require washing; but, among the best Pueblo families, I
understand it is customary--once in so often--to have them searched.
And thus is the wild life of the West kept down.

Farther along the line, in Arizona, we met the Hopi and the
Navajo--delegations from both of these tribes having been imported from
the reservations to give an added touch of picturesqueness to the
principal hotel of the Grand Canon. The Hopi, who excels at snake
dancing and pottery work, is a mannerly little chap; and his daughter,
with her hair done up in elaborate whorl effects in fancied imitation of
the squash blossom--the squash being the Hopi emblem of purity--is a
decidedly attractive feature of the landscape.

The Hopi women are industrious little bodies, clever at basket
weaving--and the men work, too, when not engaged in attending lodge; for
the Hopis are the ritualists of the Southwest, and every Hopi is a
confirmed joiner. Their secret societies exist to-day, uncorrupted and
unchanged, just as they have survived for hundreds and perhaps thousands
of years. In the Hopi House at Grand Canon there is a reproduction of a
kiva or underground temple. It isn't underground--it is located
upstairs; but in all other regards it is supposed to conform exactly to
one of the real ceremonial chambers of the Hopis. The dried-mud walls
are covered thickly with symbolic devices, painted on; and there is an
altar tricked out with totems of the Powamu clan, one of the biggest of
these societies.

Just in front of the altar, with its wooden figures of the War God, the
God of Growing Things, and the God of Thunder, is a sand painting set in
the floor like a mosaic. When one of the clans is getting ready for a
service the official high priest or medicine man of that particular clan
sprinkles clean brown sand upon the flat earth before the altar and upon
this foundation, by trickling between his thumb and forefinger tiny
streams of sands of other colors, he makes the mystic figures that he
worships. After the rites are over he obliterates the design with his
hand, leaving the space bare for the next clan.

In the Hopi House at Grand Canon a sand painting sacred to the Antelope
clan is preserved under glass for the benefit of visitors. The manager
of the establishment, a Mr. Smith, who has spent most of his life among
the tribes of Arizona, told us a story about this.

Two years ago this summer, a party of Mystic Shriners on an excursion
visited the cany