drink; the water is good. We will be friends and when you come we will be glad. We will tell the Indians who live on the other side of the great river that we have seen Ka'purats, and that he is the Indians' friend. We will tell them he is Jacob's

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friend. We are very poor. Look at our women and children; they are naked. We have no horses; we climb the rocks and our feet are sore. We live among rocks and they yield little food and many thorns. When the cold moons come, our children are hungry. We have not much to give; you must not think us mean. You are wise; we have heard you tell strange things. We are ignorant. Last year we killed three white men. Bad men said they were our enemies. They told great lies. We thought them true. Wo were mad; it made us big fools. We are very sorry. Do not think of them; it is done; let us be friends. We are ignorant--like little children in understanding compared with you. When we do wrong, do not you get mad and be like children too.

"When white men kill our people, we kill them. Then they kill more of us. It is not good. We hear that the white men are a great number. When they stop killing us, there will be no Indian left to powell-canyons-201.jpg

INTERIOR VIEW OF A TUSAYAN KIVA.

THE RIO VIRGEN AND THE UINKARET MOUNTAINS. 323

bury the dead. We love our country; we know not other lands. We hear that other lands are better; we do not know. The pines sing and we are glad. Our children play in the warm sand; we hear them sing and are glad. The seeds ripen and we have to eat and we are glad. We do not want their good lands; we want our rocks and the great mountains where our fathers lived. We are very poor; we are very ignorant; but we are very honest. You have horses and many things. You are very wise; you have a good heart. We will be friends. Nothing more have I to say."

Ka'purats is the name by which I am known among the Utes and Shoshones, meaning "arm off." There was much more repetition than I have given, and much emphasis. After this a few presents were given, we shook hands, and the council broke up.

Mr. Hamblin fell into conversation with one of the men and held him until the others had left, and then learned more of the particulars of the death of the three men. They came upon the Indian village almost starved and exhausted with fatigue. They were supplied with food and put on their way to the settlements. Shortly after they had left, an Indian from the east side of the Colorado arrived at their village and told them about a number of miners having killed a squaw in drunken brawl, and no doubt these were the men; no person had ever come down the canyon; that was impossible; they were trying to hide their guilt. In this way he worked them into a great rage. They followed, surrounded the men in ambush, and filled them full of arrows.

That night I slept in peace, although these murderers of my men, and their friends, the Uinkarets, were sleeping not 500 yards away. While we were gone to the canyon, the pack train and supplies, enough to make an Indian rich beyond his wildest dreams, were all left in their charge, and were all safe; not even a lump of sugar was pilfered by the children.

September 20.--For several days we have been discussing the relative merits of several names for these mountains. The Indians call them Uinkarets, the region of pines, and we adopt the name. The great mountain we call Mount Trumbull, in honor of the senator. To-day the train starts back to the canyon water pocket, while Captain Bishop and

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I climb Mount Trumbull. On our way we pass the point that was the last opening to the volcano.

It seems but a few years since the last flood of fire swept the valley. Between two rough, conical hills it poured, and ran down the valley to the foot of a mountain standing almost at the lower end, then parted, and ran on either side of the mountain. This last overflow is very plainly marked; there is soil, with trees and grass, to the very edge powell-canyons-202.jpg

CAVE LAKE IN KANAB CANYON.

of it, on a more ancient bed. The flood was, everywhere on its border, from 10 to 20 feet in height, terminating abruptly and looking like a wall from below. On cooling, it shattered into fragments, but these are still in place and the outlines of streams and waves can be seen. So

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little time has elapsed since it ran down that the elements have not weathered a soil, and there is scarcely any vegetation on it, but here and there a lichen is found. And yet, so long ago was it poured from the depths, that where ashes and cinders have collected in a few places, some huge cedars have grown. Near the crater the frozen waves of black basalt are rent with deep fissures, transverse to the direction, of the flow. Then we ride through a cedar forest up a long ascent, until we come to cliffs of columnar basalt. Here we tie our horses and prepare for a climb among the columns. Through crevices we work, till at last we are on the mountain, a thousand acres of pine laud spread out before us, gently rising to the other edge. There are two peaks on the mountain. We walk two miles to the foot of the one looking to be the highest, then a long, hard climb to its summit. What a view is before us! A vision of glory! Peaks of lava all around below us. The Vermilion Cliffs to the north, with their splendor of colors; the Pine Valley Mountains to the northwest, clothed in mellow, perspective haze; unnamed mountains to the southwest, towering over canyons bottomless to my peering gaze, like chasms to nadir hell; and away beyond, the San Francisco Mountains, lifting their black heads into the heavens. We find our way down the mountain, reaching the trail made by the pack train just at dusk, and follow it through the dark until we see the camp fire--a welcome sight.

Two days more, and we are at Pipe Spring; one day, and we are at Kanab. Eight miles above the town is a canyon, on either side of which is a group of lakes. Four of these are in caves where the sun never shines. By the side of one of these I sit, at my feet the crystal waters, of which I may drink at will.

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ANCIENT POTTERY FROM TUSAYAN.

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