my good new saddle was on him. I couldn't let that go, you know,"
said White Mountain.

In the meantime the mules continued to mill and buck in the trail. Up
rushed Mr. Mule-Skinner. He addressed the Chief in about these words:
"Get the hell outa my way, you ---- ---- fool. Ain't you got no sense at
all?"

We will skip the next inch or two of this narrative, and let kind
oblivion cover it as cool dusk masks the ravages of burning noon.
Anyway, this was part of a hunting outfit, including Fred Stone, bound
for the North Rim. To this day I can't see any comedy in Mr. Stone's
acting.

Tony seemed quite unnerved by his encounter, and as we crossed the
swinging bridge he became startled at something and plunged wildly
against the wire fencing the bridge. The Chief threw out a hand to
steady himself and his ring, caught on a broken wire, cut into and
buried itself in his flesh. When we reached the south end of the bridge
we dismounted and tried to care for the painful wound, but with no
medicine or water there was little we could do. We bound it up in a
handkerchief and went on to the top, the Chief suffering agonies with
the injury and the intense heat. On top a ranger cut the flesh away and
filed the ring off. I added it to my other souvenirs.

[Illustration]

_Chapter XIII: SISTERS UNDER THE SKIN[4]_

"For the Colonel's Lady and Judy O'Grady
Are sisters under the skin!"

"And what of the women and children? How do they live?" I have been
asked again and again, when speaking of Indians of the Southwest. And
who isn't interested in the intimate details of the home life of our
Indian sisters?

What of their work? Their homes? Their dress? And--most interesting to
us paleface women--what of their love affairs?

Most of you have seen the stolid squaw, wrapped in a soiled blanket,
silently offering her wares to tourists throughout the Southwest. Does
it seem strange to you that this same stoical creature is just bubbling
over with femininity? That she loves with devotion, is torn with
passionate jealousy, and adorns herself just as carefully within her
limited means for the benefit of masculine eyes, as you do? Among
friends she sparkles, and laughs and gossips with her neighbors over a
figurative back fence just as you do in Virginia or Vermont. Just
living, loving, joyous, or sorrowing women are these brown-skinned
sisters of ours.

Were I looking for inspiration to paint a Madonna I would turn my