red with bearskins and Navajo rugs. Many
distinguished guests from all parts of the globe have been entertained
in that room, but we forgot all about distinguished personages and had a
real old-fashioned party. We played cards and danced, and roasted
weenies and marshmallows. After that party I felt that I belonged there
at the Canyon and had neighbors.

There were others, however. The Social Leader, for instance. She tried
to turn our little democracy into a monarchy, with herself the
sovereign. She was very near-sighted, and it was a mystery how she
managed to know all about everything until we discovered she kept a pair
of powerful field-glasses trained on the scene most of the time. The
poor lady had a mania for selling discarded clothing at top prices. We
used to ask each other when we met at supper, "Did you buy anything
today?" I refused point-blank to buy her wreckage, but the rangers were
at a disadvantage. They wanted to be gentlemen and not hurt her
feelings! Now and then one would get cornered and stuck with a
second-hand offering before he could make his getaway. Then how the
others would rag him! One ranger, with tiny feet, of which he was
inordinately proud, was forced to buy a pair of No. 12 shoes because
they pinched the Social Leader's Husband's feet. He brought them to me.

"My Gawd! What'll I do with these here box cars? They cost me six bucks
and I'm ruined if the boys find out about it."

An Indian squaw was peddling baskets at my house, and we traded the
shoes to her for two baskets. I kept one and he the other. Not long
after that he was burned to death in a forest fire, and when I packed
his belongings to send to his mother the little basket was among his
keepsakes.

There was a Bridge Fiend in our midst, too! She weighed something like
twenty stone, slept all forenoon, played bridge and ate chocolates all
afternoon, and talked constantly of reducing. One day she went for a
ride on a flop-eared mule; he got tired and lay down and rolled over and
over in the sand. They had some trouble rescuing her before she got
smashed. I told her the mule believed in rolling to help reduce. She
didn't see the joke, but the mule and I did. Grand Canyon life was too
exciting for her, so she left us.

A quaint little person was the rancher's wife who brought fresh eggs and
vegetables to us. She wore scant pajamas instead of skirts, because she
thought it "more genteel," she explained. When a favorite horse o