ers the wool-carrying needles slipped
in and out, and the colored stripes grew apace. Then there were younger
boys and girls, all bright-eyed and curious; and babies sleeping on
blankets. Where the walls and ceiling were not covered with buckskin
garments, weapons and blankets, Hare saw the white wood-ribs of the
hogan structure. It was a work of art, this circular house of forked
logs and branches, interwoven into a dome, arched and strong, and all
covered and cemented with clay.

At a touch of August's hand Hare turned to the old chief; and awaited
his speech. It came with the uplifting of Eschtah's head, and the
offering of his hand in the white man's salute. August's replies were
slow and labored; he could not speak the Navajo language fluently, but
he understood it.

"The White Prophet is welcome," was the chief's greeting. "Does he come
for sheep or braves or to honor the Navajo in his home?"

"Eschtah, he seeks the Flower of the Desert," replied August Naab.
"Mescal has left him. Her trail leads to the bitter waters under the
cliff, and then is as a bird's."

"Eschtah has waited, yet Mescal has not come to him."

"She has not been here?"

"Mescal's shadow has not gladdened the Navajo's door."

"She has climbed the crags or wandered into the canyons. The white
father loves her; he must find her."

"Eschtah's braves and mustangs are for his friend's use. The Navajo will
find her if she is not as the grain of drifting sand. But is the White
Prophet wise in his years? Let the Flower of the Desert take root in the
soil of her forefathers."

"Eschtah's wisdom is great, but he thinks only of Indian blood. Mescal
is half white, and her ways have been the ways of the white man. Nor
does Eschtah think of the white man's love."

"The desert has called. Where is the White Prophet's vision? White blood
and red blood will not mix. The Indian's blood pales in the white
man's stream; or it burns red for the sun and the waste and the wild.
Eschtah's forefathers, sleeping here in the silence, have called the
Desert Flower."

"It is true. But the white man is bound; he cannot be as the Indian;
he does not content himself with life as it is; he hopes and prays for
change; he believes in the progress of his race on earth. Therefore
Eschtah's white friend smelts Mescal; he has brought her up as his own;
he wants to take her home, to love her better, to trust to the future."

"The white man's ways are white man's ways. E