this so-called "King of Northern Arizona"? A
lover of art and a patron of it; also the shrewdest politician and
trader that ever dwelt in Navajo Land; a man with friends, who would
like the privilege of dying for him; also with enemies who would keenly
like the privilege of helping him to die. What the chief factors of the
Hudson's Bay Company used to be to the Indians of the North, Lorenzo
Hubbell has been to the Indians of the Desert--friend, guard, counselor,
with a strong hand to punish when they required it, but a stronger hand
to befriend when help was needed; always and to the hilt an enemy to the
cheap-jack politician who came to exploit the Indian, though he might
have to beat the rascal at his own game of putting up a bigger bluff. In
appearance, a fine type of the courtly Spanish-American gentleman with
Castilian blue eyes and black, beetling brows and gray hair; with a
courtliness that keeps you guessing as to how much more gracious the
next courtesy can be than the last, and a funny anecdote to cap every
climax. You would not think to look at Mr. Hubbell that time was when he
as nonchalantly cut the cards for $30,000 and as gracefully lost it all,
as other men match dimes for cigars. And you can't make him talk about
himself. It is from others you must learn that in the great cattle and
sheep war, in which 150 men lost their lives, it was he who led the
native Mexican sheep owners against the aggressive cattle crowd. They
are all friends now, the old-time enemies, and have buried their feud;
and dynamite will not force Mr. Hubbell to open his mouth on the
subject. In fact, it was a pair of the "rustlers" themselves who told me
of the time that the cowboys took a swoop into the Navajo Reserve and
stampeded off 300 of the Indians' best horses; but they had reckoned
without Lorenzo Hubbell. In twenty-four hours he had got together the
swiftest riders of the Navajos; and in another twenty-four hours, he had
pursued the thieves 125 miles into the wildest canyons of Arizona and had
rescued every horse. One of the men, whom he had pursued, wiped the
sweat from his brow in memory of it. He is more than a type of the
Spanish-American gentleman. He is a type of the man that the Desert
produces: quiet, soft spoken--powerfully soft spoken--alert, keen,
relentless and versatile; but also a dreamer of dreams, a seer of
visions, a passionate patriot, and a lover of art who proves his love by
buying.

The Navajos are to-d