erns and water
holes. One's admiration for this unconquerable tribe is boundless, as
the magnitude of their struggle for existence is comprehended. Choosing
the most inaccessible and undesirable region they could find in which to
make a determined and successful stand against the Spanish and the hated
friars, they have positively subjugated the desert. Its every resource
is known and utilized for their benefit. Is there an underground
irrigation that moistens the soil, they have searched it out and thrust
their seed corn into its fertile depths. The rocks are used to build
their houses; the cottonwood branches make ladders and supports for the
ceilings; the clay is fashioned into priceless pottery; grasses and
fiber from the yucca turn into artistic baskets under their skillful
fingers. Every drop of water that escapes from the springs nourishes
beans and pumpkins to be stored away for winter use. Practically every
plant on the desert is useful to them, either for their own needs or as
food for their goats and burros.

We knew and were known by many of the younger members of the tribe who
had visited at the Grand Canyon, so we found a warm welcome and ready
guides in our stroll around the village.

The Hopi Indians are friendly and pleasant. They always respond to a
greeting with a flashing smile and a cheery wave of the hand. This is
not the way the sullen Navajos greet strangers. We saw many of that
nomad tribe walking around the Hopi village. They were just as curious
as we were about this snake dance.

"Do the Navajos believe your dance will make the rain come?" I asked a
young Hopi man who was chatting with the Chief.

"Oh, yes. They believe."

"Well, why don't you Hopis make them pay for their share of the rain you
bring. It falls on their Reservation." That was a new thought to the
Hopi and we left him staring over the desert, evidently pondering. I
hope I didn't plant the seed that will lead to a desert warfare!

I watched with fascinated eyes the antics of round, brown babies playing
on the three-story housetops. I expected every instant that one would
come tumbling off, but nobody else seemed to worry about them. On one
housetop an aged Hopi was weaving a woolen dress for his wife. What a
strange topsy-turvy land this was--where the men do the weaving and the
wives build the houses. For the women do build those houses. They are
made from stone brought up from the desert far below, and then they are
thic