so miserable he takes her back to her
father and they are divorced instantly. The father keeps the wedding
gifts and sells her again for more sheep and horses. The flocks really
belong to the women, but I can't see what good they do them. The women
tend them and shear them and even nurse them. They wash and dye and card
and weave the wool into rugs, and then their lordly masters take the
rugs and sell them. A part of the money is gambled away on pony races or
else beaten into silver jewelry to be turned into more money. A certain
number of rugs are turned in to the trading-post for groceries, calico,
and velvet. Navajos never set a table or serve a meal. They cook any
time there is anything to cook, and then when the grub is done, eat it
out of the pot with their fingers. They have no idea of saving anything
for the next meal. They gorge like dogs, and then starve perhaps for
days afterward.

Mollie had two children, a slim, brown lad perhaps ten years old, who
was watching the sheep near by, and a tiny maid of three, sitting
silently by her mother. The boy seemed to have inherited some of his
mother's rebellion and discontent, but it appeared on his small face as
wistfulness. He was very shy, and when I offered him a silver coin he
made no move to take it. I closed his fingers around it, and he ran to
his mother with the treasure. As he passed me going back to his sheep,
he raised his great, sad black eyes and for a second his white teeth
flashed in a friendly grin.

The men folks had wandered on to the races a mile away, and Mollie, the
babe, and I followed. There was no business of closing up house when we
left. She just put the bright wool out of the reach of pack rats and we
were ready. I admired her forethought, for only the night before I had
lost a cake of soap, one garter, and most of my hairpins. Of course the
rat was honest, for he had left a dried cactus leaf, a pine cone, and
various assorted sticks and straws in place of what he took. That's why
this particularly vexing rodent is called a "trade rat." I used to hear
that it takes two to make a bargain. That knowledge has not penetrated
into pack-ratdom.

A few Hopi and Supai Indians were darting around on show ponies, spotted
and striped "Paints," as they call them. A Navajo lad came tearing down
upon us, riding a most beautiful sorrel mare. It seemed that he would
ride us down; but I never did run from an Indian, so I stood my ground.
With a blood-chi