ower Lungren's studies of the
Desert; though the Pre-Raphaelites commanded prices of $10,000 and
$25,000, where we as a nation grumble about paying our artists one
thousand and two thousand.

The Navajo driver nodded back to us that this was Ganado; and in a few
moments Mr. Hubbell had come from the trading post to welcome us under a
roof that in thirty years has never permitted a stranger to pass its
doors unwelcomed. As Mr. Lorenzo Hubbell has already entered history in
the makings of Arizona and as he shuns the limelight quite as
"mollycoddles" (his favorite term) seek the spotlights, a slight account
of him may not be out of place. First, as to his house: from the outside
you see the typical squat adobe oblong so suited to a climate where hot
winds are the enemies to comfort. You notice as you enter the front door
that the walls are two feet or more thick. Then you take a breath. You
had expected a bare ranch interior with benches and stiff chairs backed
up against the wall. Instead, you see a huge living-room forty or fifty
feet long, every square foot of the walls covered by paintings and
drawings of Western life. Every artist of note (with the exception of
one) who has done a picture on the Southwest in the last thirty years is
represented by a canvas here. You could spend a good week studying the
paintings of the Hubbell Ranch. Including sepias, oils and watercolors,
there must be almost 300 pictures. By chance, you look up to the
raftered ceiling; a specimen of every kind of rare basketry made by the
Indians hangs from the beams. On the floor lie Navajo rugs of priceless
value and rarest weave. When you go over to Mr. Hubbell's office, you
find that he, like Father Berrard, has colored drawings of every type of
Moki and Navajo blankets. On the walls of the office are more pictures;
on the floors, more rugs; in the safes and cases, specimens of rare
silver-work that somehow again remind you of the affinity between Hindoo
and Navajo. Mr. Hubbell yearly does a quarter-of-a-million-dollar
business in wool, and yearly extends to the Navajos credit for amounts
running from twenty-five dollars to fifty thousand dollars--a trust
which they have never yet betrayed.

Along the walls of the living-room are doors opening to the sleeping
apartments; and in each of the many guest rooms are more pictures, more
rugs. Behind the living-room is a _placito_ flanked by the kitchen and
cook's quarters.

Now what manner of man is