but for looks
exchanged among the men. The glances were explained a few minutes later
when a pattering of hoofs came from the cedar forest, and a stream of
mounted Indians poured into the glade.

The ugly glade became a place of color and action. The Navajos rode
wiry, wild-looking mustangs and drove ponies and burros carrying packs,
most of which consisted of deer-hides. Each Indian dismounted, and
unstrapping the blanket which had served as a saddle headed his mustang
for the water-hole and gave him a slap. Then the hides and packs
were slipped from the pack-train, and soon the pool became a kicking,
splashing melee. Every cedar-tree circling the glade and every branch
served as a peg for deer meat. Some of it was in the haunch, the bulk in
dark dried strips. The Indians laid their weapons aside. Every sagebush
and low stone held a blanket. A few of these blankets were of solid
color, most of them had bars of white and gray and red, the last color
predominating. The mustangs and burros filed out among the cedars,
nipping at the sage and the scattered tufts of spare grass. A group of
fires, sending up curling columns of blue smoke, and surrounded by a
circle of lean, half-naked, bronze-skinned Indians, cooking and eating,
completed a picture which afforded Hare the satisfying fulfilment of
boyish dreams. What a contrast to the memory of a camp-site on the
Connecticut shore, with boy friends telling tales in the glow of the
fire, and the wash of the waves on the beach!

The sun sank low in the west, sending gleams through the gnarled
branches of the cedars, and turning the green into gold. At precisely
the moment of sunset, the Mormon women broke into soft song which had
the element of prayer; and the lips of the men moved in silent harmony.
Dave Naab, the only one who smoked, removed his pipe for the moment's
grace to dying day.

This simple ceremony over, one of the boys put wood on the fire, and
Snap took a jews'-harp out of his pocket and began to extract doleful
discords from it, for which George kicked at him in disgust, finally
causing him to leave the circle and repair to the cedars, where he
twanged with supreme egotism.

"Jack," said August Naab, "our friends the Navajo chiefs, Scarbreast
and Eschtah, are coming to visit us. Take no notice of them at first.
They've great dignity, and if you entered their hogans they'd sit for
some moments before appearing to see you. Scarbreast is a war-chief.
Eschtah is