Southwest
repaired semi-annually for their religious ceremonies and theatricals.

We moderns express our emotions through the rhythm of song, of dance, of
orchestra, of play, of opera, of art. The Indian had his pictographs on
the rocks for art, and his pottery and weaving to express his
craftsmanship; but the rest of his artistic nature was expressed chiefly
by religious ceremonial or theatrical dance, similar to the old miracle
plays of the Middle Ages. For instance, the Indians have not only a
tradition of a great flood, but of a maiden who was drawn from the
Underworld by her lover playing a flute; and the Flute Clans celebrate
this by their flute dance. The yearly cleansing of the springs was as
great a religious ceremony as the Israelites' cleansing of personal
impurity. Each family belonged to a clan, and each clan had a religious
lodge, secret as any modern fraternal order.

[Illustration: It isn't America at all! It's Arabia, and the Bedouins of
the Painted Desert are Navajo boys]

The mask dances of the Southwest are much misunderstood by white people.
We see in them only what is grotesque or perhaps obscene. Yet the
spirits of evil and the spirits of goodness are represented under the
Indian's masked dances, just as the old miracle plays represented Faith,
Hope, Charity, Lust, Greed, etc. There is the Bird Dance representing
the gyrations of hummingbird, mocking-bird, quail, eagle, vulture. There
is the dance of the "mud-heads." Have we no "mud-heads" befuddling life
at every turn of the way? There is the dance of the gluttons and the
monsters. Have we no unaccountable monsters in modern life? Read the
record of a single day's crime; and ask yourself what mad motive tempted
humans to such certain disaster. We explain a whole rigmarole of motives
and inheritance and environment. The Indian shows it up by his dance of
the monsters.

Perhaps one of the most beautiful ceremonials is the corn dance. Picture
to yourself the _kivas_ crowded with spectators. The priests come down
bearing blankets in a circle. The blanket circle surrounds the altar
fire. The audience sits breathless in the dark. Musicians strike up a
beating on the stone gong. A flute player trills his air. The blankets
drop. In the flare of the altar fire is seen a field of corn, round
which the actors dance. The priests rise. The blankets hide the fire. It
is the Indian curtain drop. When you look again, there is neither
pageant of dancers, nor