The Runaway Papoose.

THE RUNAWAY PAPOOSE

CHAPTER I
A NIGHT OF ADVENTURE

Little hares go frisking by,
Racing cloudlets in the sky!
All the desert seems to cry–
"Hi!–Children–Hi!
Here's adventure–here is fun,
And a strange new trail to run,
Leading to the setting sun
And lands that meet the sky!"

moon over the desert UP OVER the edge of the desert peeped the big yellow moon, and Nah-tee shivered and drew her little dress close about her shoulders. Nah-tee was sitting high in a pinyon tree, as high as she could go, with her little feet drawn up under her and her heart going "Boom–boom–boom" like a tiny drum in her breast, keeping time to her thoughts. For Nah-tee was frightened–never in all the few years of her life had she been so frightened–and she trembled so, all over, that even the pinyon tree trembled, too, and made its little cones to shake in time to the beating of her heart. And she had very good reason to be frightened–even a big one would have trembled, too, and Nah-tee was very, very small.

She had no eyes at all for the beautiful desert that lay like a great bowl of silver in the moonlight below and around her, or for the powdery gray sage–or the strange-shaped rocks with the black shadow pools under them. Nah-tee was Indian, and all the things of the desert she knew and loved well, but it was a daytime desert that she knew, and never before had she been alone at night in this great strange world. But it was not the night she was afraid of, or the hoot owl that called from a mesquite tree, or the shadows that crept from bush to bush–no, each one of these things alone would have made her to laugh at the thought of fear–it was not a thing that she could see or hear that made the trembly feeling to come, it was something she could not see or hear–not now.

Only this morning–but now it seemed a great, great while ago–only this very morning she had been safe with her father and mother in the shelter place they had built in the desert–with all the friends and loved ones close about them–and last night when the darkness had come the big camp fire of mesquite boughs had sent up snapping bright flames and driven the night dark far back into the desert, where it belonged, and the warm shadows had danced up and down on the tree bark of their shelter home and the big supper pot had bubbled and boiled and sent forth odors so delicious that the very memory of them made Nah-tee weak and squirmy with hunger.

And now, to think of it, it seemed a very strange thing that all of her people had left the shelter of their far-away, cosy pueblo, with the little fields about them, to come out into the desert as they had done. Why had they done that? And the wonder of it made Nah-tee to open her eyes very wide even in the middle of her fear thoughts. For many days they had traveled over this desert, stopping at times and building little shelters of pinyon and mesquite boughs that they might rest awhile and hunt for food to eat–and then they would go on again. It had been very comfortable in that far-away home place near to the hills where little streams ran in the season of rains, and there were deer and plenty of small animals, and many birds, and trees with yellow peaches hanging on them, and the winds made queer noises as they came singing down the cañons. But it was nice in the desert, too–there were rabbit hunts and exciting games that could be played in the sandy washes–and strange people riding by, and always that big wonder of where they could be going–yes, in the desert it had been nice, too–until this day–and a little fresh shiver came to Nah-tee at the thought–this day it had not been nice–this day had been a very terrible day, and not yet was the bad part past.

This morning her father had talked with happy words and had said that now they were not far from the end of their journey and that a new home place was very near, and there were smiling looks on all the faces, and they got ready the packs on the horses and burros to begin again the travel that they knew so well–and then–men had come, riding fast over the desert–men they had never seen before, who began to talk in loud voices and then to fight!

Very quickly there was great confusion in the little camp. The women ran with frightened cries to the shelter of the twig houses they had not taken down, and Nah-tee ran, too, only there was a strange man who stood between her and the shelter houses, so she could not run that way, but ran to a little wash that was near and slid down the steep, sandy bank and ran on–and on–and on–and not until she was altogether out of breath did she stop–and when she stopped she hid in a big clump of sagebrush and listened–and listened! It seemed as though the very world had turned upside down, and for a little even the thoughts in her head stood still and waited for what would happen next. What had happened? Nah-tee did not know. Why would anyone want to fight her father, who was kind always and never said angry words, and the others of her people who had harmed no one? And what would happen now? She listened as carefully as she possibly could, but there was no sound from anywhere, except just the quiet sounds that people do not make–the wind in the dry leaves, and the whisper of small life under the sage. But Nah-tee did not come out from her hiding place in the sagebrush, not for a long, long time; she stood and waited and listened and wondered what she should do–that was the big thought in her mind now–what should she do? If she waited and waited a very great while, surely those men would be gone and she could creep back to the home place to the warm comfort of her mother's arms and the cheery blaze of the camp fire. She must have come very far from the camp–she could not guess how far. She crept out now from her bush and looked down the wash–she did not know that the little wash, which had been made by many seasons of rain, branched away in many different directions. She had not noticed that as she ran–she had not noticed anything at all–but as she began to go back cautiously, when the shadows of evening lay long and purple across the desert, then she noticed that there were many little washes all running into one and then running out again in a most confusing way. And when she followed one wash for a very long way she found it was not the right one; and another one did not lead back to the camp; and another one was strangest of all; and it was then that the trembly feeling began to come, for Nah-tee was lost, and now she did not know which way to go at all.

Nah-tee was very small, and her dress was long, and in the dim light she looked like a queer little woman, for her mother dressed her just as she was dressed–in a brown velvet waist with silver buttons and a dark, full skirt that came almost to the ground. Her hair was brushed back, black and glossy, from her face, and was tied in a little bobby knot at the back of her neck, and there were bright bits of blue turquoise in her ears, and silver beads about her neck and silver bracelets on her little wrists, and on her feet she wore the brown buckskin shoes of the Navajos, a little higher than moccasins and fastened with a silver button; but the fading light did not show that her cheeks were like little apples browned by the sun, and her big black eyes had laugh twinkles in them when the fear thoughts were not there. But now they did not have laugh twinkles, and Nah-tee did not feel like a woman at all, even a very small one–she felt like the littlest thing in all the world, and very alone and very hungry, for all day she had had nothing to eat except a few pinyon nuts that she had found on the ground.

But the really trembly time came with the dark, before the moon came up. The whole world seemed to change with that dark–the daytime noises stopped and strange night ones began. The coyotes barked–more coyotes than Nah-tee had ever heard before–and there were strange, prowly noises in the sage, and things that crept with scratchy sounds over the rocks. Anyone would grow trembly with sounds like that, and after a short while of listening Nah-tee ran like a little squirrel for the most branchy tree she could find and scrambled up into it and drew her feet up and sat and trembled–and listened! But she did not cry, somehow she did think about that, and after a time she did not tremble so much, and let down her feet just a little way. The noises did not come any nearer, and not yet had anything hurt her. And now she must think what to do. Thinking was a thing Nah-tee had never been told how to do. When her mother had taught her to do things they had always been things for her hands to do, and her mother had shown her how, and she had done them very carefully and well; and for the rest of the time she ran in the sunshine with the other children and hunted in the little cañons for arrowheads in the rocks, and found queer bits of stone and flowers in the desert, and ate berries and nuts when she came across them, and learned the ways of the animals she knew, and listened to the song of the wind in the trees, and all that did not take thinking at all; but now was a time when she must think!

"Au–ouooow!" said the big empty place inside of Nah-tee where supper had always been on other nights. "Au–ouoow, how I am hungry!" And "Whoo–o-ooo!" cried the little hoot owl in the mesquite tree, and "Yow-wow-wowooo!" cried the coyotes off in the desert, and how could any little girl think with all that noise around her? But just as she thought that, a new sound came through the night, and Nah-tee gave a little jump in her tree place, and her heart began to beat even faster than before. It was a very different noise than the others that she had been hearing, and at first she did not know whether to tremble more or to stop trembling altogether, for it was a voice that she heard, and the voice spoke words in Navajo–words that she understood very well, for Navajo was much like the language spoken by her own home people. It was such a strange thing that a voice should speak in this lonely night place that almost Nah-tee could not believe that her ears had told her a true thing, and she did not breathe for a little to listen for the voice to come again. But it did not come. Far away had sounded that voice, but very clear on the air, and the words brought a smile feeling to the lips of Nah-tee; and fear thoughts cannot stay very long when smile feelings come.

"Ai-ee, but the world is big when the moon shines down," had said that voice, "and if you could talk to me, Chingo, it would not be so lonely in the night"; and the sharp bark of a dog had answered to the voice, and Nah-tee knew, just as well as if she could see them with her eyes, that a Navajo boy and his dog were watching sheep in the desert. It was strange that she had not heard the sheep, for always you can hear sheep in the desert, but she knew that they were there even though she stretched her neck and looked and looked and could see nothing at all but the moonlight on mesquite, sage, and cactus, and the black shadows that lay still when she looked straight at them but seemed to move if she turned away her head. And then, quietly, like a little mouse, Nah-tee began to move in her tree and to slip her feet down a little farther and a little farther, hugging tight to the rough bark until she was standing on the ground again with her heart beating so fast she could not have heard even a loud noise if it had come. She was going to find out where that voice came from–and very quickly. She must find out, for she could not stay any longer in this strange, big place all alone and with the hungry feeling inside growing bigger and bigger every minute. She stood uncertainly by the tree for a moment and tried very hard to hear a sound that would tell her in which direction to go; but, except for those far-away coyotes, everything was very

a small child high in a tree
Quietly, like a little mouse, Nah-tee began to move in her tree.

still–and then–Nah-tee turned her head suddenly, and her little nose went up into the air and sniffed–hard! It was a food smell–a very delicious food smell–and almost without her knowing it her feet began to lead her in the direction from which it came.

Her soft little shoes made no sound at all on the hard ground, and so there was not even the bark of a dog to tell of her coming. Large rocks were in this place and in the direction in which she was walking the ground sloped very sharply down after a little rise, and that was why, even from her tree, she could not see very far. And now she could hear the sheep, too, making soft little bleatings as they tried to find comfortable places for the night–and suddenly she saw a little fire behind a big rock, and she stopped when she realized how very close she was now to the boy. She could see that it was a boy and his dog, as she had thought; and there was a pot, too, steaming over the fire. It was the little trail of good smell from that pot that had brought Nah-tee very surely to this place. The dog turned suddenly toward her now and gave a low growl with all his hair sticking up, and the boy looked up, too, and saw the little form so close to them in the rocks, and his eyes opened very wide with surprise, and he called quickly to the dog:

"Down, Chingo–can you not see?–this is not a wolf. Are you a real one?" he called to Nah-tee, "or a shadow thing of the night?"

Nah-tee drew a very deep breath.

"Oh, how that smell is good!" she said, and the boy threw back his head and laughed.

"A shadow thing would not say that," he cried, and then a little frown came to his face. "But it cannot be that you are alone in a place like this–you are only a papoose. Where are the ones who have come with you?"

"No one is with me," answered Nah-tee. "Not anyone at all. Maybe I am not big–maybe I am only papoose–but I have run away–I am lost," and a little tremble came into her voice, "and very much I am hungry."

The boy looked at her with such great surprise that his mouth opened wide before he spoke again.

"You are lost," he said then, repeating the words that she had said. "Why did you run away to get lost?" But he did not wait for an answer, for a look came into the face of Nah-tee that made the boy jump up quickly and put a blanket on the ground by the fire.

"Sit down here," he said in a very kind voice. "I will give you of that supper in the pot, and afterward we will talk."

And very glad was Nah-tee to sit down and to warm her hands by the fire and to give the dog a little friendly pat on the head when he came near to her and sniffed. And, oh, how good was the taste of that supper in the pot! It was a stew of goat's meat, and the boy took a little pottery cup and filled it with the stew, and Nah-tee almost burned her lips with it in her eagerness to eat it before it was cool. And the piki bread was good, too, and the goat's milk and the dried apricots. Never had any feast tasted better than that supper, and the boy smiled at Nah-tee when three times he had filled her cup with the stew and she had emptied it.

"I think the inside of you is bigger than the outside," he laughed when she had finished. "You must be very careful that a cactus needle does not stick you this night."

"Why should I be careful of that?" asked Nah-tee, with her eyes very big in surprise.

"Because I think you would pop right open like a little puffball," said the boy, and he grinned so that his teeth flashed in the firelight. And Nah-tee gave a little giggle at his words–for she could laugh now. She felt very warm and comfortable on the outside and on the inside, too, and this was a nice boy–she liked the way his eyes squeezed up when he smiled, and his voice was pleasant, and he had kind ways.

"Why are you up here?" she asked him then, as she watched the little flames of the fire dance high into the air. "Why are you up here when your sheep are down there?" and she pointed to the little draw below them where she could just see the sheep huddled together in a shadowy mass, with two or three goats standing near, and the watching dogs moving restlessly around them.

"I do not like the cold wind," he answered. "It is good for the sheep down there, for there is grass and they can lie close together and be warm; but here it is best for my fire in the rocks, and there is no wind–I do not like the wind."

"It would be a nice thing," said Nah-tee, with a look in her eyes that did not see things that were there, "if there would be big birds so big they could spread their wings like a hogan wall and keep the wind away."

The boy stared at her.

"Why do you say that?" he asked. "Did anyone ever see birds like that?"

"Oh, no," answered Nah-tee quickly, "but always I think things." She looked at him and smiled. "It is nice to think things," she said; "not the outside things–I do not think about them very much–but the inside things, they are nice," and the look in the boy's eyes made her smile again. But then a look of trouble came into her face. "When it is light I must go," she said. "Will you help me, boy, to find the place where my people are?"

"Yes," he nodded, "when it is light we will go," for Nah-tee had told him of the camp place in the desert where her people were waiting, and of the fight and of the way she had come, and he had said that surely there would be no fight now, and her father would be waiting with anxious thoughts, but they could not find the way while it was dark, and, besides, he could not leave his sheep when there was no one to stay with them.

"When it is light I will go and find a friend," he said. "I have a friend who will stay with my sheep, and then we will go and find your people." And after that Nah-tee could not ever remember one thing more that happened that night. She felt very comfortable, and the fire made crackly, sleepy sounds that seemed to say words to her, but she could not tell what the words were. And then–very suddenly–the boy was smiling into her face, and bright sunlight was shining on the red band about his head. Nah-tee blinked at the brightness of it and put her hand to her eyes, and then, when she looked at the desert, she saw that the moonlight had all gone and everything was sparkly fresh in a new day, and the sheep were bobbing in and out among the rocks to find bits of green to eat, and the dogs running around and around them, barking joyously and glad to be alive. And for a little Nah-tee forgot that she was in a strange place and jumped up to run with the sheep–and then she remembered and the shiny look went from her eyes. The boy was holding a piece of meat on a stick over the fire, and he nodded at her in a friendly way.

"My friend will come," he said. "He has told me he will care for my sheep, and you and I will go and find your camp place. Look, there is my pony–there," and he nodded to where the pony was nibbling grass in the rocks. Nah-tee had not seen him before, and he looked to be a very nice pony. He had a look in his eyes when he lifted his head that seemed to say:

"When you are ready, I am ready, to go anywhere!" and Nah-tee wished suddenly that she could ride on a pony like that. Always she had ridden in a wagon or on a fat little burro that jogged along on very stiff legs. It would be wonderful to go flying along on a pony that looked as if he could go like the wind. And while she ate her breakfast she thought of nothing but that pony and listened for the funny little nicker sound he made when he raised his head to look at them. Almost she forgot to think about what she might find when she rode to the camp place in the desert. But the boy did not forget, and there was a worry look on his face that Nah-tee did not see.

"I am called Moyo," he said when they had eaten, "and if you will tell me what to call you we will go now. See, here is my friend."

The other boy had come so quietly that Nah-tee jumped when she saw him standing close by the fire beside Moyo, but she did not fear him at all, for he was a very little boy, almost as small as she was. and always he was smiling, and he spoke almost not at all.

"Come, then, Nah-tee," cried Moyo, when she had told him her name, and he lifted her high onto the bare back of the pony and jumped up in front of her almost before she knew what was happening; and he told her to put her hands about his waist and to hold very tight–and away they went–flying just as Nah-tee had thought the pony would go, like the wings of the wind. She had never dreamed of herself going like this–so high from the ground! A little she was frightened, but Moyo told her to hold tight and called little words to his pony. And sage and rocks and trees went past like shadows in a dream.

"Oo-ooh!" cried Nah-tee, and she made the word long like a song of the wind. "How quickly we will be there now, Moyo." And down into the little washes they rode–the washes that she remembered so well; but how different they looked in the sunlight–and up again through the sage and through country where there were small trees growing–jack oaks and greasewood–and past high, pointed rocks that looked like the tepees of some giant race–and on–and on; but they did not come to any camp place that was like the camp place of her people.

"We will go the other way," said Moyo, with a little frown between his eyes. "Maybe we have come the wrong way." And he turned the pony around, and they rode back very much the way they had come, and then on in the other direction through desert where there were no trees at all, only the tall cactus and sagebrush, and wide stretches of sand and rocks where they could see great distances in every direction; and they looked carefully, both of them, with their hands to their eyes to keep out the bright light of the sun, but still there was no sign of camp fire or shelter anywhere in all that place–not any that they could see.

"There are very many big rocks," said Moyo. "Maybe if we go in a high place we can see better"; and they rode until they found a hill that was higher than the other hills, and from there they looked to the north and south and to the east and west, but they could see nothing at all but desert, and a queer feeling began to grow in the heart of Nah-tee, and a deeper frown place to come on the face of Moyo.

"It cannot be a great way that you came," he said at last. "You could not come very far without a horse. But see how there is no camp anywhere in this desert."

The lip of Nah-tee trembled a very little bit, but she bit it hard with her teeth–she would not let a boy see that she was frightened–not ever would she do a thing like that; and besides, it was only that they had not looked in the right place–somewhere in the desert was that home camp.

"I think," she said slowly, in a voice she could not keep from being a little trembly, "I think we have not looked in that place," and she pointed with a very shaky little finger to a sort of valley that ran between two low hills, and there were more trees there than in other directions. Moyo looked at her quickly, and she did not understand the half smile that came to his face and went away again.

"Well," he said slowly, and he turned his face away so that she could not see his eyes, "we will go there, then." And the pony seemed to go faster even than before when they turned toward the little valley, but Nah-tee did not feel now that they were flying, and she opened her eyes very wide so that the wind would dry the wet feeling that was in them. It could not be a true thing that that camp had gone like a cloud shadow on the sage–things like that did not happen; it must be here in this little valley place. And then she closed her eyes so that she could open them again when they were near. But when she looked she could not help giving a little jump of surprise. Now she could understand why Moyo had looked at her so queerly–they were back in the very same place they had started from. There were the sheep and the dogs and the little fire in the rocks still burning, and now the shiny drops came to the eyes of Nah-tee and rolled splashing down her cheeks–she could not help it.

But she would not have cried–not one single drop–if she had known the things that were to happen! For, if she had not run away, and if the camp had not been lost–But you shall see those things that are to happen, and you shall see how she should not have cried!

people and sheep sitting around a fire

CHAPTER II
THE RACE WITH THE STORM

Blow–winds of the desert–blow!
And rattle the pinyons as you go!
Blow the clouds into shiny sails–
And fluff the fur in the little hares' tails!
And pile the tumbleweeds in a row–
Blow–winds of the desert–blow!

WHEN she got down off the back of the horse Nah-tee felt very trembly and queer. Her legs did not want to stand up, and she sat down quickly on a big rock. The two boys looked at her, but they did not laugh and she was glad of that. She did not think it was a laugh thing to be lost and to have shaky legs. But very quickly she had other things to think about, for the new boy–Moyo said he was called Tashi–was talking to Moyo in a voice that showed he was greatly excited, and the words that he said stumbled over one another so that Nah-tee had to listen very carefully to understand–but she did listen, for she thought it might be about her people that he spoke.

"A man came," he said to Moyo, "while you were gone a man came. He rode on a burro with many bundles on top, and he was fat, and he asked for a drink of goat's milk. Then he spoke of the man from the white teaching place–where they teach Indians to be like white people."

"I know," said Moyo, and he made his mouth tight. "I know that place."

"He said," went on the other, "he said the white man is looking for Indian children–all the Indian children there are, and he will take them to the place away from their own people–oh, very far away–and when they come back, in many years, maybe, they will look like white people and talk like white people, and this white man says he can make them all to go."

"Me he cannot make to go!" cried Nah-tee. "I do not want to be like white people–then my father and my mother would not know it was me!"

Moyo looked at her quickly, but his eyes did not see her, he was looking far away with thought in his eyes.

"I want to be Indian always," he said slowly. "I want to be like my father–he is very good, and he is Indian."

"But what can we do?" asked Tashi. "The white man will come–this man says that he will come very soon–and always the Indian must do what the white man says."

"There are very many places we can go," answered Moyo. "Near here are hills and cañons and cave places–the white men do not know about those places–we will go there."

"There is to be a big dance on the high mesa," spoke Tashi again in a very different voice. "All the Indians everywhere are going to that dance–the man on the burro was going–it will last for many days, and there will be good things to eat. I think, maybe, all the Indians in the world will be there."

Nah-tee forgot the trembly feeling in her legs and jumped up from the rock where she had been sitting.

"Maybe it is there that my people have gone," she cried. "Maybe they have traveled all this time to be at that dance. Will you take me to that place, Moyo? Will you take me now?"

Moyo looked at her doubtfully.

"Maybe that is true," he said, but he spoke very slowly, "but that big mesa is a very far place–never have I been there, and I cannot leave the sheep for so great a time."

The face of Nah-tee turned very sad again, and she looked down at the ground not to show the tears that had come suddenly to her eyes, but the other boy spoke quickly.

"I will put my sheep with yours," he said to Moyo, "and there are goats and dogs to keep the coyotes away. I will stay with the sheep and you can go–it is not well for a little papoose to be so great a time away from her mother."

"Oh," cried Nah-tee, "how you are nice. And now–will you go, Moyo–will you take me to that big mesa?"

"But yet it is far," answered Moyo, "and the way is strange to me, but maybe we can find it. Never have I seen a dance big like that dance will be."

"Then we will go now!" cried Nah-tee, and she jumped up and down in excitement. "Now I will find my own people, and we will ride again on that pony!"

"Yes," said Moyo, "we will go now, and we will ride on that pony, but we must have food to eat and a blanket for you to sleep on–it is a very great way to that mesa–I think you do not know how it is far."

But the far part did not worry Nah-tee, not even a little bit, for a very long time she had traveled over the desert, and it was a thing she knew well; and all the fear thoughts had gone now, for she felt very sure that she would find the home people on that high mesa, and there was all the excitement of long rides on that pony before her and of new things to see, and the dance with the many exciting things at the end of the journey. Her eyes sparkled at the thought of it, and then a new thought came.

"Do you think that white man will be there?" she asked suddenly. "Did he ride to the mesa, Tashi?" But Tashi shook his head very positively.

"No, the fat one said that he went to the Trading Post–I think he will not go to the mesa this time–he was going the other way. I think this time you will not see him if you go to the mesa."

"That is good," said Moyo, and he breathed with relief. "Look, I have here food–goat's meat and piki bread, and we will take water in a bottle. Now I am ready. See, I have tied the blanket about my pony. It will be more soft for you to ride that way, and you will have it for the night. Come, Nah-tee," and then he swung her high in the air as before–he was very strong–and again they were flying over the desert, and it seemed to Nah-tee that the little hoofs of the pony hardly touched the ground. They flew past the sheep in no time at all, and left Tashi, grinning, far behind in a flash. And then it seemed that in all that great desert only they were alive–nothing else moved–except the high trail of dust that danced behind them and the little sticks and stones that flicked from the pony's feet. But it was not the sort of loneliness that mattered–it was not the sort that Nah-tee had felt when she was high in her tree in the night–this was a jolly loneliness–it was a sparkly daytime loneliness, and there wasn't a single fear thought hiding away anywhere. Somehow, there was a smile in everything. The little leaves and cones on the trees seemed to wave to Nah-tee as she passed, and she could catch glimpses, every once in a while, of the white stumpy tail of a little hare as it dodged under the sage, and the air was very good with a smell of pine and sage in it that blew down from the far-away hills. And always in the ears of Nah-tee was the whisper of good things to come–exciting things.

She bounced up and down on the pony–not yet had she learned to ride very well–but Moyo turned and smiled at her when she bounced, and he told her how to hold tight to the strong jacket that he wore, and not once did she fear that she would fall.

When they had ridden for a little way with no noise but the thud of the pony's feet on the hard earth, another sound came to them from the trail ahead, and Moyo laughed as he heard it.

"WHACK!" came that sound from ahead, and then it was followed by words in a high shrill voice: "Ai–ee, but thou art lazy! On, on–or never will we reach that place!" and then, "WHACK!" came the sound again, and it did not need more words to tell to Moyo and Nah-tee that the fat man who had stopped at their camp place was very close ahead. And over a little rise they came upon him riding very slowly in a cloud of dust, and the look on his face was not a happy look. He was a very fat man, and looked to be much larger than the very small, very fuzzy burro on which he was riding, and besides himself there were bundles of wood and sacks of things piled high on the back of the little animal. Nah-tee made a little pity sound with her mouth when she saw him, and Moyo said, very low so that only she could hear:

"It is not a strange thing that the burro will not go–I, myself, would not carry so great a load. And look how fat and lazy is the man. Maybe he would not be so fat if he could be that burro for a little while." When they came close to him the man called out to Moyo:

"How is it that you can make your pony to go with two that ride him and this lazy creature will not go with only one on his back?"

Moyo made his pony to stand still and looked for a moment at the man, and Nah-tee could not understand the look that was in his eyes–he did not smile, but there was a twinkle somewhere that Nah-tee could feel, and she watched very closely to see what he would do.

"I can make that burro to go," he said then, very slowly, to the man, "I have a secret way that will make him to go–if you would like."

"What is that?" asked the man quickly, and he looked up at Moyo with eyes very wide and round. "Surely I would like him to go–tell me that secret way."

Moyo jumped down from his pony and walked over to the man.

"You must get down and hold the rope while I speak to him," he said. The man dropped his mouth open when Moyo said that, and almost it seemed as if his eyes would pop out of their places in his head.

"You would speak," he said, and the words would not come easily. "You would speak to him–to that burro?"

Moyo only nodded to that, and Nah-tee was almost as surprised as was the man, but Moyo only waited a little impatiently for the man to get down, which he did in a moment, but as if he moved in a dream, and not once did he take his eyes from the eyes of Moyo. The burro stood on three legs now, as if he were going to sleep. His head and his ears drooped toward the ground, and his eyes were half-closed, but Moyo walked to him and lifted one ear very carefully and whispered to him words that the others could not hear, but like magic came the change in that burro. Up came his head with a quick jerk that almost pulled the rope out of the hand of his master, and his eyes opened very wide with a look of surprise and alarm and one ear shot up and the other one down, and then–in stiff-legged, quick jumps he was off down the road–jerking the fat man almost off his feet at the very start, but making him take queer, long steps that finally broke into a fast, jumpy run to keep up at all. He was too out of breath, that fat man, right away, to say anything at all but, "HI–HI–!" and he could not let go of the rope, he was going too fast–so fast that if he did let go he would fall flat in the dust–but to hold on he had to run faster and faster to keep up with that burro, who was now going like a wild thing over the dusty trail. Nah-tee could hardly believe the thing that she saw, and she called out to Moyo:

"He will fall–that man. Look, how he cannot run like that."

"He will not fall," answered Moyo with a wide grin on his face, "and it is very good for him to run fast, he will not be so fat."

"But how did you make that burro to go like that?" and Nah-tee looked at Moyo as if she saw him now for the first time. "It is a magic–a thing like that."

Moyo pushed a little stick with the toe of his shoe and did not look up at Nah-tee.

"It is not magic," he answered, but he did not say more than that. And the burro and the fat man were altogether out of sight now, but back on the trail very faintly came that voice raised high in protest:

"HI–HI–ai–ee!"

"Why did he go, if it was not a magic thing?" asked Nah-tee, and Moyo looked up at her with the twinkle very plain now in his eyes.

"Maybe it is magic," he said this time, "but it was only a little bur that I put in his ear."

"Oh," cried Nah-tee, "it will hurt him."

"No," answered Moyo, "it will not hurt him at all, it will only tickle him. Right now I think he is laughing in burro talk, and he is very glad to have that fat man off his back. The bur will come out easily when he stops and rubs his ear against a tree, and the fat man will feel good for the run. He will reach the place where he is going more quickly, and he will not be so lazy, maybe, another time."

A little smile came into the eyes of Nah-tee then as she thought of the look she had seen on the face of that fat man when the burro pulled him, jumping, down the trail.

"Look, how everything is running," she cried suddenly to Moyo as some little rabbits dodged into the sage not very far away. And Moyo just as suddenly grew very grave.

"I saw a coyote, too, a little while ago," he said, and looked up at the sky with a little troubled frown on his face. "The wind is very strange," he said. "And look at those queer clouds–we must get somewhere that is safe. There will be a storm soon, and a very bad storm. I have been taught the ways of the desert, and see how all the desert animals are running for shelter."

The wind was coming in queer, short puffs now–a warm puff and then one that was cold as ice–and far away a sort of sighing sound seemed to come from the very sky, and sand blew in their faces with a sharp stinging feeling. Moyo climbed up on the pony and turned his head away from the wind.

"We will find a place to stay," he cried above the noise of the wind, "until the storm is gone–over there." And he pointed to high, rocky walls far to one side of the way they had been going. "We will find cave places that will be safe and dry." And he made the pony go very fast again. Just back of them the raindrops began to fall, and the sky grew very dark with a yellow color. The wind was steadily cold now, and did not blow in puffs, and the sound of thunder came from far away but was growing steadily nearer.

"We will go fast," cried Moyo again, and he had to shout very loud to make his voice heard above the howling of the wind, "and maybe we can keep away from the storm." And he kicked the pony with his heels and called to him and they went so fast that Nah-tee closed her eyes tight to keep from growing dizzy. But it was very exciting. The rain was falling in a steady sheet now just behind them, but always they kept a little way ahead of it and they were yet completely dry.

"Hi–yi!" cried Moyo as they flew along. "Now we do not belong to the ground–look how we are a part of the storm. We are the little brothers of the wind, and we can go just as fast as he can." And a great boom of thunder almost drowned his words. Dust and leaves swirled about them, and tumbleweeds flew past in great round balls only to pile up in big heaps when they came to rocks or trees they could not pass. On–on they flew–just ahead of the storm–and now the walls of rock they had seen in the distance were growing ever nearer.

"We did not pass that fat man," shouted Nah-tee to Moyo. "Where do you think he has gone?"

"We do not go the trail that he has gone," said Moyo. "We do not go that trail now–now we go to find a cave place that will keep us from the wet of the storm. When that is gone we will find the trail

a boy and girl on a horse, racing ahead of a storm
On–on they flew–just ahead of the storm.

again that leads to the big mesa." And just then the first drops of rain caught up with them. Moyo shouted more loudly to the pony and slapped him with his hands, but he could not go more quickly than he was going, and with a louder howl than any that had gone before, the storm swirled around them, and they felt now very truly that they were a part of it. The noise was loud, and they could hardly see at all for the dark and the water that was dashed into their eyes, and the thunder crashed and boomed so loudly that it seemed the very skies were falling. Soon Nah-tee could just barely see great walls of blacker dark about them, and she knew that they were riding into a cañon. Moyo held his hand to his eyes to keep the rain out and looked carefully for a place of shelter, but not yet did they come to one. Many times they came right up to places that seemed to be the end of the cañon, great walls of rock, but always there was an open place through which they could go, and another big cañon, just like the one through which they had come, stretched out ahead. The brave little pony did not falter once, but pushed on as fast as he could go and answered to every guiding touch from Moyo. It seemed to Nah-tee that for a very long time they rode blindly without seeing where they were going, and she was growing cold as ice and very wet and uncomfortable when Moyo gave a shout that showed he had seen something, and he turned the pony and led him up to one of the stone walls and called to Nah-tee to climb down.

"It is very easy to get to that place," he cried to her. "'See, there is a big cave place up there." And Nah-tee saw, opening deep into the rock, a cave place that looked very black and big in this dim light. It was not hard to climb up, there was a long, rough slant of rock that led right to the open side of the cave; and when they had hobbled the pony under a slanting wall of rock where he was protected from the storm, they climbed quickly up. But they were breathless and not quite so cold when they reached the top. It seemed to be a large cave that went back into the rocky wall of the cañon itself, and below it was a ledge of rock like a little shelf where a sentinel could stand. They could not see how far back into the rock the cave went, for it was dark as the blackest night in there, but they quickly did see things out on the shelf of rock; and just in the opening, where it was not dark, it looked as if other people had been here, for the top of the cave was black with smoke, and the ashes of an old fire still held their shape. And it was dry on the inside of this place, and the cold wind did not come in; and better than all of these things, there were many dry sticks lying on the rocky floor.

"OOH! How I am cold!" cried Nah-tee. "Now we can have a fire and get warm and dry."

Moyo leaned over and picked up one of the sticks quickly, and then he did a very queer thing. He did not make a great pile of them, as Nah-tee thought he would, but he looked very carefully at the stick and picked up another and looked at that in the same strange way. Then he called in a low voice to Nah-tee:

"Do not move–wait for a moment in that place"; and then he leaned down and took a step forward and looked for a long time–it seemed a great while to Nah-tee–into the black dark of the back of the cave. Then he threw one of the sticks as far back into the shadows as he could and looked and seemed to be listening–but nothing at all happened, and he drew a deep breath and stood up.

"What is it?" cried Nah-tee. "What have you seen?"

"Nothing," answered Moyo, but he did not look at Nah-tee. "There is nothing in the cave, and we will build a fire quickly." He found many pieces of wood that were dry, and he took a very short time to pile them into a neat heap; and then he made a fire with the fire stick that he carried always in a fold of the cloth at his waist. To Nah-tee it was always a magic thing to see the whirling fire stick and the first little sparks that seemed to come from nowhere at all. And very quickly the flames were crackling and leaping in the very way they did in the camp fire at the home place, and Nah-tee held her little cold hands to the cheery blaze and watched the warm light creep farther and farther back into the strange corners of the cave–and Moyo, too, watched those shadows creeping back into the darkest parts of the cave, and he looked very often over the edge of the little rocky shelf down into the cañon below.

"We must gather more wood for the fire," he said in a little while, "and we must make pieces for torches. But now we will have supper. We are very safe while the fire burns high."

"Oh, yes," laughed Nah-tee, for the fire had made a happy feeling come into her heart, and now she was getting dry again. "Oh, yes, the fire will keep us safe and warm from all the storm." Moyo looked at her a little strangely, but he did not speak then.

And happier and happier grew that feeling in the heart of Nah-tee, especially when Moyo put some of the goat meat on a sharp stick and frizzled it over the fire and they ate a supper that tasted all the better for the howling of the storm outside.

And then, even more suddenly than it had begun, the wind died down and the rain stopped and the sky began to grow lighter, until the sun sent shining streamers that touched with red gold the rocks high on the cañon wall; for it was late in the day, and very soon the gold went away and only the pink of the afterglow remained, and that, too, faded quickly, and almost before they knew it, night had come. Nah-tee folded her arms over her knees and watched the fire with a great content.

"I am glad we have come," she said. "This is a nice camp place for this night, and when day comes we will go to the big mesa."

"We will start to go to the big mesa when day comes," answered Moyo, "but not for very long will we get there–I told you how it is far."

A sharp sound came from down in the cañon, a clatter as of hoofs on rock.

"It is the pony," cried Moyo, and jumped to his feet in an instant, snatching a blazing piece of tree branch from the fire. A cold feeling ran down the back of Nah-tee, and she, too, jumped to her feet and stood listening, uncertain just what to do.

"Stay here," said Moyo quickly. "Do not move from this fire–I will come back"; and he ran quickly down the slant of rock that led to the cañon floor waving high in the air the blazing torch that he carried. Nah-tee held her breath and listened, and quickly she heard the voice of Moyo speaking words of quiet to the pony, and then in a little he came back up the rocky way leading the pony by a rope–it did not take long to get him up.

"He will be better here," said Moyo, and tied the rope of the pony around a large rock so that he could not get away. Nah-tee watched him with big eyes.

"What is it, Moyo?" she asked then, and she was almost breathless, as if she had been running.

"It is nothing," answered Moyo in a voice that he tried to make sound as it usually did, but a very little it trembled, and Nah-tee could hear the tremble. "I think maybe there are coyotes down there, but the fire will frighten them away," he said, and a great relief came to Nah-tee when he said that, for she had no fear of coyotes–but it was not coyotes that Moyo feared were in the cañon. When first he had come to the cave place he had seen the things that Nah-tee thought were little sticks–but he knew they were not little sticks–they were pieces of bone that some animal had left, and they were not very old, some of them–and coyotes did not live in caves like this–it was mountain lions that Moyo listened for. He knew they often lived in cañons just like this one, and any moment he expected to see their green eyes glaring at him from the dark or to hear the quiet night made fearful by their cry. But Nah-tee must not know this–girls did not have to know such things when others stronger than themselves were there to protect them. And, besides, mountain lions were great cowards and would not come near to the light of a fire. So Moyo gathered many sticks in a pile on the rocky shelf and was very glad that some strong wind had blown them down into the cañon from the trees that grew above. And Nah-tee watched him with a little troubled doubt in her eyes, but already the fire and the supper had made her drowsy, and it was not long before she lay down on the blanket, now warm and dry, and went fast asleep. But Moyo did not sleep–not for a very long time–and not then did he think he slept! But after a while the fire seemed, somehow, to be the flicker of his own fire at home, and the crackly sound of the blaze faded into the rhythmic sound of his mother grinding com–and Moyo was dreaming–and only the fire kept watch.

CHAPTER III
THE MANY-WALLED CAÑON

Some giants must have come–in long ago,
To build these rocky walls–where eagles fly;
Some mighty ones–I think it must be so–
Who else would want their homes to be so high?

WITH the first gray light of dawn Moyo awoke with a start and jumped to his feet. The fire was almost as gray as the dawn, and the air had a frosty nip to it, but it was not the cold that had made him jump to his feet with his heart in his mouth–he had dreamed of mountain lions slinking nearer and nearer to the cave place, and not yet had the dream feeling altogether left him. But there was no living thing that he could see in the cañon and the pony looked at him with a little nicker of surprise and hunger, and ponies always know and have a way of telling to others when wild animals are about, so Moyo very quickly gathered more sticks and built up the fire again, and by that time Nah-tee sat up on her blanket with round eyes very big and wide and blinked for a moment until she remembered the place where she was, and then she smiled at Moyo and jumped as quickly to her feet as he had done.

"The coyotes did not come," she cried, "and nothing else came–and I think I am more hungry than any coyote ever was!" and she was very glad to get the piki bread and meat that Moyo gave her. There was grain, too, to give the pony from a little bag they had brought for him, and they gave him a drink of water from their own bottle. And after that Nah-tee could not keep still–she threw up her head as the pony did at times.

"Oh, how the air is good!" she cried, "and all washed clean with the wind and rain. And we will ride again to-day and see things–and I think never was I so happy!" and she jumped up and down and in little circles all the way round the fire, and some of the wood that Moyo had gathered was scattered again by her little feet.

"Can you not stay still for one moment?" he cried with some annoyance in his voice, the very first that he had shown, for it had not been easy to gather that wood. "Can you not stay still for one

two children in a cave around a fire
Nah-tee jumped in little circles all the way round the fire.

single little moment?" But a spirit of mischief had come into Nah-tee, and she made a face at him.

"I can stay still for one moment and for more than one moment, but this is not the one," she said. "This is the moment when I am happy and my feet have a dance feeling in them. I will help you to gather that wood in a little while, maybe, but look, Moyo, how it is good to dance now."

He sat back on his heels and looked up at her with a little frown on his face. It was not a real frown, but he tried hard to make it look like one.

"I think never you have been taught to mind," he said then. "Maybe that is a thing they do not teach in the desert where you live. I have been taught always that it is bad not to mind the ones who are older."

Nah-tee was suddenly quiet and opened her eyes very wide.

"Yes, I have been taught that thing, too," she said in a very small voice, "but I did not know–that is a funny thing–I did not know that you were an older one." There was still a look of mischief in her eyes and Moyo made his look and his voice very solemn, so that the mischief would not again go into her feet.

"Yes, I am an older one," he said very seriously, "and I will tell you why always you must mind the older ones."

"I know," said Nah-tee eagerly, "I know why."

"But maybe," said Moyo, "maybe the 'why' you know is not the 'why' of my people. I will tell you my 'why' and then, afterward, if it is not the same one, you can tell me the 'why' that you have been told."

Nah-tee sat down on her blanket and put her hands together and looked down like a very well-behaved little girl and said:

"My ears are open, my father, I will listen."

A little quiver came to the lips of Moyo, but he did not let it get as far as a smile, and he, too, sat down on a rock by the fire.

"This is the way it was told to me by my father," he began, "and before that by his father, and it goes away back to the time when there was only one tribe of people in all the earth and that was a very, very great while ago." Nah-tee nodded her head but did not take her eyes from the toes of her moccasins and Moyo knew that she was trying to tease him; but he could not be teased so easily as that, and went on in the same tone of voice: "Out on the edge of the desert in a queer little hogan lived an old Spider-woman. All humped up and black she was, and so old that her hair was as white as the silk stuff of the milkweed seed, but her eyes were black and shiny as stars, and she knew much magic. At first the little ones had fear of her, for they had heard tales of how she stole children and they never were seen again; but after a while they did not fear her, as she gave to them little seed cakes to eat and spoke only words that were honey sweet and soft. 'Do not go near the hogan of that old Spider-woman,' said the mothers and the fathers to the children. 'She is an evil one, and bad things will happen if you go there.' But not yet had the children learned that always the older ones know more than they, and nothing at all bad happened when they went to the hogan, so they laughed when the mothers said that and called back to them: 'No bad thing will happen to us–that Spider-woman is very little and old, and we have no fear of her.' And they ate her seed cakes and laughed at the joke things she told them, but not ever would they go into her house–that was a thing they would not do, even though she told them of the very fine things that were there : the bow made of the strongest ash wood, fit for a warrior or a hunter of big game, and the blue sky stones that could be traded for many wonderful things, and the soft woven blankets that no cold wind could blow through. But she could not get them to go into the hogan, for something told them that they would not be safe there as they were out in the open air. And then came the time of a great feast. It was the feast of the harvest, when dancers and runners came from the very farthest camping places, and there were games and races and many ceremonies." Nah-tee wriggled.

"Maybe like the dance they will have at the big mesa," she cried, and altogether she had forgotten to tease Moyo and listened with big eyes to the tale he was telling. He nodded in answer and went on:

"The games were for everyone, big ones and little ones, and there were very fine prizes given, and everyone wanted to win those prizes. The best prizes of all were to go for the great race, and everyone was to run in that race. The little ones were in the front, and back of them the women, and farther back still were the men. Before the very day of the feast there was much running for practice, and one young boy watched the others run, and in his eyes there was a very eager look to win. He was the only one of all the children who did not go out to the hogan of the old Spider- woman–'The older ones have said not to go, and they are wiser than we,' he said, and the others laughed at him and jeered and pointed the finger: 'Hi! Brave-young-man-tied-to-the-papoose-carrier-of-his-mother,' they cried, 'See, how he is afraid of the old Spider-woman–Yi! Yi! Brave one! But surely you will win all of the prizes with to-morrow's sun because of the bravery that is in you!'

"'Maybe it is more brave not to go to the Spider-woman than to go,' said an old man who saw what happened, but he said the words inside himself, and no one heard.

"But others saw it, too, and they nodded wisely to one another. And the children who did not mind ran out again to the hogan of the Spider-woman, and to each one she spoke secretly and gave to him a very small bag with a little yellow powder in it.

"'This is a magic charm,' she said, 'a very secret and very strong magic. On the day of that race, at the very start of it, you must swallow this powder, and then you will be more swift than any man there and will surely win.' And each one who was given the magic charm thought he was the only one, and went away with his head in a cloud to think that he would win that race.

"And then, on the very day of the race, there was great excitement. Never had there been such excitement as on that day; and each one of the children looked at the others with the thought that how sad would the other one be when the day was over and the race lost for him–all but the one boy who did not have a magic charm–he looked only straight ahead to the place where they were to run the race, and his thoughts sent only a little prayer to the Great Spirit for speed and the strength to win. The old Spider-woman was there watching, and there was a greedy look in her black shiny eyes that was not good to see.

"And then came the moment when the word was given to start that race, and then–a very strange thing happened–for when the word was given, of all the children only the boy who had minded leaped forward down the track, the others, every one, put to his mouth the little charm bag and stood for an instant while the powder went down his throat–and then–a great shout went up from everyone watching, and louder than all shouted the old Spider-woman, and leaped and sang in joy–for where there had been children standing just a moment ago were now only little black spiders running back and forth and jumping up and down in confusion. The magic had been spider magic, and because they had not minded the older ones the children had put themselves in the power of the Spider-woman, and the boy who had minded won the race, and all the prizes were given to him. And never, in all that tribe, has there been a child since who has not minded the words of the older ones.

"And now," said Moyo, with a grin for Nah-tee, "is that the thing the children of your people are told when they are taught to mind the words of the older ones?"

"No–o–o," answered Nah-tee slowly, and she drew a deep breath. "I like that tale, and I like how the good boy won the race, but they have another tale with my people. Maybe I cannot tell it in the way the Wise men have told it, I do not know the words to tell it that way, but I will tell it to you the way it is in my thoughts."

"Yes," said Moyo, "tell it that way." And he put some more sticks on the fire and sat down to listen very carefully; but just as he did that a sharp click of falling stone came plainly from the cañon below, and they both jumped to their feet in quick alarm. Nah-tee was going to look over the edge, but Moyo held her firmly back and put his finger to his lips.

"Be very quiet," he said close to her ear. "I will see–you must stay here"; and he crept very cautiously to the edge of the little shelf and looked over. But there was nothing to see at all. There were many rocks in the cañon, and almost anything could hide behind them, and in some places there were tall pillars of stone close to the cañon walls that rose almost to the tops of the walls themselves. Everywhere Moyo felt that there might be eyes watching–yellow animal eyes or keen human ones–and he did not like the feeling, it made a shivery coldness run down his back that was not exactly fear, but it was not a good feeling. But, he reasoned, if animals were hiding they were not the kind he need fear, and they would run if he threw a piece of blazing wood at them, and why should he fear anything else? He stood up suddenly and gave a little laugh at the thought.

"I think there is a fear magic in dark places," he said, "and it is dark in this cañon. See how the sun goes right over the top and does not come down inside. Let us go, Nah-tee. I think the desert is a better place." Nah-tee gave a quick little breath of relief at his words.

"Then you do not have fear for the thing that made that noise?" she asked, and there was a shine in her eyes as she looked at Moyo. She thought he was very brave, and it made her feel very much safer when he did not fear.

"No, I have no fear of a thing that is nothing," said Moyo with a toss of his head. He was very glad that Nah-tee thought that he was brave; it made it much easier for him to act that way. "Maybe the storm made loose a rock somewhere," he went on, "and it fell down–that is all I think it was." But very much he wanted to get away from this cave place. There was not wood enough to last a great while, and lions might come back to their own place if there was nothing to frighten them away. And then, too, the pony many times lifted his head into the air and twitched his ears first this way and then that, as if always he were listening, and Moyo did not like that–why should he listen if there was not something to hear?

"I think we will go now," he said slowly, and he listened carefully as he said it, but he could not hear anything. He wished he could have ears that heard things as a pony did. "We will go now and see if we cannot go quickly over the desert and reach the big mesa," and he felt the little food bag with his fingers and knew that there was very little left in it.

"I am ready," answered Nah-tee. Always she was ready to go anywhere, and much she liked to ride the pony. They did not put out the fire, for there was nothing it could burn but the little sticks Moyo had collected, and he thought it might be well to have some sticks burning if he should have a quick need for them. They led the pony down the little slant of rock and were soon on his back again, but they found they had to go slowly and carefully on the floor of the cañon, for the sand was very soft, and the pony had to pick each step that he took. Nah-tee saw that each print he left filled slowly with water, and very quickly a look of worry came to the face of Moyo when he saw that. He knew what that water meant–it meant quicksand, and any moment they might come to a place too soft to be crossed safely. He knew, as all Indians who live near such places know, that after a storm the beds of many cañons are really rushing rivers with only a thin coating of sand on the top, and any moment that sand might give way.

"Look," said Nah-tee suddenly, "there has been someone else here," and she pointed a little way ahead to where there were fresh prints–footprints of a man's foot–in the sandy floor, filling slowly with water as their own had done. Moyo gave a little cry as he saw them.

"This moment have these prints been made," he said, "for, look, they are not yet filled with water–and–" he stopped quickly and a frown of perplexity came to his face–the prints in the sand stopped as suddenly as they had begun! And there was no place on either side of the narrow cañon that they could see where anyone or anything large enough to make those prints could find shelter.

"What is it?" asked Nah-tee in a voice of wonder, "and where has it gone?" Moyo shook his head and kicked his pony with his heels.

"I think we will go fast," he said, "and get away from this place, and then it will not matter." Nah-tee was silent for a little, and then she said :

"My mother tells me that the Great Spirit is everywhere and this is a part of everywhere."

"I am not afraid," answered Moyo, and he made his voice big, so that it echoed from the cañon walls. "I am not afraid one bit–but–but–I like that desert very much better than this place," and he tried to make the pony go a little faster than he was going. But he kept his eyes very carefully searching the rocks on either side in the cliff walls, and also the sandy floor, but he did not see one living thing–but he saw something else. Something that made him pull back quickly on the rope bridle that guided the pony and draw him over to the very edge of the sand where he felt that the rock was underneath, and there he stopped. The sand had grown suddenly too soft to bear their weight, and even as fast as they had been going, the pony's feet had been sinking deeper and deeper with every step.

"We cannot go any farther," said Moyo, and he could not keep the alarm altogether out of his voice. "Look how the sand is turning into water. Soon this place will be a river in the cañon–I have seen it do that way. We are safe right here on the edge of this rock, but we cannot go anywhere else."

Nah-tee looked at the wet sand and then up at the high walls of the cañon, and it was plain that there was no thought of fear or danger in her mind. Instead a little twinkle came to her eyes.

"But how can we stay here and go to that big mesa, too?" Moyo did not answer her; a sudden thought had come to him.

"Maybe it is because we are too heavy–all the three of us–that we sink into the sand," he said. "Get down from the pony, Nah-tee, and we will see if we each one can go alone." And they both got down, and Moyo gave a little pull to the rope of the pony, leading him out into the sand again. He knew that the pony could tell if it was safe.

"Be ready, Nah-tee," he cried. "You must hold my hand, and we will go if he will go." There was a sharp crash of a falling stone from somewhere high in the cañon wall, and the pony, with a loud, startled snort, leaped into the watery sand, jerking the rope out of the hand of Moyo. He floundered helplessly for a moment, and Moyo, with a shout of fear, thought that he was sinking. "GO!" he cried. "GO, NIKI!" and he clapped his hands and shouted as loudly as he could, and the pony thrashed about with his legs in a very great effort to get out, and in a little he did pull himself higher in the sand, on the other side of the narrow cañon, and then looked back at Moyo as if he would return.

"Oh, he will sink down if he comes back," cried Nah-tee. "Do not let him come back, Moyo"; and even as he stood hesitating the sand seemed to be reaching up for him again.

"Go on!" cried Moyo, though there were almost tears in his voice. "Go on, Niki!" and the pony turned slowly and went stumbling and stepping with great difficulty until he disappeared around a big rock in a bend of the cañon wall. The two children stood for a moment watching where he had gone, and a queer, lonely feeling came to them immediately when he was no longer in sight.

"Do you think," asked Nah-tee, a little timidly, "do you think he will wait for us when he finds a place that he can stand on?"

Moyo did not answer immediately. Already he felt that he had done a very terrible thing. How could he be certain that the pony would find any place to wait–and what would they do now, if they did not have a horse? But very surely that pony would have gone down under the sands if he had tried to return to them. And what had been that sound that had frightened him in the first place? They had not looked then, and now there was nothing at all to see. Moyo tried the sand cautiously now to see if it would bear his weight, but he had very little hope–the pony had gone down too quickly just here. The water rose immediately he touched it, and his foot sank over the shoe top before he could draw it out. A cold feeling came into his heart.

"We will have to wait," he said in a voice that somehow did not want to come out of his throat. "We will have to wait until–until–the sand dries a little." But he knew very well that the sand would not dry–already the water was rising above it, here and there, and soon it would be a rushing stream. No, it would not be safe at all to walk on it now–they would quickly sink beyond any help–they could not do that.

"We will find a place to climb up," he said, and he tried not to show in his voice any of the fear that he felt. "Maybe there is another cave that we will find."

Nah-tee leaned against the rocky wall back of her, and a big tear splashed down her cheek. Moyo saw it, and almost a panic came into his heart.

"Maybe you are hungry," he said. "Here–here is piki bread to eat," and she did not know that the little piece of bread that he put into her hand was the very last bit of their bundle of food, and they did not know, either of them–when they sat down on a narrow ledge of rock to watch the waters rise slowly and surely over the floor of the cañon–that from another place eyes watched them as carefully as they watched the waters.

CHAPTER IV
OVER THE WALL

Shining on the cañon wall,
Splashes of bright sunshine fall,
And a silence, grave and deep,
Never changing, seems to keep
Watch forever over all.

MOYO could not say now that the cañon was a dark place! The golden sunlight splashed down from the rocky walls and turned the creeping water into flashing jewels; and beautiful colors in the rocks themselves, almost hidden when the light was dim, came out now and danced in the sunshine. Fear thoughts could not live when the sun smiled like this, and Nah-tee did not have any at all. She jumped up from her little ledge and gave a shake to her small skirts.

"What shall we do now, Moyo?" were the words that she said. "I think if we go in the very edge of the water the sand will not be soft."

"Look there," said Moyo, and he pointed to the place where, just a little while ago, the pony had disappeared around a bend of the cañon. At that place tall sharp rocks reached from the high walls far out into the center of the cañon, and already the water was swirling swiftly around them.

"I saw that place," he said, "and that was why I stopped here. We could not pass that place, and here the wall is not so steep and we might climb up a little way. No, we cannot go in the edge of the water, we cannot go in the water at all–we can only wait here. Maybe it will not be long–maybe the water will go down before night comes."

"But I do not want to wait here until night comes, there is no place to sleep here," said Nah-tee a little impatiently. "The cave place was a better place to wait–and I think I do not want to wait at all."

"You are little and do not know things," answered Moyo. "I have seen how the waters do. Before this I have seen them rise, and it is not a bad thing to wait. A worse thing might come if we did not wait."

"But why do we not climb up?" asked Nah-tee. "What is at the top of this cañon?"

"We cannot climb where there is no place to put our feet," answered Moyo, but always his eyes were searching the rocky wall, and now he began to work his way cautiously away from the little ledge, feeling with fingers and toes for places to hold to. Nah-tee watched him eagerly. The walls of the cañon were almost straight up and down in most places, as if some great giant had taken a huge knife and cut big slices out of the earth, but in other places there were pinnacles and jagged ridges of rock running clear back and up to the tops of the high, brightly colored walls, and in still other places winds and storms had broken off great slabs and dug into the walls with powerful fingers, making shelves and caves and great cracks, and Moyo hoped to find one of these cracks or caves for a shelter until the waters went away, for he had little hope of climbing to the top of the cañon wall, as Nah-tee had suggested. That looked to be quite an impossible thing from here. Not only was it very high and steep, but the top seemed actually to lean forward and to lend no possible hope of a hold for feet or hands. But still he would not stop trying, not ever, until he came to a place where he could not move forward at all. He moved a little farther now–and a little farther–but there did not seem to be any place toward which he was climbing. Not anywhere could he see a ledge even as small as the one on which Nah-tee was waiting. But still he kept moving, just a little bit at a time, and Nah-tee watched him breathlessly. It surprised him to see how far away she looked–he had come farther than he had expected; and then he stopped suddenly, and quickly moved on again with more assurance. He had come to a place that led up gradually–a place that was much easier to climb; he did not have to go slowly at all now, he almost ran. It was like a trail. Nah-tee cried out when she saw how quickly he climbed now.

"You go now like a mountain sheep," she cried. "I want to come up to that place, too."

"You cannot come over this way if I do not help you," he cried. "Wait there–this has the look of a place where others have been–maybe it is an animal trail. I will see where it goes," and there was a sound of excitement in his voice. He remembered now the sound of that falling rock, the one that had frightened the pony. It had come from high in the cañon wall, and this was high in the cañon wall. He would see. It was a very steep climb, but always there was some place to put his hands and his feet, and in a little he saw that the way led through a big crack and he could not see Nah-tee any more.

two children climbing among steep rocks
"You go now like a mountain sheep," Nah-tee cried.

"Where are you?" she called. "I cannot see where you have gone. Is it a cave place, Moyo?"

"It is a little like a cave place," he called back, but he had to call very loud, and the first time she did not hear him. "I will tell you how it is when I come," he called again, and then he did not call any more, for he knew that she could not hear him. Nah-tee was a little frightened to be left alone like this, but she waited with her eyes always on the place where she had seen Moyo go into the rock–for it looked like that from the place where she was–and almost she held her breath to see if she could hear him again. But there was no sound at all now in all that big place, and she could hear her heart beating as she had heard it in the tree when she was alone in the desert, and she did not like that–it made a very lonely feeling come to her.

"MOYO!" she called with all her strength, but only an echo answered back from the other side of the cañon–very far away It sounded–"Moyo"–and then again as if it were almost a dream-thing–"Moyo" . . .

Nah-tee did not like that at all–and she started to climb over the way Moyo had climbed, but her feet slipped and almost she went down into that swirling stream of water that had been sand such a little while ago, and when she slipped she began to tremble so hard that she knew she could not climb anywhere more, and a feeling came into her throat that she knew very well–it was a feeling that did not go away easily unless she could press her little body close into the tight, warm arms of her mother, and, oh, how she did long to do that!

But Moyo was still climbing. Steadily up went that great crack, until he saw, with a jump of his heart, that he was very near to the top of the wall itself–and then he reached it!–that top–and, as he saw over, his heart fell again, 'way down into the toes of his little buckskin shoes, for he looked over a thin edge of rock down into another cañon almost exactly like the one from which he had just climbed! There were the pinnacles of rock and the splashes of red and blue and yellow and purple where the sun drew out in rich beauty the color of the lime and sandstone and shale, and there was the same flashing stream at the bottom of it, and the caves and cracks and crannies carved by the winds. Only one thing was missing, and that was little Nah-tee on her thin little ledge of rock, waiting for him. "She will want to come up to this place," he thought a little wearily, and then he started back down the way he had come.

Nah-tee had little red spots in her cheeks when he came to her.

"How I am glad you have come back!" she cried, and when he had told her of what he had found she was very greatly excited. "Maybe there will be a good cave in that place," she said in a happy voice, "and maybe we will find food. Let us go quickly, Moyo."

It was not easy to get her over the first part of the way, but when they reached the trail part and the crack, it was very easy and Nah-tee could climb as easily as he climbed. And she cried out when she saw down into that other cañon.

"It is much nicer down there," she cried. "See how there are many cave places, and I can smell the desert from here." She threw back her head and sniffed, and Moyo looked eagerly over to the other rim of the cañon.

"When the waters go down," he said, "we will climb up that other side. Maybe the desert is there."

"I smell camp fires," went on Nah-tee, "and a stew cooking–it is in a big pot. In my mind I can see that pot, and can you not smell the stew?"

Moyo gave a sudden sniff, and his eyes grew big, and he leaned over and studied the cañon carefully again.

"Maybe it is because we are very hungry," he said, and he could not help the little sound of longing that came into his voice.

"Yes, I am very hungry," said Nah-tee wistfully. "Is there any food in the little bag, Moyo?" Moyo took the bit of cloth that had wrapped their food and showed Nah-tee how it was empty.

"But I will get something," he said quickly, when he saw the look in her face. "We will find a place to stay down there, and then I will go and look for food. Maybe there are goats. Many times there are goats living in places like this–and goat milk is good." But inside himself he did not have much hope to find goats, for he had not seen anything alive at all in this cañon. "But where there are sounds," he thought to himself again, "always a sound is made by something, and this trail has the look of something living," but whether of man or beast he could not know. In the other cañon it was not so easy to get down as it had been in the first one, and after a while Moyo knew that somewhere they must have missed the trail–this did not seem like a place now where anyone had ever been before–but they could not climb back, it was too steep for that.

"I am tired," said Nah-tee suddenly, after they had been going for what seemed a very, very long time, and she sat down on a flat rock to rest. It made a hurt place to come in Moyo to see how little she looked and how tired and hungry, but he was doing all that he could think to do, and already the sunshine was gone away from the bottom part of the cañon and was creeping steadily up toward the top and turning very rapidly from gold to a dusky red.

"Can you see any cave place?" asked Nah-tee. "Soon it will be night and we cannot sleep on the side of the wall like spiders," and she tried hard to smile.

"You wait here," said Moyo, "and I will find a cave place. But do not move while I am gone. If you move maybe I could not find you, or you might fall. Make a promise that you will stay in this very place."

"I will stay here," answered Nah-tee, with a nod of her head, "but do not be away long–I think I do not like to stay all by myself in this place for long."

"I will be back very soon," answered Moyo, and already he was scrambling away down the cañon wall. It was a steep place, but there were not very many places where Moyo could not climb–he was very sure of foot–and he felt certain that he would soon find a shelf of rock or a cave: the cañon was full of them. But more than a place of shelter he was now anxious to find food–the inside of him fairly cried out with hunger, and he knew that Nah-tee must feel the same way. But the chances for food did not seem to be very good, and he frowned at the thought; but he did not stop on his downward scramble to the foot of the cañon wall. He was not sure why he went down except he felt that he could search the cañon better from the bottom, and anything alive would be more likely to be down there. Nah-tee watched him as long as she could, but very soon he slipped out of sight behind a place in the rock, and then the sound of his scrambling over the hard surface of the cliff died away and she felt altogether alone again. And it was very quiet now, and the sunlight crept higher and higher to the very rim of the cañon wall. Nah-tee watched it for a little, and then she blinked–her eyes felt very heavy, and she leaned her head back and closed them just for a little. But when she opened them again with a start, Moyo was looking at her with a little grin on his face, and the sun had gone away from the cañon rim, and it was almost dark.

"I have found a cave place," said Moyo, "and we must go before it is altogether dark–but what is this?" and he stared with unbelieving eyes at the rock on which Nah-tee was sitting, and quickly she looked where he was looking. A bowl was there–a good-sized pottery bowl–and it was filled to the very top with a stew of meat that sent forth such a delicious odor that Nah-tee grew dizzy with hunger and closed her eyes for a moment. And beside the bowl, on a little piece of cloth, was laid a great piece of piki bread–plenty for them both.

"Where did that come from?" asked Moyo, and his eyes were almost as big as the bowl itself.

"I do not know," answered Nah-tee, "but, oh, Moyo, how the smell is good–and see, it is still warm."

"We will eat it quickly," said Moyo, and his lips smacked of themselves. "It will be dark before we can reach that cave place, and besides, this may be a magic thing that will not stay long." Nah-tee did not wait for him to say anything else, and they did not think about what would be the polite things to do, but Moyo dipped out with a piece of piki bread the nicest pieces of meat and gave them to Nah-tee, and when the meat was gone they took turns drinking the soup that was left, and never had either of them tasted anything so delicious!

"I feel now that I could go anywhere," said Moyo, "and it does not matter if we have to wait in the cañon if–if–we get stew like this again."

Nah-tee gave a little laugh, and she stood up on her tiptoes and looked as far along the wall of the cañon as she could in every direction.

"I give you thanks, maker of very good stew!" she cried–and was it a little chuckle that came back to them in answer? Neither Nah-tee nor Moyo could be quite certain, but it seemed to them that it sounded much like that!

CHAPTER V
THE HOUSE IN THE CAÑON

The little people of the cliffs
Were here so long ago,
No one remembers how they came
And no one saw them go!

"IT WAS the wind that made that sound," said Moyo. "It must have been the wind, for there is nothing else."

"But do you think it was the wind that made that meat stew?" laughed Nah-tee. "There is a somebody in this cañon, and they do not want us to see them, or they would come out, but it is a good somebody to bring a good-to-eat stew like that."

"Maybe it is a witch-woman and she is trying to make us into friends," said Moyo. "A witch can fly on the wind, and this one flies to some place. But we must get down quickly to that cave place or we cannot see at all. The black dark is very nearly here."

It was not an easy thing to scramble down the side of that rocky cliff in the deep shadows, and many times Moyo felt that they would fall, one or both of them, down into that stream that they could not now see. But they managed somehow to get down at last into the place that he had found. There was no wood in this cave place, it was little more than a hole hollowed out in the rocks by the wind, and the wind blew into it now with strange sounds as of whispering voices, and there was not a great deal of room, but it was better than being right out in the open on the side of the wall–"like spiders"–as Nah-tee had said, and the two little children sat very close together and tried to keep each other warm.

"Oo–ooh!" said Nah-tee, and she shivered a little as she said it. "I did not know how it was warm with that blanket, and how good would the feel of it be now. I hope it is warm on that pony."

"It is strange," said Moyo, "that I also thought of the pony this very minute. He is a good pony, and I hope that he is safe."

"I know how he is safe," said Nah-tee. "Something tells me that he is safe, and we, too, are safe. Look how always when we have thought that only bad things could happen good ones have come. It is because always the Great Spirit watches, and He watches now."

"Do you think it is with the stars that He sees?" asked Moyo. Nah-tee leaned forward and looked up to the dark sky that was now so thick with stars that not anywhere could you put your finger in a place where there was not one. She did not answer immediately, but seemed to be thinking, and when she spoke it was very slowly, as if each word she spoke was a thought in itself.

"I think," she said, "maybe it is with the stars that He sees, but they are the far-away eyes that He has for the ones who live in that far-away place. But there are other see places, very close ones, all around us in this place. He saw with those see places and brought us the stew, and now He sees and will help us in other help ways."

"There are stars in the water down there," said Moyo suddenly, "but they do not stay still like the sky stars–and look at that!" He stopped excitedly. They both had seen the flash of red light in the water that was larger than any star. But when they leaned as far out of the little cave as possible and looked back up the cañon wall they could see nothing there. And still there in the water it stayed–that dancing spot of red–not much more than a good stone's throw from the place where they were. Nah-tee watched Moyo with a puzzled look on her face; she could not think what it meant–that dancing red light in the water–and she waited for the explanation from him.

"It is a camp fire," he said at length quietly. "Somewhere up in that cañon wall there is another cave place, maybe like this one, and someone is there and has built a fire."

"I wish very much we could go to that place," said Nah-tee. "Always I grow more cold. Do you think that we could find it?" Moyo did not wait for her to say anything more than that. He, too, was cold and did not like the thought of staying all night in this windy place. So he stepped cautiously out of the little cave and began to feel his way across toward a spot that would be over the stream where the red, shiny place was. Nah-tee watched as closely as she could and leaned eagerly from the little cave ready to follow Moyo if he called to her. And in a little he did call.

"I can see the fire," he called, but he tried to keep his voice low so that the sound would not go up to that other place. "I can see the fire, and it is a cave place, and I think we can reach it. Can you come the way that I have come?" Nah-tee already had started and joined him quickly where he stood clinging to the rock. From there the climb up to the glow of the fire was not difficult, and they found, as Moyo had thought, another little cave place. But this one was larger than the one they had left, and the front of it was away from the wind. A very cosy fire was snapping and sending up tiny sparks in this place, and two warm blankets were folded on the floor in its rosy glow, but there was no living one in that place. Moyo looked very blank when he realized that the place was empty except for themselves.

"And look at this," cried Nah-tee. "See, I told you how that Great Spirit is watching," and she held up a jar filled with some more of the very same meat stew they had already found so good, and there was more piki bread near it, and a black bottle filled with water.

"But where has he gone?" asked Moyo, and Nah-tee laughed at the look that was in his face.

"Maybe it is that he has gone to his own place," she laughed. "I think this is a place that is fixed just for you and me–see, how there are two blankets."

"It is very strange," said Moyo. "I do not see the reason why he does not stay until we give him thanks."

"When the sun comes again," said Nah-tee, "maybe we will see why–and surely when that time comes the water in the stream will go down."

But the water had not gone down when the sun came again, and they did not yet see any living thing in the cañon.

"But he must be here," said Moyo, "and not very far away, and I shall go that I may find him." He felt very brave and strong after a comfortable night wrapped warm in a blanket and after a breakfast of meat and piki bread, and Nah-tee smiled at him and felt glad that he was brave.

"You must wait in this place until I make call for you," said Moyo. "If the way is right so that you can come I will call, but if it is steep I will come back and tell you how it is so." And there was something in him that felt very good to act this way as a man would act, and Nah-tee liked it, too, and tried to smile at him as she thought her mother would smile, and she waited again in the cave place until he should call to her. By this time it seemed that always she was waiting. She shook the blankets very carefully as soon as Moyo was gone, and folded them and took a little piece of brush that she found, and swept out the cave place and made it clean and neat about the fire, that was very low now. It was fun to pretend that this was a home place and that Moyo was a hunter who went out to find food. It was true that he had gone to find the one who brought the food, and that was even more exciting, for that seemed almost like a magic thing.

It was a very wonderful, sparkly day; the air was clear and cool and brought the smell of sage from the desert. It was the kind of a day when things happen, and Nah-tee felt the happy tingle of it come into her heart. She looked down at the water on the floor of the cañon, and very plainly it was lower, and sand was beginning to show again in spots–in big spots. Soon, very soon, they would be able to go out of this place, and then–so many things would happen then! It did not matter very greatly that they did not have a horse, thought Nah-tee, for surely they could not be far from that big mesa, and they were strong and could walk fast. And then her thoughts stopped suddenly, for echoing through the cañon came a call.

"Oo–o–ee, Nah-tee!" came that call, and she stretched her neck out of the cave place to see where Moyo could be, but she could not see him at all. "Naaah-teeee!" came the call again, and she put one little foot out of the cave and found a place on the rock where she could stand, and then she began to find her way across, very cautiously, to where that voice came from.

Moyo vas very greatly excited.

"It is a wonderful place that I have found," he cried when she came near to where his voice called. "Look for the holes in the rock to put your hands and feet in and then climb up to here–now–they are in the place where you are now!" and Nah-tee looked and saw that there were deep holes in the rock made to give a safe hold for hands and feet, and she climbed up quickly and felt the hands of Moyo help her over the edge of a place, and then she blinked and felt that surely this must be a dream thing, for never had she seen a place like this. There was a very wide shelf of rock, flat and smooth, with over it a great, overhanging, slanting wall that made her dizzy to look at it, it was so high and big. And between the wall and the shelf was the thing that made her feel as if she must be dreaming–a whole pueblo built out of stone! Many houses were there,

two children working their way up the side of a rock shelf
"Look for the holes in the rock to put your hands and feet in," directed Moyo.

of many sizes and shapes, and in one place a great tower of white stone, tall and round. Everywhere were grinding stones, and the flat places for fire and cooking, and ovens and storage places–and it did not look like a place of dead people, it had the look of being swept clean; and Nah-tee felt that surely women were grinding somewhere in those white stone houses–but great clouds of black bats flew overhead and made the only sound that could be heard in that silent place.

"Maybe it is not good to come in a place like this," said Nah-tee in a voice that was almost a whisper, for there was something here that would not let her talk loud.

"There is no one here," said Moyo, and his voice, too, was strange as hers. "And there is nothing to fear–but come here and see this," and he led her to a small round place where an opening showed that corn was stored–purple and red and yellow and blue ears–and in another place were some dried melons and squashes, and strings of chili peppers and pieces of meat hung up together–but not anywhere could they see any other sign that a living creature had been there for a very long time.

"Where do you think they have gone, those ones who built these places and who lived here one time?" asked Nah-tee.

"Even the old men do not know that," answered Moyo. "The wise men say one place and then say another, but it is a thing from the very long ago, and no one can say for true."

"I think," said Nah-tee, "maybe it is not a place at all–maybe if we shut our eyes and open them again quick, it will be gone." But it did not go, even though they shut their eyes many times and opened them very quickly and felt very foolish when they did it.

"But it is better than the cave," said Moyo in a little, "and we can stay here until the water goes away."

"I think, maybe, the one who came with that stew stays in this place," said Nah-tee suddenly. "Maybe if we call he will answer." But he did not answer when they called–only the echoes came back from far across the cañon, and the bats flew out–many more of them than before.

"We can look in the houses and see if anyone lives here," said Moyo. "There will be blankets if they do."

There were many houses all built together and facing toward the outside edge of the shelf of rock. Some were built on the very rock itself, and others on top of these, making two, and in some places three, stories, much like the houses Moyo had seen built in pueblos where he had gone with his father and mother. The houses were all made of stone laid very carefully and skillfully, and showed, in some places, where less skillful fingers had attempted to restore falling walls. There were one or two ladders still leading to upper stories, and Moyo climbed one of these very cautiously and looked with big eyes into an empty house, but he did not see any blankets or clothing in there, and he climbed down slowly again, looking closely at the ladder as he reached the bottom.

"That is a very old ladder," he said. "I think if anyone went on it who was more heavy than I am it would break in pieces," but Nah-tee was not listening. At the very back of the shelf of rock, under the overhanging wall, there was a place different from the other places–it was round and stones led up to the top of it like steps, and in the very top was a large round hole with the ends of a ladder sticking out of it. At one time–a very great while ago it seemed to Nah-tee–she had stood on the top of a kiva in her home place and she had looked down into that strange place (for little girls are never allowed to go into a kiva, it is a place of ceremony and of prayer), and had seen what looked like painted dolls and queer figures and pictures on the floor, and inside of her had come a desire, almost bigger than her very self, to go down into that place and see closely those wonderful things; but her mother had come and sent her home with scolding words, and never had she been allowed to go again that close to the kiva. And now here was a kiva–she felt very sure it was a kiva–and maybe down there were things such as she had dreamed were in the kiva place at home. And no one now to tell her not to go–even Moyo could not do that, for she would not wait until he could see where she went–and so with burning cheeks of excitement Nah-tee climbed to the top of that place and put her foot on the ladder. Moyo saw her just as her head went down out of sight, and at that very moment she gave a little startled cry, and Moyo came so quickly to the place that it seemed as if he had made one jump across all that place of houses. He sprang to the ladder, and before he knew what had happened had dropped down into a black hole that seemed to have no bottom and had stopped on something soft and springy.

"Ou–ow!" said a very small, smothered voice that seemed to be under him. "What is it that has happened?"

"I do not know," answered Moyo, in a dazed voice. "Is there any hurt on you, Nah-tee?"

"I cannot find any hurt place," answered Nah-tee, "but I cannot see–can you see, Moyo?"

"It is black–as–as the underside of the wing of a crow," answered Moyo. He had picked himself up now and was feeling about in the darkness. He found Nah-tee, and she caught hold of his hand eagerly.

"Stand very still," he said, "until I find what is in this place. There may be places to fall, if you move," and he moved very cautiously himself and felt to see if there was a way out. After a little he knew that they were in a round room with a floor of stone, and there did not seem to be anything in the room at all but some brush that had fallen in from the opening above them.

"Why did you cry out?" he asked Nah-tee when he had come back to her again.

"I felt that the ladder was falling," she said, "and when you came it fell into pieces–I have one piece in my hand."

"Yes," said Moyo, "I know well that it fell into pieces, and each piece too small for any use–I have tried them–and now we must think of a way to get out of this place. Ugh!" he shivered, "I do not like to be in a place where it is dark. I cannot think many things when it is dark."

"I think it could be light," said Nah-tee eagerly. "Did you forget, Moyo, that always you have your fire stick in the thong at your belt?"

Moyo felt that in the dark a flush came to his cheek, for he had forgotten that fire stick.

"We will clear a place on the floor," he said then, in a voice that he tried to make sound very careless, "and I will take a little of this old wood, made very fine, and if you will hold another piece, Nah-tee, very soon we will have a torch." And it was made very quickly–always Moyo made fire quickly with his fire stick–but to Nah-tee it was a very wonderful thing that he did, and when the bright flame blazed up it gave them a very different feeling, and they looked eagerly about the room in the light that it gave them. But they saw only what Moyo had already discovered in the darkness–bare, plain walls that slanted up to the circular opening at the top and gave no littlest hope of any chance for climbing out. Moyo looked up at that round hole overhead, and his eyes grew black with thought. If no one came, they were caught like two animals in a trap, and his heart thumped hard at the thought. It gave him a very bad feeling not to be able to do something, even if it were a foolish thing, but what could he do now? Nah-tee watched him. Always she thought, Moyo would think of a way. Not yet had fear come into her thought–she had very great faith in Moyo and also in the Great Spirit who always had helped. Moyo did not stand looking at that opening for long. He gave the torch into the hand of Nah-tee and started to make a pile of the brush on which they had fallen.

"I think," he said, "when it is dark I will build a fire under that opening and we will feed it with the brush, and if anyone is in the cañon they will see it and come."

"That one will come who brought the stew," said Nah-tee eagerly. "What is that that you have found, Moyo?" For Moyo was sitting back on his heels looking with a puzzled expression at the place in the floor from where he had taken the brush.

"Look!" he said. "'There is a place in the floor that has not the look of the other part–it is wood!" he added, rapping it with his fingers.

"Oh," cried Nah-tee, "maybe it is another kind of a door place–maybe we can get out that way!" Moyo leaned over and examined the place very carefully, and his heart began to beat quickly.

"I think that is what it is," he said. "There is a place that looks as if it would come up, if we could push with something."

"With a stick!" cried Nah-tee; "with a part of that ladder"; and even before she said it Moyo was prying at the edge of the wooden place with a stick from the broken ladder. But it would not move–it seemed to be a part of the very stone itself. "If you will hold this," cried Nah-tee, and put the torch into his hand, "I will help, too." And with both of her hands she pushed, and Moyo threw all his strength into the arm that did not hold the torch, and then, without any warning, the wooden place suddenly came up, and Moyo and Nah-tee went sprawling on the floor. It was very lucky that the torch fell where there was no brush, and Moyo snatched it up and looked with eager eyes at the place where the wooden part of the floor had been. It had lifted like a lid, and the two children looked down into a hole that was even blacker than the room in which they now were, and a ladder rested against a stone wall immediately below them in that hole.

"This time," cried Moyo, "I will try the ladder very carefully before we step on it, and we will go one at a time, and I will go first."

"Oh, go fast!" cried Nah-tee, and she was dancing in excitement on the edge of that hole. "I cannot wait to see where that place goes."

"If it does not go to the outside," said Moyo, "it will not help us much."

"It will go somewhere," said Nah-tee, "and that is better than waiting here." Moyo had felt the rungs of the ladder very cautiously first with one foot and then with both and now he tried putting all his weight on it, and it seemed as strong as any ladder could be. He leaned forward with the torch and looked down as far as possible before he climbed down himself.

"What is it?" cried Nah-tee. "What do you see–does it go to the outside?"

Moyo was silent for a moment while he gave a quick look around, and then he held the torch up so that she could see to come down, too.

"Come carefully," he said. "To me it looks only like another room, but there are things here."

Nah-tee came eagerly down the ladder, and then they both stood motionless, looking at the things they could see in the bright light of the torch.

"It is a kiva," said Nah-tee, drawing a long breath–and there was a shrine place such as she had heard described many times, with painted figures and the little plumed prayer sticks, and the bowls of sacred meal and pollen on the altar; and there were blue, shining stones–sky stones–many of them, gleaming softly on the altar. They gave back the light of the torch like bits of the sky outside. Moyo reached down and touched a bright prayer feather, and strangely enough it went into a puff of dust at his touch. Nah-tee opened her eyes very wide and leaned down and touched another one, and like a dream thing it vanished.

"Why do they do that?" she asked in a whisper of Moyo, and she stepped forward and touched a small ceremonial scarf that lay on the very altar itself–and as she touched it only little piles of dust were left where her fingers had gone. She drew back quickly and stood close to Moyo. "It is magic in this place," she said. "Let us find a way to go out."

But they could not find a way that led out. This room was much smaller than the one above, and there was no wooden place in the floor.

"I do not know why a shrine place should be so far down," said Moyo, "but I cannot find any way that goes out." He walked carefully all around the room, touching the wall in many places, and even back of the altar he felt with his hand, but no stones were loose, as he had hoped they might be, and it was clear now that the only way out of this place was back up the ladder the way they had come. And always, as they thought of it, it seemed more strange that everything that was touched turned to dust, everything but the pottery bowls and the blue sky stones on the altar. At first Moyo did not touch those stones, but something in a little while made him take some of them in his hand, and they glowed there softly and seemed almost alive in that place of dust and dead things.

"Look how they are blue, like the sky," he said to Nah-tee, and held them out in his hand for her to see. "My people say they are very fine, stones like these, and the trader will give many things for them."

"Put them back," said Nah-tee quickly. "Put them back, Moyo–it is very bad to touch things in a shrine place."

"But maybe no one will ever come to this place," said Moyo, and as he said it a queer look came to his face. "If no one comes, I could not take them away, for I could not get away myself–and if someone does come maybe they would not like it if I took them," and he put them very carefully back in the place where he had found them. "There is no new way to get out of this place," he said then. "Come–we will go back, and maybe someone will come." And they went slowly back up the ladder, but as they reached the top a sudden thought came to Moyo and he gave a shout of delight.

"Hi!" he cried. "Take this!" and again he thrust the torch into the hand of Nah-tee–though now they could see a little bit in this upper room–it seemed almost a light place after the other one. "Watch, now, what I will do!" and he reached down and, with very much hard work, for it was heavy, pulled up the ladder from below; and after he had put the wooden place again in the floor, he held up the ladder below the round opening in the roof. But it did not reach up to that opening–it did not reach near it at all. Nah-tee had watched him eagerly.

"If you will hold it," she cried, "I will climb up and reach that place." But that did not help either. Moyo could hold it while she climbed part of the way up, but when she got near the top he could not hold it, and very nearly she fell. Twice they tried it, and both times it was the same.

"It is no use," said Moyo, and there was a weariness in his voice. "If someone comes we will call and they will let us out–and if no one comes–we will not get out."

"If we could see the little star brothers," said Nah-tee, in a little while, "I think that would help."

"It is not yet night," said Moyo, "and besides–you have said–they are very far away." Nah-tee came close to him and put her cheek against his arm.

"I am glad how you are brave, Moyo," she said, and looked up into his face. "Never have I seen a boy brave like you." And Moyo looked hard for a little while at that round hole in the roof, and then he squared his shoulders again and put fire to a fresh torch.

"It is not a bad thing to wait," he said in a very different voice. "We will make a little fire and wait, and someone will see the glow of it and come." And Nah-tee looked at him with a shine in her eyes. And for a long time there was the sound only of the crackling of the little fire. And after a while–after a very long while–there was a sound outside–like the soft shuffle made by the feet of one who climbed on rock.

CHAPTER VI
THE OLD MAN OF THE CLIFF

I like to hear an old man tell a tale,
And see the twinkle lights come in his eyes.
While all outside the daytime noises fail,
And far away a lone coyote cries!

THE shadow of night walked across the cañon, and outlines that had been sharp and clear became suddenly dim and uncertain. One shadow, a little darker than the rest, moved slowly up the face of the cliff below the big ledge and paused very often as if awaiting the strength to go on, or else to listen. It reached the ledge at last, and pulling itself over the edge, stood for a moment motionless–and seemed again to listen. All was silent on the ledge of rock, even the soft whisper of the wind had died away; and in the round room where Nah-tee and Moyo sat the dim light from a dying fire shone warmly on two little faces deep in sleep.

For a long time that shadow stood in the dim light on the ledge and turned this way and that, but finally it moved softly nearer to that round hole where now a low red glow shone plainly in the night, and very cautiously and noiselessly a face appeared in that glow and looked down on what it saw within–and smiled. It was a very kindly face, and there were many wrinkles in it that looked as if they had been made by sun and wind and many smiles. There was no real age in a face like that, though the hair that came over the forehead was thin and silvery white, but age does not come with smiles and kindness–they are always young; only bitterness brings age, and there was no bitterness here. For a long time that face looked down at the sleeping ones within, and though the smile did not leave the lips there was a shine in the dark eyes that sparkled in the light from the little fire–a shine that does not always come with smiles.

Nah-tee suddenly gave a start and looked straight up at that opening before the face could move away, and she could not keep back the cry that came to her lips.

Moyo jumped to his feet at that cry and looked about him, very quickly wide awake.

"What is it?" he cried. "Why did you call out like that?"

Nah-tee had not moved her eyes from the opening overhead, though now it showed only black and empty.

"It was a man," she said in a very low voice. "A man looked in up there," and she motioned with her lips to the dark hole and Moyo looked up, too.

"Hi!" he called quickly. "Come back–we cannot get out of this place."

It was very silent outside for a while, and then a voice said:

"Where have you put that ladder?" And Moyo answered eagerly. He was excited now, and he and Nah-tee watched with bright eyes for what would come to that hole.

"The ladder was broken–it was very old," he said, "and we want to get out."

"Wait," said the voice then. "I will see," and for a very long time they waited. After a while there was a noise–the sound of something heavy being dragged–and then in a little the ends of a ladder came into view above. Slowly it came down, and Moyo lifted eager arms to receive it and, as it touched the bottom, the face appeared again at the opening and a puzzled look was in the eyes that looked down at them.

"Has it reached the floor?" asked the old man. "It did not feel that it rested on rock."

"It does not rest on rock," answered Moyo with a smile. "The ladder is on the little door." And he and Nah-tee climbed eagerly again to the outside air that was like a drink of cold water to their thirsty lungs. Nah-tee threw back her head and her arms went high.

"Oh, I am glad," she said, "that you have come–always I think I knew that you would come–that is why the fear did not come into me."

There was a brighter twinkle than before in the old man's eyes, and he put a kindly hand on Nah-tee's head.

"So–you are glad," he said, "and I, too, am glad. But why do you fly, you two, like birds, from place to place? I go to the little cave with food for you to eat, and–puff!–you are gone again to some other place; and look how I find you–like coyotes in a trap."

"It was for you that we came," said Moyo, and he said it with a shyness that Nah-tee had not seen before. "We would give you thanks for the good meat stew, but never do you wait for thanks."

The old man, very unexpectedly, threw back his head and laughed–a laugh with little chuckly sounds in it that made a giggly feeling come in the inside of Nah-tee. She felt now that it was very easy to laugh. Now everything would be right, and this good old man would help them.

"So–maybe I, too, have that bird-feeling inside," laughed the old man. "Ah, well–that is not bad if there is a place to roost–and look, how we have all found a place to roost here in my cañon. And here is the food, I have brought it with me. But first, we will have a little fire, already it turns cold." And he led the way into one of the houses where Nah-tee and Moyo had not been and it was very cosy inside. On the firestone were red embers banked in ashes which were quickly blown into a blaze. And all about were pottery dishes and soft skins and blankets on the floor showing that this was where the old man lived. And presently, when they had been made comfortable on a blanket, he gave them bowls of corn-mush with pieces of meat–and Nah-tee and Moyo ate for all the times they had been hungry in that cañon, and the old man smiled when he saw that they could eat no more, and he took a pipe down from a place where he kept it on the wall, and sat down in front cf the fire and smoked for a while in silence. And then he turned to Moyo–

"Why did you say, my son, when the ladder was let down into that old place, that it rested on a door of wood?"

"Because that is true," answered Moyo. "There is a door in that floor that goes down into a room below. Is that not known to you, my father?"

The old man did not answer but smoked for another little while–and then–

"Did you see what was in that lower room?" he asked.

"It was a kiva," answered Nah-tee before Moyo could speak. "And there were things–shrine things–and many blue stones." The old man looked at the fire again, but Moyo felt that he was not so quiet inside as he looked to be on the outside.

"It is very old," added Moyo. "And all the things went into dust when we touched them–all but the blue stones."

"Did you take away any of those blue stones?" asked the old man quietly, and Moyo was very glad that he could say he had not, but he felt the red come into his face as he said it–almost he had taken some away.

two children sitting before an old man
"Did you take away any of those blue stones?" asked the old man.

"Umm-m," said the old man, and his voice said many more things than the word, there was a very small tingle of excitement in it–an excitement that he could not entirely hide, though all his life he had been trained to hide excitement–"This will mean," he said, "this will mean that I must send a message to that mesa when you go–this is a thing that has never happened before."

"A message to the mesa!" cried Nah-tee, and she jumped to her feet. "When will we go, my father? Oh, that is a thing that we want to do–quickly."

The old man nodded at the fire.

"I think with the sun to-morrow you will go," he said. "I have tried the sands and you will not sink in them now."

"Oh," cried Nah-tee, and she stood on her tiptoes and could have danced and sung for joy. "How I am glad–how I am glad for that! And I will see my mother and my father–and–and that dance–and oh, all the things!"

The old man spoke again:

"You have not said why you have come to my cañon, and why two little ones ride over the desert alone." And Nah-tee and Moyo told him from the very beginning all that had happened–and they felt now that they spoke to one who was an old friend, and when they were finished he looked keenly at Nah-tee and shook his head slowly.

"It is strange," he said. "All of it is strange–I think what you have told me is a thing, too, that must be told at the mesa. It may be that you will not find your people there–there is something in this that is not plain–our people of the desert do not fight those who come in peace. And you have told me that your father has said many times that he is poor–so it was not to rob that they came–no, it has been very long since they fought for nothing–those days have gone."

"But, oh, yes," cried Nah-tee, "you have said how we will find my people–very surely they will be on that mesa–you have said it, my father." But a little the happy look went out of her eyes.

"I have said you will find them," said the old man. "Maybe not there, but somewhere, little one–I am very sure how you will find them–but this thing is very strange that you have told me." And he shook his head slowly, many times.

"And I think it is strange that you live in this place of the dead," said Moyo a little timidly. "I did not know that ever living ones had a home in the place of little cliff people."

"But it is not a place of the dead," said the old man slowly. "Listen, and I will tell you, and the things that you have told me this night–of the shrine place and the blue stones and that other thing that you have told me–they are a part of this tale that I shall tell–and it is a true thing–every word." And Nah-tee quickly sat down on the blanket again and looked at the kindly face of the old man and at the fire and listened eagerly as he told this tale of long ago.

"It is a tale with fighting in it," he began, "though always the people of the cliff were a peaceful people. It was for that reason they built their pueblos up in these rocky walls–to be away from those who wanted always to fight and to kill. It was not easy to live in a place like this–water was not here and the women had to go up the cañon to a place where a spring comes bubbling through the sands–and the fields and orchards were not close at hand. In the early morning, before the coming of the sun, the men had to go far down to the mouth of the cañon, and beyond, to dig in the fields and to bring back the crops of maize and beans and melons. And the hunters went far beyond where the fields were, and brought deer and other animals for food–but always the women were glad that the men went not out to war and they sang as they wove garments of cotton and of the skins of small animals and made many kinds of jars and bowls and baskets for the preparing and cooking and storing of food. And the houses then of this place where we now are were strong and new and the sun flashed back from white walls where no stones were missing–and for a long time no enemies came. The gods smiled down on the people of the cliff and they were very prosperous and happy. There was a wise old man of the house of those who ruled then, who knew more than most humans know–it was said that the gods of the up-above country spoke to him in visions, and he was much loved by the people. This old man had two sons who were born when the sun came up on the same day. The one who was born first was marked with a thread of red-dyed thong tied about his ankle, but very strangely this thong disappeared, and there were those who said that the gods had taken it–but now it could not be known which was the elder of the two, and which would rule when wise old Hukuman was gone. Alike as two grains of com were these two sons, and ever alike they continued to be as they grew to manhood, and in the council there was much shaking of the head and many puzzled thoughts among the wise ones to know what would happen when Hukuman was gathered to the Lost-Others, and who would be ruler of the cliff people then. And Hukuman was very full of years, and as he lay on his blanket, with visions in his eyes that were not of this country, an enemy people came in great numbers and shot arrows up at the houses of the cliff people and called to them to come down into the cañon and fight. And when they would not come down, the enemy people made shelter places in the cañon and brought much food and said–'We will stay here until you die for lack of water and for lack of food!'–And it was a very bad day for the little people of the cliff. The wise ones met in council in the kiva, and before he closed his eyes for the Long Sleep Hukuman said words to his two sons, now grown to strong manhood, and they gave him promise to do what he said, and sacred meal was scattered in the four ways and up and down and the sign of peace was made for Hukuman, and in peace he went down the long trail to Those-who-go-before. But one thing only he had said that they did not understand–and only now do we know the meaning of his words–he said, before all his people, how he was glad that his sons were men of much wealth–and all the people knew that they were poor. But he did not tell them where to find those blue sky stones, and it must be–I think it must be–that he thought they knew. Perhaps it was that his thoughts were not clear on that day, but after Hukuman was gone the sons began to do the thing that he had said. All the people were divided into two parts, and the number of one side was the same as the number of the other side–even to the very blankets that they carried and the jars of water and the ears of maize–and then, when it was dark, the people climbed up by the secret way–the way that you have come–over the top of the cañon wall–down into that cañon on the other side. And they took with them everything that could be carried in the hands or on the back–only the sacred things of the shrine they did not carry–they knew that the shrine was well hidden from their enemies and could not be found (I do not speak of that shrine place that you have found, it must have been that one was a secret shrine of Hukuman, no, that is not the one of which I speak–but another one). And always, since that time–and that was so long ago that even the father of my father cannot remember how long ago was that–always since that time, there has been one here to guard the shrine and to keep fresh the things of the sacred ones–and the one who is here must not, if it is a thing that he can help, speak or show himself if strangers come to this place–that is why, for a time, you did not see me. But, to return to the telling of what came to pass when the people came down into the cañon–it was a time of parting, and not a glad time for any of the people–for one brother went to the north with one half of the people and the other one went south–it was so Hukuman had said. And the one to the north built houses of stone high on a mesa top and his people prospered, and the one to the south built where little hills come into the desert and there is water there–but it is a place easy for the enemy to come very close to, and many of that people have gone down the long trail with Hukuman, and the town is now very small–there are those who say now that soon there will be no town in that place. And that is the tale–and it is a true one."

Nah-tee was looking deep into the fire as the old man finished and her eyes were very dark with thought.

"Is it the big mesa, where we go–is that the one where the brother of the north went?" she asked, and the old man nodded.

"It is to that very mesa–and the one who is ruler now–he is called Lampayo–has come down from the son of Hukuman."

"And the other one?" asked Nah-tee, and there was a little frown place on her face–it was not often that she thought such deep thoughts–"Where is that town of the other one?"

The old man did not speak for a little and then he leaned forward and looked deep into the eyes of Nah-tee.

"How is that place called–that place where you have come from–that place in the little hills?"

"It is called Tawamana," said Nah-tee, and her eyes opened wide as she looked into the eyes of the old man. He nodded as she spoke.

"You have said it," he said. "It was to Tawamana that the brother of the south took his people–and it was for that reason that I told to you the tale of the little cliff people–and tell me now, what is the name that your father is called?"

"His name is called Pah-tō-qua," said Nah-tee, and she felt that a little her voice trembled–again the old man nodded, but his eyes were very bright.

"Always it is the gods who lead," he said. "It is for that that you have come to this place–daughter of Hukuman–and it is the hand of the gods that has led you to the place of the blue sky stones." The heart of Nah-tee beat very fast–there were very many things that she would like to say, and there were things that she did not understand that she wanted to ask about, but she did not know how, and the words would not come–and Moyo looked at her strangely.

"Ai-ee, but there will be things to say in that message to the mesa," said the old man. "When you have come to that place maybe you can tell much–if not already your father has told it."

"What is it like–that place–that mesa?" asked Nah-tee. "Is it that you have been there, my father?" The old man smiled, a very big smile.

"I have been there," he said. "I lived on that mesa from when I was a very little papoose until I reached the years of a man. Ai, and things happened in those days," and he laughed inside of himself. "But not always were they laugh-things. One time very nearly I flew away on the sky trail to the land of the Lost-Others."

"Was that before you were a man?" asked Moyo, suddenly interested.

"It was when I was like you," answered the old man, "and very much I was like to you in those days, that is why I spoke of that time. It seems almost that you have come back, a memory-thought of the me that was."

"I think I would like very much to hear about that time," said Moyo, and the old man looked into the fire and drew softly on his pipe–and Nah-tee smiled at Moyo and back at the old man eagerly–another tale! Ah, but there would be much to tell when again she saw her mother–and always a tale was good to hear!

CHAPTER VII
THE TALE OF THE SACRED EAGLE

Hi, for a tale that tells of the land
Where always the winds blow free–
Where the view is as wide on every hand
As ever the eye can see!

"I WILL tell of a thing that happened out there in the desert," began the old man, "that was before the days when I knew of this cañon place. Out there the spaces are wide and the trails do not go up and down on cañon walls but away out to the edge of the sky and beyond. But the very first part of it began in that pueblo built high on the rocky mesa–that pueblo where you go, maybe to-morrow (Nah-tee wriggled when he said that). It is a very old pueblo that has looked out over the desert of many colors for ages and more ages. This day that I shall tell about, the sunshine danced down on that pueblo as it did for most of the days of the year, and made yellow places where it was warm for the children to play in, and blue patches of shade for the lazy little dogs to dream in–always there are dogs where there is a pueblo! Chili peppers, red and good to eat, hung by the doorways of the stone houses, and women knelt on the flat roofs spreading the bright-colored corn and fruit to dry, and from the inside you could hear (Ai-ee, but I can hear it now!) rising and falling the high song of those who ground corn for piki bread."

"My mother does that," said Nah-tee eagerly, and the old man nodded with a smile.

"Always they grind corn, those mothers, for piki bread. And in the streets are always the laughing and cries of children at play. Away up at one end of the town was a house that stood by itself, apart from the others, the house of the medicine man. He was a good old man, that medicine man, with bright, dark eyes and snow-white hair, and a face all brown and wrinkled like the shell of a walnut–and like mine," smiled the old man. "Many people came to this old man for advice and for the words of wisdom that he gave–and he was also the keeper of the sacred eagle. I think, maybe, you know about that thing–that many tribes have a sacred eagle. He carries prayers to the gods who live in the Up-above country, the other side of the clouds, and he is trained to fly away to great distances and sometimes stays all day, but always he comes back to the place that is prepared for him on the roof of the house of the medicine man.

"There was a boy who lived in this mesa town–I will not tell you by what name he was called–I will let that be a guess thing–but a very big head of black hair had this boy, and two black eyes as round as the smoke hole in the kiva. And always he was getting into mischief and out again, but it is a true thing that always there was a smile for him on every face, and his mother loved him very much." The old man stopped for a moment and a smile came to his lips as he looked into the fire. "We will say"–and he gave a sudden chuckle–"we will say that his name was called–Moyo!" and Moyo felt a tingle of red come to his ears, but he did not speak. "Ah, well," went on the old man, "Moyo was a very good friend of this old medicine man and also he was a friend of the eagle–ever since he had been a very small eaglet he had come and petted the sacred eagle and brought to him choice bits of food, and when he flew over the desert Moyo had a peculiar little cry he would call to him, and the eagle would hear it and make great circles in the air and then drop down at his feet for the good thing to eat Moyo always gave to him when he called. The old medicine man smiled at this friendship between the boy and the eagle, and he would pat the head of Moyo and say:

"'The messenger to the gods is own messenger to our Moyo, it is little wonder that he is a very happy little boy–maybe the gods send to him messages that we others do not get.' And Moyo did not understand in the very least what he meant, but it did give him a very great happiness to have the eagle for a friend. And now we come to the time when a strange thing happened to Moyo. When he waked up in the morning it had been just like other days. There was the sun, shining and sparkling as it always did, and outside the children laughing at the things that sparkled in the rays of yellow sunlight, and his mother grinding corn, softly, as almost always she ground it, and all the other sounds that were of every day; but this was not like every day–you shall see! After a while, when he had finished the little tasks that even a boy must do every morning, Moyo took his bow and arrows and ran down to the foot of the mesa–down the long trail at the side of the

eagle flying above a young man
"The eagle would hear his cry and drop down at his feet."

big rock–down to the very edge of the desert itself–the desert that was always so full of interesting things to see and to do. Always Moyo loved to go down to the foot of the mesa trail, because he could look out into the desert from there and plan things. There were animals to trail in the desert–little rabbits and coyotes and horned toads–and there were always new things to see and new smells coming in on the wind–smells that told of sage and mesquite and distant camp fires. And there were dreams to dream–of that day when he would be a great warrior or a hunter or, maybe, a medicine man who knew of great magic. And then, too, there were friends in the desert who came sometimes to play–and one was Kee-gi, who lived always in the desert and cared for the sheep of his father. Kee-gi was there at the foot of the mesa trail this day, and Moyo saw him before he got all the way down–and that told him that this was not like other days, for not often could Kee-gi come, and Moyo shouted with joy when he saw him. "'I have no sheep to-day!' shouted Kee-gi, as soon as Moyo was near enough to hear him. 'My sheep have been sold, and all day I can do what I like–maybe hunt rabbits or do the thing that you would like."

"'I know what that would be,' cried Moyo, and his eyes flashed in great excitement. 'For a long time I have thought how it would be good to do that–and see if you do not think so, too. It is a big thing that I would like to do–a real hunter thing,' and he pointed to where across the desert, misty blue, a butte rose from the dusty sage and was outlined sharply against the sky. 'Look, that place–I would like to go there.'

"Kee-gi frowned a little as he looked, and he shook his head. Kee-gi was a little older than Moyo, and he liked to pretend to be very wise.

"'That is a very far place,' he said slowly, 'and they say there is no way to get up to the top.'

'"Yes, there is a way,' cried Moyo quickly. 'Cholo has said there is a way–and not very big hunters, like us, can very easily get up; and there are things on the top–maybe deer and other things.'

"'Cholo!' said Kee-gi. 'Cholo does not know things–he is not very old–and besides, do you know the name of that place? It is called the place of the witch. That is very bad.'

"'I have no fear of a name,' said Moyo, and a little red came into his cheeks now. 'Witches are not a thing that hunters are afraid of. I do not think there is a thing like witches at all. Always I have wanted to go to that place and see if there are deer there, and if there is a witch–look how I have this bow and arrows. Have you fear to go, Kee-gi?'

"A little red came now into the face of Kee-gi when Moyo said that, but he shook his head quickly.

"'Not ever have I fear of witches,' he said a little angrily, 'but we will need food for a trip like that, and maybe your mother will say no.' Already Moyo had started back up the trail.

"'I will get food,' he cried. 'You wait in this place and I will come back quickly. I will say to my mother only that we go to play a little way in the desert.' For Moyo knew well that his mother would not let him go to that far-away place. Not yet was he very big, and always she made him give promise to stay near the home place and to come back to her before the night. But this time–just this one time–he would not do that. 'If I tell her she will not let me go,' he said in his heart, 'and it is good for me to learn how to be a hunter.' But he did not feel right when he thought that. He had been taught always to mind, and he knew that bad things come almost always to those who do not mind. Maybe the day would have been a very different one if he had minded, but this one time he did not–and he made a little bundle of food to eat–piki bread and dried apricots and pinyon nuts–and he knew that Kee-gi would bring a little bottle of water with a loop of thong to hold it by. 'I will be back before the black dark,' he said to his mother when she smiled at him over her grinding, and that was all he said, and the feeling inside him was more uncomfortable than before, and he went very fast down the trail and did not look back once.

"Kee-gi had brought two ponies: his, that was kept in a corral near the foot of the mesa, and Kee-gi's own that he had brought with him, and he was holding them by two ropes at the foot of the trail, and when he saw them Moyo forgot every feeling but just the ones of joy and excitement for the good time that was here, and by the time they had climbed to the backs of the ponies and were flying over the desert Kee-gi, too, was shouting with happiness, and his eyes were like stars.

"Hi! How they flew through the sage and the sand! Sending scurrying the little hares and the lizards and making the stones click under the feet of the ponies. How the dust flew into clouds as they passed, and the pinyon trees rattled their cones in the wind of their going! How the heart of Moyo beat in time to the pounding of hoofs and the red in his cheeks grew to be brighter than that of the chili peppers drying at home!

"Kee-gi could not keep quiet on a ride like this, but shouted and laughed as his pony ran.

"'Are you glad now, Kee-gi,' cried Moyo, 'are you glad now, we are going to that place?'

"'I think I could go all the way to the moon,' he shouted back to Moyo. 'Anywhere I could go like this–and when I reached that anywhere place I would not stop!' Moyo laughed, for he felt just as Kee-gi felt. And on and on they went over the shining desert. Down sandy washes and up again, over hilly places where the ground was rough and rocky–and around sharp rocks that rose in their path. There was no trail where they rode, but that did not matter in a country where there were no rivers, for there was never anything that could turn them for long from the 'see' trail that was theirs, for there was that strange-looking butte always ahead of them. And for a very long time it did not seem to grow any nearer at all; and then, almost suddenly, it was close at hand, and they could see other sharp rocks standing out near it and almost reaching to its top.

"Oo–oh!' shouted Moyo as they drew near, and he shivered a very little bit, 'but it is big–and maybe those queer things that are on the top are bears, not deer!'

"'Ah–ha!' cried Kee-gi, and he was grinning now with a shiny look in his eyes. 'Now, have you those fear thoughts, when we come close and see how it is big?' Moyo gave a quick little sound in his throat.

"'Not ever have I fear thoughts,' he answered bravely, but his eyes grew big as he looked at the great rock with its flat top 'way up there near the sky. They tied the ponies to a big mesquite and then began to walk slowly around the rock searching for a way to get up. The more they looked the more the face of Kee-gi grew grave.

"'I think it is a too big place for a boy not as big as me to climb up,' he said at last. 'Big boys can climb big rocks, but little boys get hurt places.'

"'I will go up this place if you go,' said Moyo at the words of Kee-gi, and he said it in a voice that Kee-gi knew well–it was a voice that showed he felt anger, and when he spoke like that Kee-gi did not try ever to change what he said. 'I am not a little boy–and I can fight you if you like–I am not little at all.' And Moyo did not show that he felt a smile come inside him–he looked up at the top of the rock again, and then he shook his head slowly.

"'Then I will not go up,' he said. 'We will not either one go. Look how there is a little cañon near here where it is cool–we will eat here and look for berries, and then we will ride back to the mesa,'

"But then, at that very moment, Moyo, who had forgotten that he had been angry, called out to Kee-gi and pointed with his finger.

"'Look, Kee-gi–there is a way that goes up, and see how it is easy to climb.' Kee-gi looked, and there did seem to be a trail that led to the top. So they both forgot very quickly any thought of going back and began to pick their way up over rocks that led up through what seemed to be a great crack in the big rock itself. For a while they climbed without speaking at all, and there was only the scratching noise that their moccasins made on the rocks, and the little panting sound of their breathing, for the way was very steep, and they were soon out of breath. But when they were about half the way up Kee-gi called out suddenly and threw out his arm to Moyo.

"'Jump!' he cried. 'Jump up quickly and catch hold of that bush up there–the rock under my feet is moving!' As quickly as he said the words Moyo jumped, and Kee-gi also sprang forward, catching hold of the bush he had seen and pushing Moyo up to a place that was safe. And as they jumped the rock that had been under their feet moved and dropped down, and with a noise like thunder crashed down the trail the way they had come with a shower of smaller stones and dust following after it. The face of Kee-gi was very pale as Moyo looked at him, and he was shaking all over.

"'Quick!' he said to Moyo again in a strange voice. 'Get to the top very quickly. Other rocks might fall like that one.' And like two little animals they scrambled to the top of the rock and lay there for a moment to get their breath. Moyo was the first to look around.

"'Oh,' he cried, 'Cholo was not right. I think there is nothing else in this place that is alive but us. There is only a stone house,' and it was with great disappointment that he said it. 'And if there were deer I could not get them–my bow and arrows went down on that place in the trail when it fell.' But Kee-gi did not look up with any interest when Moyo spoke; there was still that strange look in his eyes that had come when the rock on the trail crashed away from where it had been, and Moyo saw it.

"'What is it, Kee-gi, why do you look that way?' he cried, and then he took hold of Kee-gi's arm and gave him a little shake. 'Have you a hurt place, Kee-gi?' he asked him then. 'Why do you not make answer?'

"'It is only,' said Kee-gi slowly, and he did not look into the eyes of Moyo, 'I do not know of a place where we can go down from here.'

"'We will go down the trail,' said Moyo with surprise in his voice. 'We will go down the very same way that we came up, and if the rocks slip it will not matter, for we will want to go down where they go–'

"'You did not look back,' said Kee-gi with a half-smile on his face. 'You did not look back when that rock fell down–I looked back and I saw the place where it had been–we cannot go down that way.'

"'Then we will find another way,' cried Moyo. 'Come, let us look!' And Kee-gi jumped up, and they went to every part of the top of the rock. It was not very big on the top, and in a short while they had been over every bit of it, and now they knew very certainly that there was not any way down at all, and the eyes of Moyo grew big and dark with the same look that was in the eyes of Kee-gi. The big rock in the trail had taken many others with it, and it was very plain to see that no one at all could go down that place without ropes, and they had not even a thong except the small loop on the water bottle that Kee-gi had brought. And now Moyo did feel that he was not a big boy, and he wished very hard that he had not come to this place where he knew well his mother would not want him to be.

"'Nobody knows the place where we are,' he said to Kee-gi. 'Not anybody at all–and this is not on a trail way where people come often, so they will not find even the ponies down there.'

"'That is why I have not happy thoughts,' said Kee-gi. 'It was a very wrong thing for me to come to this place and to bring you.'

"'You did not bring me,' said Moyo quickly, 'and always there is a way for the right thing to happen. We will think now–be very quiet and we will think!' And they sat very still, the two of them, and looked out over that great, beautiful desert–away to the home mesa that they could see, softly blue, in the distance. And they thought–and thought–and thought! After a while Moyo gave a little sigh.

"'I cannot think one thing,' he said, 'and how I wish that we could fly and had wings like that bird,' and he pointed with his lips to a bird that flew toward them from the great distance and came nearer and nearer.

"'It is an eagle,' said Kee-gi quietly. 'He has a nest in some of the great rocks near here–maybe in this rock,' he said as the bird came nearer and nearer. 'Only eagles could live now in a place like this.'

"'Yes,' answered Moyo. 'Maybe he has a nest in this place. But I would not shoot him even if I had my bow and arrows–I have a friend that is an eagle. Oh, look!' he cried eagerly; then, 'This is my friend–this is the sacred eagle. It is Pah-Low–see the red thong on his leg!' and he jumped up from the place where he had been sitting and watched the eagle with great excitement. 'Give to me a piece of piki bread,' he called to Kee-gi, 'and see how I will make him to come.' And when the eagle came very close he called to him the little call that he had given many times back on the home mesa. At first the eagle did not seem to hear, but after a little he began to make the great circles in the air that Moyo knew so well. Smaller and smaller grew those circles, and then–with a great thump–he landed on the rock very close to Moyo and looked at him first with one eye and then with the other, with a very queer look that seemed to ask:

"'How does it come that you are in this place–so far from the home mesa?' Moyo gave him a piece of the piki bread, and then he cried to Kee-gi:

"'He will go back! If only he could talk he could tell them that we are in this place!' Kee-gi jumped up when Moyo said that, and a light came into his eyes.

"'We will send a thing,' he said in great excitement. 'We will send a thing that will make talk without words!' Quick as thought Moyo pulled off the little buckskin shoe that was on his foot, and with a piece of thong from the water bottle run through a hole in the shoe he tied it carefully about the neck of the eagle. He bounded away when Kee-gi tried to come near, and if Moyo had not called to him again in a soft voice he would have gone; but he let Moyo come very near, and Moyo fed him more piki bread as he tied the thong. The eagle was impatient to be gone and spread his great wings as quickly as Moyo stepped away and shot out over the desert again– away–and away! Moyo and Kee-gi watched him fly farther and farther into the distance, until he was like a tiny speck, and then he faded altogether out of sight. They sat quietly after that for a long time without speaking; only the shine in their eyes showed the excitement that was in their hearts.

"'Do you think,' then asked Moyo in a very small voice, 'do you think, Kee-gi, they will know the shoe is my shoe–and do you think they will know where to come?'

"Kee-gi made a little pile of stones with his hand and pushed them down again before he answered, and then he spoke very slowly:

"'I think yes, they will know, maybe, that the shoe is your shoe–but that other thing–how can I know that? Look how the sun is going down in the sky. If you will come close, Moyo, maybe we can keep each other warm, for soon it will be cold.' And sitting very close together they watched the night creep over the wide desert–and the light in the west turn from red to gold–and then rose and then pale green, and one great star came out and blinked at them in a friendly way–but still below them it was quiet and dark except for the cries of distant coyotes–and no one came.

"Back on the home mesa the sacred eagle had come back to his place on the house of the medicine man, and very soon, when it came the supper hour, the strange lump thing on his neck was seen.

"'But what is this?' said the medicine man, and for a time he shook his head and was greatly puzzled to understand why the little buckskin moccasin had been tied in that place. He told to others how the sacred eagle had brought home tied to his neck the moccasin of a little child, and many thought it strange and puzzled over it for a little while. But when the hour was very late the mother of Moyo came running to him and asked to see that shoe.

"'My Moyo has not come back,' she cried. 'He is still little, and out there, somewhere in the desert, he is lost. Let me see that shoe–it may be that it is the shoe of my Moyo.' And when she saw it she grew more excited still and cried to them, 'It is the moccasin of Moyo–we must find him–quick!–we must go and find him!'

"'But where will we go?' cried one of the men. 'The desert is very large, and we cannot search all of it. Let the wise ones think on this and tell us the place to go and look.'

"'If they will think quickly!' said the mother of Moyo, and there was a look in her eyes that made them move very quickly. And they got together, those wisest ones, and looked at the moccasin and then out into the desert black with night–and one spoke at last:

"'Where does he fly to–this sacred eagle–when he goes out into the desert? And did anyone see him go this day–and was it long that he was gone?' The medicine man thought for a little and then he answered :

"'He goes to the high places where eagles build their nests–always he flies very high–and this day he flew toward the place where the sun goes down.' The other nodded.

"'When it is light we will go that way across the desert. It would not be wise to go in the darkness–we might pass the one we seek.' And the mother of Moyo had to be content with that. But all night long she sat with a very sad face, and when the first gray light of dawn came she called to the men and made them hurry, and when they rode into the desert she was with them on a pony. They took with them long ropes of rawhide, very strong.

"'For if the eagle flies only to high places,' said one man, 'it is in a high place that we will find the child, and it may very well be that he cannot get down.' And so they rode out over the desert, and as they rode always they called–and they frightened all the little animals of the sage and kicked up a very great dust. But just as they were starting out the medicine man went to the place of the sacred eagle, and he opened up the door of the cage place, and he said to the eagle words that were secret–and then he waved with his arms to the desert, and the eagle ran out over the roof and with a great beating of his wings soared out over the desert–away and away–until he was a tiny speck in the sky; and the medicine man watched him with his hand to his eyes, and then he came down from the house with a little smile on his face and got on a small horse and rode down the trail and caught up with the others who were searching the sage.

"'We will save very much time if we will ride fast to the big rock yonder,' he said, and he waved his arm toward the great rock that now stood blue and plain against the pale dawn sky. And the others asked no questions at all but struck their horses with their hands and rode very fast through the sage and over rocks and washes toward the big rock–and always the mother of Moyo rode two jumps ahead of the others, and her eyes saw everything that they passed.

"And Moyo and Kee-gi, watching, saw them coming from a great way off and laughed and shouted as they drew near. It did not take a great while for the men to fasten ropes to the stout bush that grew just above the broken place in the trail, and very soon Moyo and Kee-gi were standing at the foot of the rock, and the mother of Moyo had shining drops in her eyes, though a smile was on her lips–a very trembly smile. But the bad feeling that had been in the heart of Moyo changed quickly into a lumpy feeling in his throat.

"'Always I will tell you,' he almost sobbed in the arms of his mother, 'after this, always I will tell you the place where I go.'

"'Yes,' smiled his mother through the shining drops. 'Not always is there an eagle to come–that is a thing that does not happen all the time.' And it was such a true thing that she said that no one answered with one word"; and, all at once, the old man stopped speaking and smiled into the fire.

"That is a good tale," said Nah-tee and Moyo almost in the same breath. "And after that," asked Nah-tee, "did you–did that little boy–mind the words of his mother?"

"Ai-ee, but you have said a true thing," nodded the old man. "After that he was very careful to mind the words of his mother–and now has come the time when you must mind the words of an old man. Look how it is the time for little ones to sleep."

"But how can I sleep," asked Nah-tee, "when there are things–and things–and things to think about–and so soon now we go to that mesa," but her eyes were like owl's eyes already with trying to hold them wide awake.

"We shall see," said the old man, getting to his feet. "We shall see if you cannot sleep." And he took a blanket and made it into a bed place near the fire, with a soft fold for the head and a piece to go over the top. "Now," he said, when it was ready, and Nah-tee curled down inside like a little silkworm into its cocoon, and the old man tucked her in as carefully and as tenderly as ever her mother had done, and then he sat down near her and began to croon in a high, thin voice:

"Brother Coyote, out in the desert,
Sing–'Hi–yi–yi–yo–yo.'
Brother Owl, there in the pinyon,
Say–'Who–oo–oo–oo–oo.'
Little Gray Hawk dip his wing softly
And he come too.
Little Wind from the North creep close–creep close–
Little Wind from the South breathe soft–breathe soft–
Little Wind from the East look down–look down–
Little Wind from the West sing low–sing low–
   Papoose swing–so nice–so nice–
   Back and forth to the Moon.
   Papoose smile so soft–in his sleep.
   See, Little Brothers–
   Look, Little Brothers–
   Papoose smile in his sleep!"

And the old man stopped then and turned softly to smile at Moyo, but on that other blanket was another little warm bundle–very still–and the old man's smile deepened as he saw that he had been singing a sleeping song for two.

CHAPTER VIII
INTO THE DESERT AGAIN

Some may cry for the mountains high.
And some for the surging sea,
And some may aye for the cities sigh,
But it's ever the desert for me!

BEFORE the very first peep of old Father Sun, Nah-tee jumped to her feet in the stone house on the cliff and with shining eyes began to shake the blanket on which she had slept. Already the old man had gone from the room, and Moyo sat rubbing his eyes before the little fire which was snapping away happily as if it, too, knew that things were to happen this day.

"It is day," cried Nah-tee. "See, how it is day–and the very day when we will go to that big mesa!"

"Do you think we can walk to that place?" asked Moyo. "It is a far place–even yet it is far."

"Maybe the old man has a horse," said Nah-tee. "Surely sometimes he must go somewhere, and I think he cannot walk very far. Maybe he has a friend who has a horse that we can take, and when you come back this way you could bring him."

"No," said a voice in the doorway just then, and the old man walked into the room, "I have no horse, and the friends who bring me things do not live near, so I cannot get a horse from them, but I have a little goat–maybe you could ride the little goat," and his eyes had such a twinkle in them that even Moyo could not help smiling.

"Maybe on the trail we shall see one who has a burro or a horse that Nah-tee can ride," he said. "I do not need to ride–I can walk to far places." But the old man still smiled at him.

"We shall see," he said. "That little goat of mine is very strong, maybe you will say different things when you see him. But now we must eat, and you must go quickly before the sun makes the day too hot."

And very soon all three of them were climbing down the side of the cliff, putting careful hands and feet in the hole places made there so long ago by the little people of the stone houses; and Moyo had blankets on his back that the old man had given him, and all the food that he could carry; and even Nah-tee carried a water bottle of water with a soft thong that came across her forehead. And it was good, when they reached the bottom of the rocky wall, to stand down on the sand once more and to feel that It was firm and solid. When they were all down the old man said:

"Wait here," and disappeared behind a big rock, but he came back almost immediately, and he was leading a horse by a piece of thong. Moyo gave a shout of joy when he saw that horse, and he felt like jumping up and down as Nah-tee did.

"It is Niki!" he cried, and the pony threw up his head and gave a glad little sound of welcome as he heard his voice. "Oh, where did you find him?" he cried to the old man, and threw his arms about the neck of the little pony. Nah-tee, too, was greatly excited and danced about them both, and the old man watched them with shining eyes.

"He came to me," he said in answer to Moyo. "I did not find him–he came around the corner of the cañon to the little corral where I keep my goat, and when I came with food for the goat there was that one, too, waiting for food. I think maybe my little goat told him that I do not beat animals, and he waited to see." And the twinkle in the old man's eyes was brighter than ever. "Maybe you will not walk now," he said to Moyo, and Moyo answered him by tying the blankets to the back of the pony and then jumping up on top of them, and when he called to Nah-tee to come, only the little tremble in his voice showed how happy he was. But Nah-tee had, with the happy feeling, a sorry one to leave this good old man.

"Maybe you will come, sometime, to that mesa," she said a little wistfully, and the old man nodded brightly.

"I will come–sometime," he said. "And now, look at this." He gave a soft buckskin bag with a long loop of thong about its neck into her hand. "This is a thing to give into the hands of Lampayo, who is chief on the mesa–not to anyone else must you give it–and tell him the things you have told to me–all of them–and he will know what to do. And tell him that all is well in this place–Naybi gives you that message–tell him all of it."

"I will tell him," said Nah-tee, and she slipped the loop of thong about her neck and dropped the little bag down into the top of her dress where it would be safe. And then the old man gave them very careful directions as to how they were to go to reach the mesa, and he waved his hand to them as Niki turned with a clatter of his little hoofs and flew down the cañon, very glad to be free again. And Nah-tee looked back for a long time until a turn in the cañon hid the old man from her sight, and she blinked hard to keep back the little hot drops from her eyes.

"I like that old man," she said to Moyo. "He is good, and I wish very much that he would come to the mesa."

"Yes, he is good," answered Moyo, "but, oh, how it is fine to feel this pony under me again–and look how we are coming out of the cañon. Nah-tee, look how we are getting near to the desert!"

And never had anything looked so beautiful to either one of them as that desert looked! The red buttes, and the little stunted trees, and the great sweeps of open country, and the rolling hills and sandy washes, and the sage everywhere–and the tang of it in the air–and the big sky with the puffy little clouds rolling over it. Nah-tee was almost bursting with the joy of it.

"I think never was the sky so big!" she cried. "And the air so like a thing to eat–and the sunshine!–I think it is like–like–"

"I think," said Moyo suddenly, "the sunshine is

child sitting at the foot of a tree, holding a stick
Nah-tee had with the happy feelings a sorry one.

like the yellow prayer meal that they have in shrine places to send to the four ways–it looks to me like that."

"Yes, like that," nodded Nah-tee, "and like a smile feeling in the heart. I think the sunshine is the smile feeling of all the outdoors. I wish always the sun would shine." And when the sun was straight overhead in the sky and the pony stepped on his own shadow, they stopped under a pinyon tree and ate some of the food the old man had given them, and Nah-tee jumped up and down to get the queer, dizzy feeling out of her legs, and then they climbed up on the pony again and rode always in the way the old man had told them to go, to the mesa. And when they had been riding for a little while, all at once they heard a sound that they both had heard before, and Nah-tee opened her eyes very wide and looked at Moyo.

"It is the fat one," she said in a queer voice that had surprise and almost a laugh in it. "Listen, how it is the voice of the fat one. Maybe he will have mad thoughts for you, Moyo, that you made his little burro to run."

"Oi-ee," the voice was saying, "ai-ee–what now–what now–can I do? What can an old man do now?"

And then they came upon him sitting on a rock in a sandy wash, and not anywhere could they see the little burro–he was gone.

"Why do you speak in a sad voice?" asked Moyo a little timidly. He was not just sure what the fat one would say when he saw who it was that spoke, but he did not seem to remember that he had ever seen either one of them before, and he looked up without surprise in his eyes at Moyo's words.

"Ai-ee," he said again, "it is thieves who have been here. Have a care or they will take all that you, too, have. Look how they have taken the burro of an old man–and all that was on it–a burro that was good and faithful. Always he carried me faster than any horse, and I loved him more dearly than a brother. Ai-ee, is it any wonder that my voice is sad? And now I must walk–always I must walk. Evil ones–that they were!" and he shook his fist out toward the place in the desert where those robber ones had gone.

"When did they take the burro–and who was it that took him?" asked Moyo, and a little worry look came into his face. It was not often that thieves came into the desert, and he did not like the thought.

"At this very hour of the day yesterday, it was." said the fat one. "And since that time I have had no food. Two evil ones, they were–very dark men and not like our men of the desert. The Great Spirit will punish them for what they have done."

Moyo quickly gave to him food and water from his little store, but more than that he could not do, as it was very plain that the fat one could not ride on his pony.

"There is one thing that you can do," said the man, with his mouth full of food. "It is good that you came, for you can do this–look!" and he pointed to the far horizon in the way that they were going. "There is a red rock over there–red like the sky when the sun goes down–and it is shaped like an oven of the Hopi people–round with one little tree on the very top. It is a thing you will see and cannot mistake. Right by the side of that rock is the hogan of my brother. Tell him that I am here, and he will come and bring a horse, and then I will not have to walk."

"We will tell him," cried Moyo, and he shook the bridle thong for the pony to go. "We will tell him, and we will be there very soon," and he was glad there was a way he could help the fat one, for he felt very sorry for him that he had lost his burro. And, as they went flying over the desert again, Nah-tee was very thoughtful and her fingers held tight, through her dress, to the little buckskin bag the old man had given her.

"I hope those thief men have gone very far away," she said. "I would not want to see them."

"If we see them," said Moyo, "I will make the pony to go very fast–no thief pony could go as fast as this pony. I am not afraid." And Nah-tee liked the look in his eyes when he said that, and she forgot about the thieves after a little while. And as they rode all that afternoon until the sun began to make long shadows over the desert and they saw nothing but little hares in the sage and once a gray hawk in the sky, she remembered only that every clickety-clack of the pony's little feet brought them nearer and nearer to that big stone mesa. And of every little hill and butte that they saw in the distance outlined against the sky she would ask Moyo:

"Is that the mesa, Moyo? Do you think that is the mesa where we go?" But Moyo would shake his head.

"It is big," he said. "You will know when we see it." And when he had said that as many times as there are fingers on one hand–a thing happened!

They were coming near to the little red hill with the one tree on the top–from a great distance they had seen it–but even nearer than the little hill was a big rock that stood beside the trail; and just as they came to this rock, without any sound or call of warning two men stepped out from behind it, right in front of the pony, and one of them caught the bridle thong and held it tight while they looked with fierce eyes at the children.

"Let me go!" cried Moyo. "I know who you are–let me go. You are very evil men." The man who held the bridle opened his eyes very wide at that.

"Maybe you know who we are," he said then, "but we do not know who you are. There is a thing that I would ask you."

"Let me go!" cried Moyo again, and he pulled the head of the pony back with a jerk, and the thong came out of the hand of the man,

"Stop!" cried the man, and the tone of his voice almost made the heart of Nah-tee stand still. "You have come from out there in the desert–maybe you have seen what has happened. It is of my brother that I would ask–his burro has come back and my brother has not come."

Moyo pulled in the pony quickly, for he was about to spring away, and he looked at the man with his eyes open very wide.

"He is a big man and fat–my brother," said the man. "Have you seen a man like that?"

"Why did you not say at the first that you were his brother?" asked Moyo, and it was the men who looked surprised now, and the look in their eyes made Moyo laugh. "Yes, we have seen him," he said, "and I thought at the very first that you were the ones who had robbed him."

"Ai-ee," said one of the men, "then robbers have taken him?"

"Not him," said Moyo, and then he laughed again suddenly, "and not anything at all if that burro has come back–it was the burro that the men took." Nah-tee clapped her hands quickly then.

"That burro knew how to run–it was Moyo that taught him how–and this time it has saved him from the thief men."

The two men looked very much confused at these things, but when Moyo had explained to them and had told them how he had left the fat one, they laughed, too, a little, and did not worry any more, and then they led the way to the hogan by the little red hill.

"This night you will stay here," said the brother of the fat one, "and I will ride and bring back my brother from that wash–and you can see how to-morrow you will not have a great way to go," and Nah-tee looked eagerly to the place where he pointed. They had come around a corner of that red hill, and there, across the desert, rising high and blue and sharp against the horizon, was the most beautiful thing that she had ever seen–that is what Nah-tee thought as she looked at it–the mesa–like a dream thing with the stone pueblo on its top; and Nah-tee danced on her toes and cried aloud to the sky:

"To-morrow–oh, how I shall be glad when it is to-morrow!" And Moyo and the two men smiled–they could not help it–to see the happiness shine in her eyes.

riders on burros following a path across a landscape

CHAPTER IX
CHI-WEÉ OF THE HIGH ROCK

"Come!" cries the sunshine,
"Come to the desert."
"Come!" cries the little wind, dancing in glee.
"Come!" cry the hares and the sagebrush together.
"Yes, come! cries the dusty trail. "Come with me!"

AND up there on the high rock of the mesa was excitement–the very nicest kind of excitement! On the next day would begin the big time of the year for the pueblo–the time of dances and feasting and many other things–and Chi-weé was on tiptoe outside and inside with the joy of thinking of it. Already the old men were in the kivas, and the young men testing strength of mind and body in lonely places in the desert, where they ran long races and went without food, and everywhere could be heard the deep booming of the medicine drums. This time Chi-weé was to have a part in one of the dances, and she tried to shut her mind to the thought of it–it was such an exciting thought that she felt she could not wait if she thought much about it; and she tried not to smell the good things that were cooking everywhere–always before a dance time there were such delicious odors in the air that any little girl could hardly stand it; and afterward–Chi-weé rubbed the front of her little dress thoughtfully and wondered how many of those good things she could tuck away under that dress that was not very loose even now. Maybe, if she would run for a long time out in the desert, it would grow looser–and that seemed a good plan, so she started down the trail.

Chi-weé was not a big girl, and on the outside she looked very much the same as Nah-tee, if one did not look close, but on the inside she was not at all like her. Nah-tee was quiet on the inside and Chi-weé was never quiet–she was like the sunshine on moving water and like the little whirls of sand in the desert, for there was something in her that danced, and when she went into the stone house on the mesa that was her home, always her mother began to sing over her grinding, and the little baby brother made gurgle sounds with his mouth and held out chubby arms to be taken, and even the growliest people always smiled when she came near. Chi-weé was Indian and lived in this pueblo on the high rock–always she had lived there, and the very air was home.

It was nice on the trail, and Chi-weé was glad she had come. Back in the little house on the mesa was a great basket of meal that she had ground, all soft and feathery, to be made into piki bread–and the water jar was filled to brimming with cool, sweet water from the spring, and she had brushed and shaken everything that could be brushed or shaken. And so she gave a little skip of joy as she thought how now she could go down to the desert and chase little hares, or maybe Loki would be there with some new plan for play–always Loki thought of some new thing to do, and she liked better to play with him than with anyone else she knew, even if he was a boy and Navajo.

But Loki was not there when she reached the foot of the trail, and there were no little hares anywhere, but the wind sang a dare song for her to come out into the desert, and a little pinyon tree rattled its cones with a sound like laughing, almost in her very face–and just as Chi-weé put up her hands to give the little pinyon tree a greater shaking, she saw Loki coming on his pony, and he was followed by a high cloud of dust which showed that he was coming fast.

"Hi!" he called when he came near enough. "I am glad that you are down the trail. I came to tell you–and maybe you would like to see us catch them."

"What is it?" cried Chi-weé, and the excitement that was in Loki's face was reflected right away in hers. She caught hold of the thong of his pony and stood on her tiptoes to hear what he would say–she thought she would hear quicker that way.

"It is burros," he said, and not yet had he got his breath, so that he could say very few words at a time. "Old Mah-pee-ti saw them–wild burros. He knew that they were in the upper country where it is very dry, and the storm brought water down in a wash–over there"–he waved his arm–"and they could smell it and have come to get it. Quick, if you would see them. I have a rope and I can use it. I have used it many times with little cows. I will catch one of those burros–maybe one for you and one for me, too."

"Wait!" cried Chi-weé, and already she was running to the corral where she kept Magic, her pony, and before you could think a thought as big as a squash seed she was on it and riding like the wind after Loki in the desert. She could ride like a very part of the pony itself now, and that was another way in which she was different from Nah-tee. This was the very thing she had wanted–this was the way to make the day go fast so that the time for the dance would come quickly–and wild burros! How she would love to have one for her very own. The little dare wind blew about her cheeks and sent the red into them and made the small knob of her black hair stand out like a little banner behind her. Magic liked to run, too, and every once in a while he would kick up his heels just with the joy of being alive, and Loki shouted back to Chi-weé things about those burros.

"There is a big one leading them, and Mah-pee-ti says he is very fine and would be worth many dollars. Mah-pee-ti is waiting near the wash where the water is. I think with three of us we can very easily catch them."

But when they came up to Mah-pee-ti he did not think it would be such an easy thing.

"But maybe we can do it," he said. "For one reason maybe we can do it. They have come for water, and it will be an easy thing to drive them down into this wash. They have not got down to the water yet because the side of the wash where they are now is too steep to climb down–or to climb up again either, and that is the reason why we may catch them. We will drive them to a place I know where the bank is not so steep, and then, when they are down, I will make them to go back to the place where it is steep–only they will be down in the wash–and on the other side, the low side, Chi-weé will wave her hands and make much noise, so they will not go up that way, and below in the wash, in the only way that they can go, Loki will be waiting with his rope. It is the big one that we will try to catch–he is very fine–and if Loki can catch him I will come to help. Me, I do not know how to use that rope. Now, I wish that I had learned."

And Chi-weé, too, wished that she could use the rope, though she thought maybe she was too little to hold a big burro even if she did catch him. Mah-pee-ti pointed out the burros in a very little while, and it took sharp eyes to see them moving in the sage, where almost they were the same color as it was, and if they had not been moving Chi-weé thought that she could not have seen them at all.

It was easy to drive the burros down into the wash, but very exciting, for when they saw the horses they ran very fast and almost fell down the steep bank; and Chi-weé cried out when it looked as if the bank would cave in with them, but they were not hurt at all, and several of them ran right up the other bank, where it was low, and got away, and then Chi-weé drove her pony across to the low side and waved her arms like a little scarecrow in a cornfield and called out as loud as she could, and Mah-pee-ti came slowly after the burros, driving them down the middle of the wash where there was a narrow stream of water. Loki had made his pony go very fast and was far down the wash where the burros would have to come, and Chi-weé stretched her neck as far as she could to try and see him throw the rope at the big burro, but there was a turn in the wash, and she could not see him. She heard him shout once and then again, so she made her pony go fast around the turn place to see what happened.

Already the burros were gone–not anywhere could she see them–and old Mah-pee-ti was sitting on his little horse and laughing until the tears dropped from his eyes, and Loki had climbed down from his pony and was pulling his rope away from a little pinyon tree in the side of the wash, and he did not look at Mah-pee-ti and he did not laugh, but his face was redder than Chi-weé had ever seen it before. She opened her eyes very wide. What could have happened, and where were the burros?

"How could I know that he would run straight at my pony?" said Loki, and he spoke as if he was angry. "If he had not come straight at me the rope would have gone over his head."

"And it did!" cried Mah-pee-ti in a voice made high with laughing. "Very straight over his head went that rope–with my own eyes I saw it–straight over his head and onto the very nice little pinyon tree. But it is not a pinyon tree that we want." He wiped his eyes on the sleeve of his jacket. "Ai-ee, but the funny thing was the look in your face when you saw the burro run away and the rope stay still." And Chi-weé did not have to ask any more questions to know what had happened. She had a sorry place in her heart for Loki, for she knew that the anger in his voice was just to hide the hurt that was there.

"It was not a thing that anyone could do–or you would have done it, Loki," she said, and old Mah-pee-ti looked at her with eyes that still twinkled merrily. Loki did not answer, but the red in his face went away a little, and he climbed up again to the back of his pony. And all at once Chi-weé lifted her head with a startled look and listened. She had heard a little sound in the sage on the high bank of the wash, and without speaking to the other two, she looked for a place where her pony could climb up, and he scrambled up to the place where they had first seen the burros, and Chi-weé looked eagerly around. Almost immediately she saw what had made that sound, and she jumped down eagerly from her pony with a little pity sound in her throat. It was a small, fuzzy gray ball that lay on the ground, with stiff, awkward little legs sprawled about it, and one leg seemed to be doubled up in some way. The soft brown eyes that were turned up to Chi-weé's face made an ache place in her heart, and she took that little head in her arms and put her cheek down to the soft gray fur. Loki and Mah-pee-ti came scrambling up the bank close behind her to see what it was that had brought her here, and they both got quickly down from their ponies and came close to the little gray creature.

"It is a baby," cried Chi-weé. "See how it is a little baby burro, and the others have gone and left it here."

"I think it is hurt," said Mah-pee-ti, "or it would have gone with them. Let us see." And Chi-weé moved away that Mah-pee-ti might lift the little creature very tenderly and see what was the matter. "It is the hole of a prairie dog," said the old man. "See, his foot has gone down into the hole and he could not get up–but it is not broken," he added in a voice that quickly showed relief. "See how it is not broken." The little burro was standing uncertainly now on all four legs and looked from one to the other in a very funny way. "I think, maybe, he was stunned a very little bit," said old Mah-pee-ti, "and that is why he did not run with the others."

"I would like very much to keep him, but I think he must go with his mother," said Chi-weé wistfully, and she gave the tiny creature a little push in the direction in which the others had gone, but he did not move, he only looked up into her face and pressed his little body close against her skirts.

"Oh," cried Chi-weé, "he does not want to go–he wants to stay with me." And then she wanted to carry him away on the back of her pony, but Mah-pee-ti laughed at that.

"Get up on your horse and see what he will do," he said, and when she did that the baby burro stood uncertainly for a moment on those shaky little legs that did not seem somehow to be a part of him, and then, when Chi-weé rode slowly away, he followed after her in a funny, stiff-legged little gallop that made them all laugh. It made Chi-weé happy to see that he did want to be with her and would follow her back to the mesa, where she could give him a home in the corral with her pony and her goat. She went very slowly so that he would not tire too easily, and never did she take her eyes from him as she rode. But Loki had eyes for other things. He was watching the many trails of dust hanging in the air, which meant Indians riding in from every direction to the high mesa for the big ceremonies and dances which were to begin the very next day. Lampayo, the chief man in the pueblo, had said that never before had there been such dances as they were to have this time, and one big ceremony, he said, would make the people very happy, and would be a surprise. Loki was curious about that, and very much excited. He felt that all the things that happened on the mesa were his things, as he lived so near by in the hogan of his mother, and his friends were mostly the people of the mesa; but some friends he had who lived out in the desert, as he did, and he watched now to see if any came. And old Mah-pee-ti rode behind them all, singing a low, queer song to himself.

"Look how he runs," cried Chi-weé to Loki. "Look how that baby burro runs–I think he will be very fine and strong when he is grown, and he will help my father to bring wood to the mesa." Loki looked at her and laughed.

"It has just come into my head," he said, "how it will look when that burro is grown and you go into the desert with him. First will come Magic–he is big–and after that the burro, and then will come Ba-ba," he grinned. "It will be like a show thing, and maybe people will come to see how you look. I think now you should get a rabbit who is tame and will follow after Ba-ba, and then, after the rabbit, maybe a little horned toad." Chi-weé laughed back at him.

"That would be a fine thing," she said. "And after the horned toad could come Loki with a little stick in his hand to make them mind and walk in the right trail." Mah-pee-ti chuckled as they talked, but the little burro walked slower and slower and finally stopped with a queer little look at Chi-weé.

"He is tired," she cried quickly, and scrambled down from her pony and put her arm about the little gray neck of the burro. Loki looked at her and grinned sheepishly at a sudden thought

"It is a queer thing," he said, "how I throw a rope and get only a pinyon tree, and you do not throw a rope, and see how you get a burro."

Mah-pee-ti grinned when Loki said that, but there was something more than a joke sound in his voice when he spoke.

"There are ropes that are not made of see things," he said. "They go more surely than the other kind–and maybe that is the kind of a rope that Chi-weé has thrown." And Chi-weé smiled into the brown eyes of the little burro and did not answer.

And now the day of the big dances was almost here–and nearer and nearer across the desert rode Nah-tee and Moyo–and closer and closer came other things–that they did not know anything about–ANY OF THEM!

CHAPTER X
LOKI TELLS A STRANGE TALE

There's many a tale
Of the desert trail
Told when the camp fire blazes bright;
And hearts beat high
When they hear the cry
Of prowling brothers in the night!

THERE were many people riding on the trails that led to the big mesa, and to Nah-tee and Moyo it was a very exciting thing to be going the same way with such a happy crowd; for everyone seemed to be happy, and there was much laughing and singing and telling of jokes. There were big wagons with canvas tops to them filled with women and children who smiled and waved their hands to Nah-tee and Moyo, and there were many men and boys on ponies, and others riding on burros, and some, the ones who came from near-by places, were walking. Many brought with them little goats, and there were very many dogs, too–friendly dogs and dogs who barked and were not friendly–and some children held chickens in their hands.

Bigger and bigger grew Nah-tee's eyes as they came closer to that great mesa, and happier and happier beat her heart.

"I think–like Tashi said–that all the people in the whole world are coming to this place," she cried to Moyo. "And my mother and father will be here. Make the pony to go fast, Moyo, I think I cannot wait!" And Moyo kicked Niki with his heels and went so fast that the children in the wagons called out to him and little boys slapped their own ponies and tried to go as fast as he was going, and old men called out that it was a race and got out of the way for him to pass. And then a boy who was near the mesa waved his arms and made his own pony come close to Moyo, and he called out:

"Hi, boy! My pony can go faster than your pony–will you have a race with me?" But when Moyo saw the face of the other boy he gave a pull to Niki and made him almost stop.

"Loki!" he cried. "How I am glad that you are here."

"Hi!" cried Loki again, and pulled his own pony down to go slow as Niki was going. "It is Moyo," he said then. "I did not think to see you in this place, and so I did not know it was you."

"And I did not think to see you here," said Moyo. "When you were with your sheep away out there," and he waved his arm back toward the desert, "I thought always that you stayed in that place. I did not know you came to the mesa."

"My hogan is close to the mesa," said Loki. "I only went to the far places to get good pasture for my sheep. And do you come here to see the dance?"

"Oh, no!" said Moyo, and he grew very excited at once and told Loki all about Nah-tee and how she was looking for her mother and father and her people, and Nah-tee spoke eagerly, too, and told of the time she had run away, and the strange men who fought her father, and Loki listened with eyes that grew very big and dark with interest and thought.

"That is a strange thing," he said when they had finished. "I think never have I heard a stranger thing than that, and we must tell it all to Lampayo. I myself will take you to his house so that you can tell him."

"Yes, Lampayo was the one," said Nah-tee. "The old man of the cliff said to go to Lampayo–and something more than words I must give to him," and she felt thoughtfully the lumpy place in the front of her dress where the little buckskin bag was. But suddenly, as he was looking at her, a queer change came into the eyes of Loki, and he pulled his pony to a stop.

"Now I remember a thing!" he cried. "Not until this very minute did I remember it!"

"What is that?" asked Nah-tee in a voice of surprise, and Moyo, too, looked at him wonderingly.

"It was that very time," cried Loki, "the day that you ran down the wash. I was out there in the desert with my sheep (only one day have I been back here to this place)–I remember that day! I knew that there was a camp of people on the other side of the wash from where I was. I saw them come and make a shelter place, and they made a great deal of noise, and I thought I would go to another place with my sheep; but the grass was good there and I waited to see if they would go away, and when it was morning they put the packs back on the backs of the horses and I could see that they would go in a very little while; and then more men rode up on horses and they said words in loud voices, and the people of the camp place went away, and the others, too, rode away, and I was glad to have it quiet again. But after a while two men came riding across the wash with worry looks on their faces, and they asked if a little girl had come that way"

"It was for me they looked!" cried Nah-tee.

"Yes, it must have been for you–and I told them that I had not seen you, for that was true. I do not know how you could run down that wash and not anybody see you, but it must have been that way. The two men were very sorry, and they rode up and down the wash and all around for a very long time; and they looked and called out loud–but I think it was in their thought that the other men who came had taken you away, and after a while they rode away very slowly."

"But where did they ride?" cried Nah-tee. "That is the thing that I want to know. Did you see the trail that they went?"

"No," answered Loki slowly, "I did not see that. You know how there are hills and rocks and trees in that country and I could not see more than a little way on the other side of that wash; and besides, a boy came on a horse, and he told me I was to come back to the mesa quickly, and he would follow with the sheep, and I did not see the two men or any of the others again. But one of the men who came to chase the camp people away, I saw him, when he came at the first, and I think"–Loki stopped and a little frown came on his face–"somewhere I have seen that man–right at this time I cannot think where. But maybe, if we can find him, he can say where your people have gone."

"I think they have come to this very mesa," said Nah-tee. "See how everybody is here–and if they are here I will surely find them," and she looked eagerly into every face that she saw, but not yet did one familiar face seem to be anywhere.

"We will go to Lampayo," said Loki then. "He will know what to do, and if the old man of the cliffs has told you to do that, we will go quickly now. And I have a friend on the mesa who will give you a home place until you find your mother. My friend is very nice, and to-morrow you shall see how she will be in a dance–in a very big dance–and we will be there to watch her. I have told her how I shall be there. And we will put our horses in the corral of Chi-weé and walk up the trail."

Mah-pee-ti was coming down the trail as they started up, and he stopped in front of them to say a teasing word, as almost always he liked to do–always there was a twinkle in his eyes, and in the words that he said.

"There is no dance of the sheep up there," he said to Loki. "Why do you come to the top of the mesa?"

"I come to see Lampayo," said Loki. "We have a very big thing to say to Lampayo."

"Ah," said Mah-pee-ti, and his face grew serious at once. "Lampayo is in kiva–did you not know that? Not anyone can see Lampayo until the dance to-morrow, and after that not until the big ceremony that he talks about. He has given word that he will not talk with anyone at all until then."

"But this is a big thing," insisted Loki. "This is a thing he will want to know."

"And I have brought him a something," said Nah-tee eagerly. "From a very long way I have brought it."

"Maybe you could tell to Su-hú-bi that thing," said Mah-pee-ti. "If it is a so big thing Su-hú-bi has big ears and can listen."

"I do not like Su-hú-bi," said Loki. "Maybe he has big ears, but his eyes are little like a pig's, and I do not like the words he says."

"Not anyone likes Su-hú-bi," said Mah-pee-ti, "but before very long he will be the chief one in this pueblo, when Lampayo has gone. Me, I think he is evil inside of his heart, but I must say very quietly a thing like that–maybe even the rocks will hear. But if you cannot tell that thing to Lampayo, Su-hú-bi is the one who is next to him in power."

"Have you seen any strange people in this place?" asked Nah-tee suddenly.

"Ai-ee," said Mah-pee-ti, and the twinkle came back in his eyes. "Look how I see you–you are strange, and this boy, too–not ever have I see him before."

"But more strange people," said Nah-tee, "a whole campful of them–this many!" and she held up the fingers of both hands. "Maybe more than that."

"All the mesa is covered with strange ones," said the old man. "But yes," he said then, as if a new thought had come to him, "there is a camp of strange ones down there," and he made a motion around the corner of the mesa down in the desert. "This very morning I saw them–maybe they are the ones you ask about."

"Maybe so," said Loki quickly. "Let us go and see before we go up the trail," and a light came into the eyes of Nah-tee, and they turned and walked quickly down into the edge of the desert again.

Here it was very different than it had been out on the trail. Here were little camps and groups of people, and already it looked as if a town had planted itself at the foot of the mesa. There were camp fires with bubbling pots on them, and many little shelter places, and big wagons and horses and goats and burros, and men and women and children, with baskets of food and little cakes to sell, and all were dressed in the very best clothes that they owned. On their faces were their very best smiles, and Nah-tee and Moyo and Loki smiled, too, at all the happy confusion and noise about them. For always Nah-tee thought surely where there were so very many people she would find her own mother and father. But an ache place came into her heart and made her eyes feel queer after they had looked and looked, through all the camp places there were there, and had not found them.

The very strangest part of all was that the camp place that Mah-pee-ti had told them about was deserted–not anyone at all was there! Many people had seen the camp place there, they told Nah-tee and Loki, but very early that morning it had been moved away, and they did not know where it had gone. The people in it had been very quiet and had not had words for anyone, and they had not gone away all at once, so that others would see, but very softly, one by one, and without noise, so that no one would notice.

"Maybe it was not your people at all," said Loki. "I think all this time your people are up there on the mesa top," but in his heart he was not so sure of that. Strangers who came together almost always made a camp place at the foot of the mesa and would go up to the top only when it was time for the dance.

"And that is when we will find them!" he cried suddenly–"when it is time for the dance. Everyone comes then to the top of the mesa–and they will come–you shall see, Nah-tee, how they will come!" And Nah-tee tried hard to believe the words that he said, and she tried to shut out of her mind the fear thoughts that wanted to come–that tried to say so very many things that she would not believe. A very fat woman who was bending over a camp fire looked up at that very minute and saw the look that was in the face of Nah-tee, and she put down in a great hurry the stick that was in her hand, and she came over and put her arms around the little girl and began to croon over her.

person looking down at an encampment far below
It looked as if a town had planted itself at the foot of the mesa.

"Where is thy mother, little one?" she asked tenderly, and all the story came tumbling out of the shaking little lips, and the big tears made dark spots on the dress of the woman, and Loki and Moyo told quickly the words that Nah-tee could not tell for the queer shaking that was in her, and more and more the woman patted her on the head and on the trembling little back.

"It is hunger that you have," she said then, finally. "There–hush, little one. To-morrow we will find your mother, but very surely we will find her–but now, what do you think is in that pot?–A stew of rabbit meat–and there is enough for all. Come–sit here on this blanket and we will have a feast that is good for a thing like this!" And Nah-tee sat down on the blanket, and other little children came and sat down, too, and looked at Nah-tee with such a wonder in their big eyes that a giggle feeling came inside her, to see them. And with the first little giggle she felt better–much better. After all, no dreadful thing had happened. She knew very well that she would find her mother–a feeling inside told her that–and to-morrow was the big dance–and here was the mesa with all the new things to see! And now, this very minute–right under her nose–were a rabbit stew, and seed cakes–the woman put one into her hand. And Loki and Moyo were watching the woman fill little pottery cups with the stew, and their eyes were big and happy. No, this was not a bad time–and already Nah-tee began to wonder that the tears had come so quickly to her eyes–and to-morrow

"Look," cried Loki, "almost it is to-morrow–see how the sun is going down!"

"But I do not want it to come too quick!" said Moyo, and he smacked his lips. "Right now I want the time to move slow–rabbit stew is a thing that I like!" And the woman smiled broadly as she handed him a bowl filled to the very top–and after that no one spoke for a long while.

CHAPTER XI
SU-HÚ-BI OF THE LITTLE EYES

Hi–yi–Little stars peeping!
Ai–yi–Shadows come creeping!
Papoose–so heavy eyes–
Papoose–so dreamy eyes–
Papoose–so owly eyes–!
–Little one sleeping!

WHEN they had eaten all the rabbit stew and piki bread and little seed cakes that they felt they could eat, the sun was very low in the sky, and already one big star hung like a lantern over the mesa. This had been a very long day, and many things had happened, but the strangest thing of all was yet to happen before the moon came up; but Nah-tee did not know that. She felt very comfortable with the rabbit stew inside, and the warm glow of the fire outside, and the woman looking at her with a friendly smile in her eyes and singing a little song under her breath. It was much like a home place, this camp fire, and the little children who belonged there looked happy, too. But Moyo did not look so comfortable. He had a worry look in his eyes in spite of the stew and the friendly woman, and in a little he leaned over to Loki and spoke in a low voice, but Nah-tee and the woman, too, heard the words that he said, and the woman did not sing any more.

"You have said how the man who will be chief when Lampayo is gone has very little eyes," said Moyo. "A man with little eyes has been looking at us for a long time. He watches everything that we do–over there he stands," and Moyo made a motion with his lips toward a man who stood in the shadow of a big rock not far from the camp fire where they sat.

"Yes," nodded the woman, "that is Su-hú-bi–I have seen how he is there. Always he watches like that when there is a thing he does not understand. Like a snake he is–like a snake who hides in the sage. Ugh! It makes a shiver feeling come in me to see him."

"Is he an evil one?" asked Nah-tee, and she gave a little shiver, too, as the woman had done; she did not know why, but she could not help it.

"Not ever have I seen evil that he has done," said the woman, "and no one knows that he has truly done bad things; but evil things happen, and something says that Su-hú-bi has done them. He will not be a good one to have for chief. I have a hope that Lampayo will live for many suns."

"But why do they make him chief if the people do not like him and he is evil?" asked Nah-tee wonderingly.

"That is a thing you will not understand," said the woman. "Not even do I understand very well. But there is no son for Lampayo, and no brother, and when he is gone Su-hú-bi is the one who is the highest in the pueblo. What the people like does not matter, it is a law, and the law is stronger than the people."

"Hush!" said Loki quickly. "See how he comes over here." And they silently watched the man as he came close to their camp fire.

Nah-tee did not like the look of him at the very first. There was no kindness in his face, and it was true that his eyes were very small and close together. She watched how those eyes looked quickly at each one of them before he spoke–little they were, but very sharp like the eyes of a snake, as the woman had said. He stood near to them and crossed his arms, and for a little he did not speak. It looked to Nah-tee as if he wanted them to see who he was and to feel that he was very powerful. Then he spoke.

"I am Su-hú-bi," he said, and waited another minute before his next words. "When Lampayo is not here I am chief–and now Lampayo is not here–he is in kiva. All who come to this pueblo with words for Lampayo must come now to Su-hú-bi. I have been told that you have words for Lampayo. Tell them now to me."

Nah-tee felt that for a little her tongue would not move to make words, but Loki spoke quickly in her stead.

"The words that we have are for Lampayo," he said, "'and we will wait until he can come."

"You will not wait," answered Su-hú-bi, in a very even voice, but there was a hard sound under the evenness. "You will tell me now–and it is not you who will speak." He frowned darkly at Loki and then looked keenly at Nah-tee. "Why have you come to this mesa, girl?"

Nah-tee got quickly to her feet and stood in front of him on her blanket and looked squarely into his eyes. She was not afraid now–not one single bit–and a strange feeling of excitement brought the blood burning to her cheeks. She could think of no reason

an angry-looking man
There was no kindness in his face

at all why she should not tell this man what she had told to others. No evil could come of that surely, and maybe good would come–maybe he would know things that the others did not know, if he was next to chief. And so she told him all the same story that she had told to Mah-pee-ti and to the woman at the fire, but about the little bag that was under her dress she did not tell him, and about things that the old man of the cliff had told to her–those things were for Lampayo and for no one else. And Su-hú-bi watched her as she talked; strange looks came into his face, and one time his eyes were like little points of light–green and queer-looking–but he did not say one word until she had told him all the tale, and then for a while he stood silent, still looking into her face with those eyes that seemed to see everything and yet did not meet her own. It was plain that what she had told him had made him think deeply, and the look in his face told that the thoughts were not pleasant ones.

"Your words have not told me," he said then, "they have not made plain to me why you have come to this mesa. Why did you think to find your father and mother and your people at this place? Did they tell you that they would come here?"

"No–o," said Nah-tee slowly. "They did not tell me that, and I do not know why I came–only–all other people came here–I thought maybe they, too, would come because of that."

Su-hú-bi frowned.

"Why do you think they have not gone back to the place they have come from? I think that is what they have done."

"Oh, no," said Loki suddenly. "I do not think that. Over there, this very morning, there was a camp of people at the foot of the mesa, and I think they were the people of Nah-tee." Su-hú-bi frowned more deeply than before, and the look in his eyes was very ugly to see as he turned to Loki.

"Always you speak when I do not ask you," he said. "If people were in that camp, where have they gone now? I am the one who am told such things. Not to you, a child, are they told. And your words are not true–I know how they are not true. Have you told to others all these things that you have told to me?" He asked this of Nah-tee, and his face was very different when he turned to her, and the hard sound was not in his voice, but his eyes were the same.

"To some others I have told them," said Nah-tee. "To Mah-pee-ti and to this woman who is kind."

"Ah," he said, "to Mah-pee-ti," and his eyes were so little now that they were hardly a thing to see at all. Then–"Wait here," he said, "I will come back and I will have a thing to show you," then quickly he had turned and was gone. So quickly that even the woman stood with open mouth and rubbed her eyes to see if they were not telling her things that were not true.

"Now, that is strange," she said, and turned to Nah-tee. "Did you hear how he said to wait? Maybe it is that he knows more than we know."

"I do not like that man," said Nah-tee, "and I do not like the things that he tells."

"I do not believe his words," said Loki. "There is evil in his face. Maybe he has reason for what he says–I do not know what the reason can be, but I think he does not tell true things. But we will wait here and see what he will show."

Nah-tee shivered a little.

"It is growing cold," she said, "but I am glad the night is so close. Something tells me that to-morrow good things will come."

Loki nodded.

"Chi-weé has that inside voice like that," he said, "and always it tells true. I am glad, too, that to-morrow is so near. I have not forgotten how the dance is to come, and after that the good things–you do not know how there are more good things than ever you have seen–and I know how your own people will be there when it is the time for the dance."

"Su-hú-bi says for you to come," said a voice very suddenly, close at hand–and all of them jumped, it came so unexpectedly. "Su-hú-bi says for the three little ones to come–not the woman," said the voice again, and the man who spoke stood very tall and looked at the woman who had made a move to come with them.

"I would like to come, too," said the woman. "I will have a care of those children."

"Su-hú-bi says, 'Bring three children and no woman,'" said the man again, and he did not move from her path when she tried to pass him.

"Then do not go!" she cried to Nah-tee. "Do not go with this man. It will be better if you will stay with me." Nah-tee stood uncertainly–she did not know just what to do. What was this thing that Su-hú-bi would show? She was curious about that–very curious and excited–and surely he could not wish to do harm to the two boys or to herself.

"Su-hú-bi will show you how your mother is come," said the man then, when he saw her uncertainty. "He said you will be glad to see the thing he will show–and the two boys–they, too, will be glad. There is no harm to come–this woman is foolish. Su-hú-bi will have anger if you do not come quickly."

"I think it would be good to go," said Moyo. "Maybe he will take us to Lampayo."

The woman gave a shrug to her shoulders, then:

"If you will go, you will go," she said, "but I do not like it."

Nah-tee threw her arms about the woman's neck.

"You have been good," she said, "and we give you thanks, but we will come back and show you how we are safe, and my mother, too, will give you thanks. There is no harm that can come–you will see how we are very safe."

The woman did not answer, but there was a worry look in her face as the three followed the tall man away from her camp fire and into the shadows that were deep now about the foot of the mesa.

The man did not follow the trail that led up the side of the mesa, as Nah-tee had thought that he would, but took an indistinct path through rocks and brush that led around the mesa and over low hills a little way out into the desert. After they had walked for what seemed a very long while Loki stopped suddenly and asked:

"Why do we go away out in this place?"

The man did not stop but spoke over his shoulder:

"Su-hú-bi say–strange people from camp out here in hogan–people of little girl, maybe. Very close now. Su-hú-bi say–big hogan on this trail–you shall see."

The heart of Nah-tee beat high in her breast at his words. Could it be true? Would she truly see her mother now–in just one little moment? And why was there such mystery about it? Why did her people always move as if it were a secret thing that they did? These were very troublesome thoughts and very big. She walked close to Loki.

"Do you think he tells a true thing?" she asked in a low voice so that the man could not hear. But that was a thing Loki could not answer.

"We can only wait and see," he said. "I do not very much like this thing, but I do not think that they would do us any harm–there is no reason, and it would give nothing to Su-hú-bi."

"No," said Moyo, walking close to the other two. "And we are three–I think anyone would fear to do us harm." And just then they all three at the same moment saw the big hogan by the side of the trail. Smoke was coming out of the top, and Nah-tee gave a little jump as she saw it.

"Quick!" she cried. "Maybe it is true! Maybe my mother is there." And she ran a little toward the hogan. It was black dark now, and they were very far from any of the camps at the foot of the mesa, and not anyone was near to this place. Not anyone but the man who had come with them, and he stopped now at one side of the doorway of the hogan and waited for them to enter.

Loki saw all this quickly, and he felt that something was not right.

"Wait!" he cried to Nah-tee. "Do not go in. We will look first and see if your mother is here!" But Nah-tee had not heard him. Already she had gone past the blanket that was hanging in the inner doorway, and as Loki and Moyo hesitated for one moment another man came from behind the hogan–Loki could not be sure, but it looked to be Su-hú-bi–and together they pushed the boys roughly through the entrance and closed a heavy door of logs behind them. It did not help that Loki kicked and fought as the men pushed him in, they were very strong and only laughed at what he did; and he heard them put other logs against the door to make it strong.

"What is it?" cried Nah-tee, and her eyes were big with fright as she turned to face the two boys. "There is no one here–why do they bring us to this place?"

"Maybe sometime we will know," said Loki bitterly. "Now we do not know–but one thing I know–this very minute I remember it. That man, the one who fought with your father in the desert–I could not remember then who he was. Now I know–it was Su-hú-bi!" and he kicked angrily at a little piece of wood on the floor to think that he had not known this thing before.

CHAPTER XII
THE BUTTERFLY KATCHINA

Boom–boom, sounds the drum!
Dancing, prancing redskins cornel
Rattles shaking–
Mesa quaking–
To the booming of the drum!

VERY early the next morning the little dawn wind had come and gone, and Chi-weé had not noticed, for Chi-weé was fast asleep in her bed of skins. Her father had arisen long ago and had gone with the other men to the kiva, and her mother was grinding corn very softly so as not to awaken Chi-weé, in a corner of the room–back and forth on the metate with her grinding stone–and even the little baby brother was gurgling in great content as he lay and played with his toes in the bed of her mother.

And then–over the edge of the world shot a great ray of golden light–straight across the desert it flew–to the stone house up on top of the mesa–through the door that was open to the east, and right onto the closed eyelids of Chi-weé and danced up and down there.

"Wake up!" it cried. "Look, how it is day!–and have you forgotten, Chi-weé, what is to happen this day?" Chi-weé sat up in bed quickly and blinked at the yellow light, and then she jumped to her feet, and her mother smiled at her across the little room.

"Ah, Little Sleepy-bird is awake at last–and to think you would sleep late on this day!"

"Oh," cried Chi-weé, and pulled the skins from her bed and began to shake them–she was very wide awake now–"it was because of a dream that I slept this time. It was a very wonderful dream, my mother–and I thought it was a true thing. It might be a true thing, this very day." And her eyes grew big and danced at the thought. "In the dream the Butterfly Katchina was given to me to wear in the dance."

"Ah!" said her mother. "All the little girls in this town are dreaming that dream to-day, and for someone it will be a true thing."

It was very true–there was a sort of excitement that you could feel in the air all over the town–and a sound of shaking blankets and sweeping and a clatter of jars, that was not heard every day of the year.

All this was happening in the pueblo built of gray stone high on the top of the rocky mesa, where you could look out over the desert, misty blue and purple in the very early morning, but shining with color when the sun drove away the mists. You could see that it was a very old town, and it had always been just the same as it was now as far back as the oldest grandfather could remember. The houses were square and were built one on top of the other with long ladders for stairways reaching from one story to the other; and with crooked little streets that came very near to losing themselves, running in and out among the houses. Almost every roof was covered with ears of corn drying in the sunlight–purple and red and yellow and blue–and there were yellow pumpkins, too, and squashes and long strands of meat and red chili peppers that fairly snapped with color against the gray stone walls. And on some of the rooftops women were making pottery jars, and on others grinding corn and weaving baskets–and in the streets babies, brown and roly-poly, were playing with the dogs and turkeys and rolling over and over in the dust.

On one side of the rocky mesa was the trail that went winding down to the spring, away down in the edge of the desert–and every drop of water that came up to the pueblo had to come up that trail, carried in jars–and everything at all that was brought to the top of the mesa had to be carried up that trail, and on hot days it would seem very steep to little feet; but Chi-weé did not mind, even though she was a very plump little girl, for Chi-weé was Indian, and she loved the sun and the outdoors and every stone of the little trail and every spot in the great glowing desert; and to go down the trail for water was an adventure that could be very exciting at times. Many things came to the spring. Once Chi-weé had found a little rabbit there that was almost dead from thirst and hunger; and another time there had been an old man–a very queer old man, and that had been a real adventure; and often Loki was waiting at the spring for her to come out in the desert and play.

But this was not a day to play in the desert–this was a very different kind of a day. Even the sounds and the smells were different. Besides the sweeping and rug-shaking sounds that were being made by the little girls, there was a queer, booming noise that seemed to make the very air to shake, like thunder that is far away. That was the drum down in the kiva, and once in a while the sound of rattles and the deep chanting of men came clearly to the ear, and everywhere was the smell of good things cooking. Chi-weé liked that very much–always she liked good things to eat, and that was why she was round like a little pumpkin herself.

And besides all this–besides the sounds and the smells of the day, there was the most important part of all–the part that was to come when the sun was straight overhead–the part that made the eyes of Chi-weé to shine and brought a little skip of happiness to her feet: it was the dance of the Little Katchinas–a dance different from any other one of the year–and Chi-weé was to take part in it!

The dance of the Little Katchinas was only for children, but it was a very important dance. It was really a prayer to the very small springs away down in the earth, to send water for the first plantings of the season. The Katchinas were painted wooden masks that were worn over the head and face in the dance. Some were made to look like corn, and some bees, and others were like rainclouds and the different grains and melons and fruits, but the most important one of all for this particular dance was the Butterfly Katchina.

The one who wore this Katchina was the luckiest little girl in all the pueblo–for one day she was like a queen. She was given the chief place at the great feast of good things that followed the dance and everyone brought to her gifts. But the most exciting part of all was that no one knew who would wear the Butterfly Katchina–not even old Lampayo himself, who gave it–not until the very last minute did even he know. For the wearing of the Butterfly Katchina was to be a reward, a prize, and no one but Lampayo knew for what it was to be given. And not until the last minute could it be known who would win it, and every year it was awarded for a different thing. One year it had been given to the little girl who ground the finest meal and made piki bread of it–thin blue cakes that were very good to eat. And another time it had gone to one who made jars almost as well as her mother made them. And then, at one time, Lampayo had given it to a girl who wove a basket with an eagle on it–and this time–Chi-weé gave a jiggy little dance step as she thought of it–this time who could tell who would get it!

That was why there had been a sound of shaking and grinding this day–every little girl in all the pueblo was doing everything she could think of to

a drummer and dancers
The dance of the Little Katchinas was only for children.

win that Butterfly Katchina, and for days past it had been the same.

Chi-weé thought, with an extra beating of her heart, of all the things that she had done. There was the room of her home, kept so clean and shining that no spot of dust could find even a tiny place to rest; and great baskets of corn ground to the finest, softest meal; and other baskets heaped high with fruits that she had watched drying for long hours on the housetop; and a green-and-red belt with tassels that she had woven on a loom–but then, every other little girl in the pueblo had done very much the same, and Chi-weé could not feel that what she had done was better than the things they had done, and a tiny worry thought crept into her heart.

There was little Do-may who had made a basket so fine that the Trader, in the cañon store, had said a very nice thing about it, and Tee-sha, who could make seed cakes that were very good–Chi-weé smacked her lips at the thought of those seed cakes–but, then, one could never tell. Old Lampayo might not like seed cakes, and the Trader had paid little Do-may for the basket that she had made–and, besides, how could one have worry thoughts when the sun was shining like it was this day, and there were so many smells of good things in the air and little exciting sounds everywhere, and everyone dressed in his best clothes, and the drum boom-booming down in the kiva! Even if she did not win the Butterfly Katchina, there were so many wonderful things that were going to happen to-day, anyway–and Chi-weé gave the last little pat to her folded bed things and caught up the jar to take to the spring for water–for always there was water to bring from that spring, first thing in the morning, and in the middle of the day, and at night.

"Do not forget," called her mother after her as she skipped out of the door, "do not forget to be back while there is time to prepare for that dance."

"I think, maybe, I will not forget that thing," laughed Chi-weé, and she ran to the top of the trail.

There were so many on the trail to-day, just as there had been yesterday, and everyone was happy as she was happy. Old Mah-pee-ti was there again, but he passed Chi-weé without seeing her; and she saw many Navajos from the desert, and Indians from other pueblos, and even white people, and little children who stared with big eyes at Chi-weé as she passed them with her jar.

How shining was the desert, and fresh and sagey the smells that came from it. Chi-weé almost shouted aloud all the happy feeling that was in her heart as she came near to the spring place–and then she stopped very still suddenly–and listened!

It was a cry sound that she had heard–a sound that did not go with the shining desert and the dancing sunlight–a very sad sound that brought a strange feeling to the heart of Chi-weé.

"OU–OUW!" said the sound, and Chi-weé looked about her quickly to see where that noise that did not belong to the day came from.

Now, suddenly, there did not seem to be anybody at all on the trail, and it was very clear that the sound came from close to the spring. Chi-weé walked slowly down to the spring, and her heart beat very fast. It did not beat from fear, but who could tell what she would find by the spring? At first it looked like just a little bundle of cloth stuff with a black, bushy thing at one end, but Chi-weé knew very quickly that it was a little girl and the black, bushy thing was her head.

"Why do you make sounds like that?" asked Chi-weé, and the black head came up quickly at the sound of her voice and showed a brown little face badly smeared with mud and tears.

"Ou-ouw!" said the voice again. "My mother will beat me–with a stick she will beat me–and–and–I cannot go to that dance."

"Why will she beat you?" asked Chi-weé, and her eyes grew very big and black with pity thoughts and wonder.

"It is broken," sobbed the little voice. "Look how it is broken," and then Chi-weé saw that on the ground by the spring were the brown pieces of a jar broken to little bits.

"It is not a thing to cry about," said Chi-weé. "Many times I break jars–your mother will not beat you for that. Look, there are always more jars–I will give you this one that I have."

"No–no," said the little voice, and the sobs grew even louder now. "There are not more jars like that one. All these days–all this time I have worked to make that jar. And when I have told my mother about it she has been very proud and she has told–"

"Did your mother see that jar?" asked Chi-weé suddenly.

"No–she did not see it," and the sobbing sound stopped as little Do-may, for that is who it was, opened one eye to look with surprise at Chi-weé. "No–not one time has she seen it, for I have made it down here where no one could see. It was a surprise thing that I made," and a fresh sob came at the thought.

"Then do not cry one more time," said Chi-weé, and there was such a happy sound in her voice that Do-may opened both eyes very wide and pushed back the tangled hair from her face to see what it could mean.

"My mother has taught me how to make jars," said Chi-weé. "Very beautiful jars–she has taught me–and in my cave place I have a jar that is nice, like the one that you have broken." (In her heart she knew that the jar she had made was very much nicer than this one, but not ever would she say a thing like that.) "Wait, you shall see." And she ran skipping away, and Do-may looked after her and forgot to cry any more.

And then–how the time flew past! Like a magic thing–until the sun seemed to be straight over the pueblo, and Chi-weé, all dressed in the very finest things that were hers, grew so excited she could not stand still.

"Look–how it is time!" she cried. "See how all the shadows have gone away. We will have to go very fast to the dance place, my mother."

And her mother looked at her with a great pride in her eyes, for, from her shining black hair, brushed very smooth, and the silver beads about her neck, and the soft woven blanket she wore over one arm and under the other and caught about her waist with a bright sash of red, to the twinkling little pink feet that were bare as they had to be in the dance, Chi-weé looked very nice. And the little baby brother stuck his fist in his mouth and looked at her, too, with eyes that were big with wonder.

But someone who stopped at the doorway just then did not look at Chi-weé at all and was so very greatly excited that she did not wait to get her breath but began to talk in gasps as if she had been running up the trail.

"How I am happy!" she cried, and her voice was like a bubble that bursts. "How I am happy, this day, for it is my little Do-may who will wear that Butterfly Katchina."

"Oh," said Chi-weé, and in the place of her heart it felt very cold like the air when black clouds go over the sun. But the mother of Chi-weé stood up straight and looked at the woman, and there was a strange look in her eyes.

"That is a thing you cannot know," she said quietly. "Not anyone knows who will wear the Butterfly Katchina–until the time of the dance."

"But I know," answered the woman. "Lampayo has told me–almost in the very words he has told me–when I have shown him how my Do-may can make pottery jars, better than any jars in all the pueblo she can make them. Look how I have here a jar that she has made!" and she held out for them to see the very jar Chi-weé had given to little Do-may down by the spring place, and Chi-weé had made a promise not to tell that she had made the jar so that the mother of Do-may would not beat her. And now the red places came into her face and went away again, and her eyes had a strange feeling in them–a feeling that tears were trying to come out but could not come.

"That is very like to the pottery jars that my Chi-weé can make," said her mother. "I think Lampayo will not give the Butterfly Katchina for that."

A smile came into the face of the woman, but it was not a smile that is pleasant to see.

"I think never your Chi-weé has made a jar like this jar," she said. "And what Lampayo has said–he will do"; and with a little switch of her dress she turned in the doorway and was gone, and Chi-weé closed her eyes tight to see if this was a thing she had dreamed, but when she opened them again her mother was smiling at her.

"Tsh!" she said. "That woman is speaking only with her teeth. Lampayo does not tell to others the one who will wear the Butterfly Katchina." But she did not know what strange thoughts were in the mind of Chi-weé. If the prize were given for that jar what would she do? What could she do? She had said to Do-may that she would not tell, but she had not thought that Do-may would show the jar to Lampayo–not once had she thought that–and how could anyone do a thing like that!

"We must go now," said her mother then. "See how it is time–and the others will wait at the dance place. Do not have fear," she said suddenly, for the look in the eyes of Chi-weé was a very strange look. "Do not have any fear at all, for old Lampayo is good, and always the Great Spirit guides the things that he does, and he will give the Butterfly Katchina to the one who is right!" And then the cold place went away from the heart of Chi-weé, and she danced out of the doorway with all of the excitement come back.

And all the town was running now toward the dance place, and the drum sounded very loud, for it was no longer down in the kiva but was up in the place by the big rock, and the rattles began to shake in a regular time that made the feet so that they could not stay still.

Chi-weé came to the place where other children were standing, and they were dressed just as she was dressed, and a clown, painted all over with white paint and with fox skins hanging at his waist and sheep-hoof rattles at his feet, pranced around them and switched at them with long reeds, and the children shrieked and made a show of having great fear, and Chi-weé danced up and down on her toes and cried out as loudly as did the others–and now had come the time that was the most exciting of all the day!

All of the tops of the houses were covered black with people, and they were in the streets and on the ladders that led from one house to another. Not ever had Chi-weé seen so many people. But in one big open place there was no one at all, and it was there they were to dance. On one side of this open place Ton-tay sat down with his big drum, and the clown ran into this place and out again and shot into the crowd of people tiny arrows from a bow that was no longer than his finger. Do-may was with the other children who were to dance, but her eyes were red, and she would not look into the eyes of Chi-weé.

And in all that crowd of people Chi-weé could not see Loki anywhere, though she looked in the crowded streets and on the housetops and on the ladders. He had made a promise to be there, and it was not quite so nice that she could not see him. But it must be that he was in some place that she could not see–it did not come into her mind at all that he was not really there–that would have made the day very different. But, for this one time the little voice did not say that anything was wrong, and it was a very wonderful day–and almost she forgot even about the jar of Do-may.

And then an old man put branches of evergreen into their hands, and Chi-weé felt that her heart almost stopped beating, for Lampayo was there, and the kindly smile in his eyes somehow brought a lump place into her throat. He would not want to give the Butterfly Katchina for a thing that was not true. But she could not tell–not ever could she tell when she had said that she would not.

Lampayo put up his hand, and all the noise of the people stopped. Even the beating of the drum and the sound of the rattles stopped, and it was queer when there was no noise.

Lampayo did not speak for a little, and there was a low sound that was of people moving to where they could see Lampayo more plainly and the dancers who stood near him, waiting with evergreens in their hands. Then he began to speak:

"Listen," he said. "It is the time of the dance of Little Katchinas. And it cannot be a dance of Katchinas if there are no Katchinas! So now we will go and get them." And he made a pause that seemed like a great while to Chi-weé, who waited in such excitement that her mouth was open like a little cup, and her eyes were round as moons. And the others waited, too, in a great impatience.

"Already we have made prayers in the kiva," he went on then, "and very clearly it has come to me who shall wear that Butterfly Katchina."

"Oh," said Chi-weé, under her breath, but for a moment she thought she had said it aloud, and put her hand to her mouth.

"Always," said Lampayo, "the Butterfly Katchina has been worn by one who is worthy–and this time, also, this will be true. One time it has gone to a little one who made baskets–very fine were the baskets that she made. And one time it has gone to one who made very good bread–it is well–always it is good to do well those things that are taught by the mothers and by the fathers–but there are things that are not taught that are also good." And again Lampayo did not speak for a little, and Chi-weé held her breath for the words that he would say.

"This day," said Lampayo, "when it is early, I have come very slowly up the trail from the spring place"; and then–almost she could not believe that her ears told her true–but then Chi-weé heard Lampayo tell all that she had done when she had found little Do-may with the broken jar, and as in a dream thing she heard the words that he said at the end.

"The fathers and mothers can teach many things, but only the Great Spirit can put kindness in the heart, and it is for that this one time that the Butterfly Katchina is to be worn." And then, quickly, Chi-weé felt a little hand pushed into her own, and she looked into the eyes of Do-may, and they were shining now and not red at all.

"Oh, how I am glad," said Do-may. "How I am glad for you–now you will wear that Butterfly Katchina, and also my mother will not beat me."

And afterward, when Chi-weé remembered that day, always this was the part that she remembered best–this, and one other thing.

After the dance, when she had worn the Butterfly Katchina, she took it very carefully back to the house of Lampayo, and in the house a woman she had never seen before came up to her and put her arms around her.

"I cannot help it," said the woman, and there was a sob sound in her voice. "I cannot help it–for you are so like my very own little girl who is lost."

"Oh," said Chi-weé with wondering eyes, "that is bad. What is she called–your little girl, and where is the place that she is lost?"

"Nah-tee is her name," said the woman, "and all over the desert we have looked and cannot find her. I think my heart will break in two pieces."

"I think you will find her," cried Chi-weé; "and I will help you. I have found other little ones, and it is a thing that I like very much to do. I found a little baby of the white people one time, and I found my very own little baby brother–you shall see how I will find the little girl you have lost." And when she saw the look in the woman's face she was glad that she had said that.

"And I will find her," she said to her mother afterward. "You shall see–I have a very good feeling that I will find her–and this very minute I will go, and Loki will help me." And she pulled off the fine clothes she had worn in the dance, and altogether she forgot the presents and all the good things that were being brought for her because she had worn the Butterfly Katchina.

"Afterward I will see them," she said to her mother, "but there is a look in the face of that woman that makes a hurt place to come in me. I will go now, and Loki will help me." So she pushed a way through all the people on the trail, and she ran with a fast-beating heart down the way she had gone so many times before, and people nodded when they saw her go.

"It is Chi-weé," they said. "That is the one who wore the Butterfly Katchina–always she goes somewhere."

And Chi-weé did not wait to hear what they said.

CHAPTER XIII
PRISONERS

Big is the desert–and so wide
That all the horses and all the men
That ever were and over again
Could ride and ride and ride and ride
And never come to the other side!

LOKI and Moyo had quickly found that the hogan in which they were prisoners was very strong and tight, and there was no place in which they could make even the smallest hole, and there was no way they could make a sound loud enough to attract the attention of anyone outside. So they made themselves as comfortable as possible about the little fire built on the fire stone right under the smoke hole in the middle of the hogan. There were wood for the fire and blankets for them to sleep on, and piki bread and a jar of water, but that was all, and Loki said as they sat down:

"We will have to wait here for a little. I do not know the reason why, but I think no harm will come, and waiting is not so very bad."

"Always I have waited," said Nah-tee wistfully, "and maybe–oh, but that would be very bad–if we do not see that dance."

Loki did not answer, he was frowning into the fire. This was a thing he could not understand at all. Why should Su-hú-bi fight the father of Nah-tee, and why should he put them now in this place, and what would come next? He did not say these things aloud, for already the look on the face of Nah-tee was a thing that made a sad feeling in him, but they were in his mind, and they were man thoughts, and he was only a boy.

"This gives me a thought of a time my father tells about," he said suddenly, and Moyo jumped, for he, too, had been gazing into the fire with worry looks on his face.

"What is that?" he asked. "Maybe if you tell us about that time it will help us for now. Was it a thing like this?" And Nah-tee looked up eagerly.

"I do not know about the help part," said Loki slowly, "but if we must wait here long maybe it would be good to have other thoughts to think about," and Moyo nodded.

"It was not a great while ago," said Loki, "for it was my father who told me, but it was in the days when the Indians and the white people were not so friendly together as they are now, and many times there were fights between them. My father was a friend to everybody. The white people had not done any harm to him, and so he did not wish to do them any evil, but there were those of his own people who did not like this. They said the white man had taken everything away from the Indian and that never could they be friends. At that time my father lived alone, far to the south of here, in a hogan he had built for himself, and he raised sheep and lived at peace with everyone. But one time there was war between the white man and the Indian, and his people told my father he must come and fight with them or they would say he was no more their friend, but he refused to fight, and for a while they let him live as he had lived before, but not for long. They had killed many white people and the white men brought soldiers from a fort and shot down the Indians like rabbits in a field. And then one day some Indians came to the hogan of my father, and their faces were like faces of stone. 'For long,' they said to my father, 'you will not fight. Maybe you are a friend to the white man, and a spy for him, telling him what we will do. Maybe you do that, and maybe not. But one more chance we will give you–just one. Say you will come and fight with us, or we will come in there and kill you' (for my father was inside his hogan with the door shut). 'If you do not come out we will come in, but we will give you a little time to think.' And they did not talk any more. And my father sat in the hogan, and it was dark, like this. The more he thought about it the more he knew he could not go out and fight the white men, who had done many kind things for him and had been his friends always; and every moment that he waited he felt that those men would come in and kill him. My father was a very brave man, but after a long time he felt that he could wait no longer. Every little sound, every little crack of the fire, he thought was the men who came to kill him. But they did not come–not after a very long time did they come–and more and more he felt that he could not wait, until finally he went to the door and pushed it open and walked out into the open air–and there was no one there! Not anywhere was there a man or a horse or anything living in sight, except his own sheep and horse that were in corral, and they had not been touched. For a long time he waited, and they did not come back–and it was not until many days after that he saw one of the men who told him what had happened. Far across the desert, the man said, they had seen a smoke signal of their own people calling them back to a place of meeting, and they had ridden silently away thinking they would return and kill my father; but at that meeting they learned that no longer was there war between the white men and the Indians, and never did they go back; and afterward they were ashamed that they had thought to kill my father, and some of the men became his very best friends who were in that party."

"Maybe this place is open and free for us," said Moyo, "and maybe Su-hú-bi will not come back again!" and he jumped up and pushed against the door, but it did not open, and the kicks he gave it made no impression at all; and, after a while, they went to sleep, all three of them, around the little fire, and they slept all the night and until very late the next morning. Nah-tee was awakened by a big yellow eye looking at her straight down through the smoke hole in the top of the hogan, and it was the sun.

"It is day again!" she cried, and the two boys rubbed their eyes and jumped to their feet, startled, and just then they heard a sound from outside. It was someone who talked under the voice as if he were in trouble, and then came something that knocked against the side of the hogan as if a rock had been thrown at it–and a voice cried:

"Who is in this place?"

"Oh," cried Nah-tee in great excitement, "it is the voice of that fat woman–the one who was good to us," and she answered the woman in a voice as loud as she could make it: "It is Nah-tee–and Loki–and Moyo. Can you let us out of here?"

"Thanks!" cried the woman in a voice that was big in relief. "Thanks that you are there! Everywhere I have looked–almost all the night–and I could not find you. I saw those men that they came back alone, and I had worry for the thing that had happened to you. Is it that you are safe?"

"We are safe," answered Loki this time, "but we are fastened in. Can you take the things away from the door and let us out?"

"Oh," cried Nah-tee, and she was dancing now in her excitement, "always it is like that. Always something good comes when we think that only bad is here."

"Wait," said the woman, and she made great sounds of pulling and pushing, and her breath came hard like a dog's after running, "Ai-ee, how these things are heavy–and how they are tight!"

"What is it?" cried Loki. "What have they put there?"

"They are big logs," said the woman, and she did not stop in her working. "They are trees, and they have planted them so deeply that it seems that they are growing here."

"Can you move them?" cried Moyo then. "We will push from the inside and see if they will move then."

"I think always they go tighter in," said the woman finally. "When you push it is worse–I cannot move them. But, wait–I will go and get someone, and then we will quickly open the door," and they heard her feet go hurriedly away.

"She will be back," said Nah-tee, and now there were only happy sounds in her voice. "She will be back quickly, and then we will go up on the mesa. If we go up there Su-hú-bi cannot come–he will not come when many people are about."

"Listen to that," cried Loki then, and far away they could clearly hear the sound of drums. But, nearer at hand, as they listened, came another sound–someone was taking away the logs at the door, and Nah-tee cried out loudly:

"How quickly you have come–and how we are glad!" And the door opened slowly, and in the bright light of the noonday sun that all but blinded them they saw standing–Su-hú-bi and two men!

"Oh!" said Nah-tee, and then she did not say any more, and Su-hú-bi stepped into the hogan leaving the other two men at the door. His eyes flashed around the room, and a very strange smile was on his face.

"It was not Su-hú-bi you expected to see?" he asked. "Who, then, has been here?" But the three children would not answer. "If it was a friend who came, why did he leave you here?" he asked again, and Loki looked down at the floor and dug his toe into the dust. A great feeling of anger was in his heart, anger for this man who smiled but looked through the eyes of a snake.

"Always you tell only lies," he said then, in a very low voice, to Su-hú-bi. "Why do you fight the father of this girl and then tell lies to her?" The smile went away from the face of Su-hú-bi, and a black frown took its place, and he leaned down and looked sharply into the face of Loki.

"For those words you shall pay," he said, and his voice was like rocks that grated together. "I do not know with whose eyes you see–but you have seen too much. I came here with the thought to let you and this other boy go where you wish–the girl shall go back to the place from which she came–but now you go, too–both of you. Maybe sometime you will have a care what you see with those eyes and what you talk with that mouth."

Moyo was watching carefully through the door to see if the fat woman came back with others. If only she would come then they might get away, but with three men to hold them here they could do nothing. Su-hú-bi too, thought of others who might come, and he called to the two men at the door.

"Watch the trail from the mesa and tell me if anyone comes. Watch, too, the way to the back of the hogan." And then he looked at the children again and frowned. It was plain that he was puzzled what to do. It made a different matter that someone knew that they were in this place, and the words that Loki had said made a difference, too. They could not stay here, but where could he take them? And if he waited, who would come?

"Hi!" called one of the men at the door suddenly.

"Here is one who comes!" and Nah-tee and Loki and Moyo looked up quickly with bright eyes, but Su-hú-bi in one step was at the door, and he saw the one who came, and a sound of great satisfaction came from him.

"That is well," he cried. "Tell him to come. Tell him to come quickly. I, Su-hú-bi, say it!" and one of the men ran quickly out to meet someone and spoke to him in a high voice.

"It is a trader," whispered Moyo to Loki, for he stood closer to the door than either of the other two and a little to one side and could see what they could not. "I can see how it is a trader, and he has a wagon with one horse."

The man got down from his wagon and Su-hú-bi stepped out of the door to talk to him. He tried to make his words low so that the children could not hear, but every word came plainly to them.

"There are children here," he said to the man. "They are very bad children and have run away from their home place to see this dance. They are from Zunani, the place near where you come from, and I want you to take them back."

"But I take skins in my wagon, I do not want to take children," said the man.

"I will pay you well," answered Su-hú-bi, "and you must be quick."

"Why must I be quick?" asked the man, and there was suspicion in his voice. Loki cried out when he heard that:

"We are not from Zunani, and we have not run away–we do not want to go there. Su-hú-bi is evil, and his plan is evil!" Su-hú-bi did not turn around to look at him. Very clearly he felt that his time was short.

"The boy speaks lies so that he can stay," he said. "And besides, I am Su-hú-bi–my word is strong here. You do the thing that I say or evil will come to you. Here! I will pay you much money."

"It is not enough," said the man, but he took the money that Su-hú-bi gave him. He was crafty and saw that Su-hú-bi must do the thing that he said. "It is not enough." And Su-hú-bi gave him all the money that he had, and the silver chain about his neck, and the ring with a big blue stone that was on his hand, and the man grumbled at last that he would do the thing. Su-hú-bi came back into the hogan, and he and the two men bound thongs about Loki and Moyo and about Nah-tee, and lifted them and put them into the wagon of the trader, and covered them with skins that had an odor very unpleasant to smell. And so quickly had they worked that no one came, and in a very little while the man got up on the seat of his wagon and spoke to his horse.

"What do I do with them when I have come to Zunani?" he cried suddenly to Su-hú-bi.

"That I do not care," answered Su-hú-bi. "I think they will not walk back from that place, and maybe no one will believe what they say–it does not matter." And the evil smile came back to his face.

The trader gave a shrug to his shoulders and took up the reins of his horse, and as they started out over the desert he sang, under his breath, a queer old song, and Nah-tee and Loki and Moyo felt almost that they lived a thing that was a dream–only the smell of the skins was not pleasant, as most dreams are!

a wagon on a trail

CHAPTER XIV
A RESCUE

Sing a song of the purple haze
That comes at the end of the best of days,
When old father Sun lies down to rest
On a bed of clouds in the golden west!

"BUMPETY-BUMP!" went the wagon of the trader over the hard, rocky road that led into the desert, and "Bumpety-bump!" went the hearts of Nah-tee and Loki and Moyo–lower and lower until it seemed as if they would almost stop. Now, what would happen! What would they do in that far-away place, Zunani, that up to now had been only a name to any of them; and how could they ride, mile after mile, in a thing so hard that already their bones were beginning to ache–and they could hardly breathe under the skins.

"Oh," cried Nah-tee, and she gave a great shake to her head, "it is like breathing mush that is old!"

"Maybe if we cry out loud someone will hear us," said Moyo.

"Everyone is up on top of the mesa," Loki replied. "That is why no one came to the hogan, and, besides, we could not cry to make a noise as loud as a horned toad under this load of skins–and it is hot–aouw!–How it is hot!"

"Ai–Ai–Ai!" sang the trader to his horse, and there was no melody to the tune and no words, but it was endless–and on they rode into the desert–and on–and on. Over rocks that banged them about like little pebbles in the wagon, and over other places that made a swishing sound, and they went slow over those places and knew they were sand; and then they would all slide to the forward end of the wagon (that was when they went down into a wash) and back again they would go–bump!–against the board at the back (and that was when they came up again out of the wash). And it seemed they had been riding for days and days, when the driver gave a pull to his horse and said some angry words, and they stopped. Nah-tee could see through a little hole in one of the skins that they were in a very narrow place in the road where a high, sandy bank came close to either side of them.

"Hi!" called the driver of their wagon to someone in the road. "Take thy old lump of a burro out of the way. Do not your eyes tell you that it is very narrow here? How can I pass if you, fat one, and thy lazy burro, fill all the way!"

"Do you think I have stopped him in this place because it is a pleasant thing?" answered back an angry voice. "Use the eyes that you have in your head and see how he does not choose to move. Thou lazy one!" and "Whack!" came the sound of beating.

"I know that voice," said Nah-tee excitedly. "Moyo, do you hear that voice? It is the fat one, and he has found his burro."

"I hear him," said Moyo, and he sounded as if he were talking from under a pile of sand. "I hear him, but he cannot hear us–he makes so very much noise." And it was true. The man of the wagon and the man of the burro both talked at the same time, and in between came whacks on the burro, so that any sound from the wagon they could not hear at all.

"Get out of the way," cried the trader. "I shall not wait longer."

"And if you will not wait you will fly!" cried the other. "There is not place for both my burro and the wagon, and my burro will not move."

"Then I will go over him," said the driver, and made as if to drive his horse forward, but the other gave a shout at that.

"Thou pig from Zunani," he cried, "keep back your wagon. Do not dare to move until my burro comes away." And he came nearer to the wagon when he said that, and Nah-tee put her mouth to the little hole in the skin and gave a cry. It was not very loud, but the man heard it and jumped.

"What have you there?" he cried, and his eyes grew big with surprise. "What have you in that wagon?"

"It is nothing," said the trader, and he slapped his horse impatiently.

"But it has a voice," said the fat man again, and he took a step nearer to the wagon.

"It is a pig," cried the trader. "Do not come near–it is a pig!"

"Ai!" cried Loki then, and Moyo, in the same breath. "Come and help us!" and the mouth of the fat man dropped wide open, and he looked with angry and astonished eyes at the trader.

"It is children!" he cried, and he spoke as if he could not believe the very words that he said. "Art thou a stealer of children?"

"No," answered the trader, but fear was beginning

a man and a burron standing on a narrow path
"My burro will not move," cried the fat one.

to come into his voice, "I do not steal–let me by."

"Come down from there!" cried the fat one now. "Come down from that wagon and I will break you in two pieces. You evil one–how is this? But surely I shall tell it at the mesa, and they will put you in the iron house of the white man."

"Oh, no!" cried the trader, and he was shaking with very real fear now, for he knew well that the fat one was strong and he could not fight him. "It is not I who steal. I but do the thing Su-hú-bi told me. He will kill me if I do not obey. The word of Su-hú-bi is strong."

The fat one did not answer, but he walked over to the wagon and pulled off the skins that by now were almost choking the children, and when he saw who it was in the wagon, wider yet dropped his jaw.

"Ai-ee!" he said. "And how do you come here, in this place?" It was to Moyo that he spoke, and to Nah-tee, for he remembered them very well.

"It is true what he says about Su-hú-bi," cried Loki. "It was Su-hú-bi put us here. But it is not the word of Su-hú-bi that is so strong–it is the money of Su-hú-bi."

"Here," cried the trader, and he ran his hands into the pockets of his coat and brought out the money–the silver chain and the ring were in another pocket and he did not bring them out. "Here," and he offered the money to the fat one. "I will give it to you–all of it–if you will not tell of this thing, and if you will take them–those children. And if Su-hú-bi has words to say, tell him that you fought me until I could fight no more."

"Su-hú-bi will have no words to say. This is a thing that will shame even Su-hú-bi," said the fat one, but he took the money, and a look of great satisfaction came to his face, and he cut the thongs that bound the children and set them down, very gently, in the road. And then he led his burro around the wagon–for now he could make him to come–and put Nah-tee on a soft blanket on his back.

The trader, too, was glad to have things so, and made a sound to his horse that started him going–and then he looked back down the road he had come and gave a queer sound in his nose.

"Ai!" he cried. "Now it is you who will be called a stealer of children, fat one. See how they come down the road." And he drove quickly away–as quickly as he could make his horse to go–for down the road came a cloud of dust, and in the dust were those who rode on horses!

When Chi-weé reached the foot of the trail she had a feeling of disappointment that Loki was not there. Somehow she had thought that he would be there and it was strange that she had not seen him in the pueblo–always when there was a dance or any good time he came to where she was, and they watched it together, for they were very good friends. But this time he did not come, and no one had word of where he was.

She waited for just a little, looking out over the desert with her hand to her eyes, and then she went to the corral where Magic, her pony, was kept. And when she looked in the corral her eyes grew big with surprise, for there was the pony of Loki and another pony that she had never seen before. If Loki's pony was here, Loki could not be very far away, and a puzzled little frown came to the face of Chi-weé. The ponies crowded close to the bars of the corral and made soft nicker sounds for food, and even the little baby burro came, and Ba-ba the goat, and they looked at Chi-weé with eyes that tried hard to speak to her.

"Oh," she cried, "if you could only tell me where Loki has gone! I think we could find that little girl if Loki were here," and Ba-ba answered her in goat talk, but Chi-weé could not understand, and she turned again and looked out into the desert; but there was only a fat woman in sight, and an old man, and they were talking excitedly together as they came nearer to the mesa; and then Chi-weé saw that the man was Mah-pee-ti, and she ran to him and cried out before she was near:

"Have you seen Loki, Mah-pee-ti? Do you know where he is?"

"Ai," cried the woman, before he could answer, "if only we had horses maybe we could catch them. But the horse of Mah-pee-ti is on the top of the mesa, and I have none."

"What is it?" asked Chi-weé breathlessly. "Who could you catch?"

"It is all three of them," answered the woman, "all the children, and Loki was one. They were in a hogan all night–fastened in–and when I went for one to help to move away the logs at the door, Su-hú-bi came and sent them away in a wagon. Down that road they have gone–I saw them. And Su-hú-bi laughed in my face when I cried to bring them back. But he has gone up the mesa, and if we had horses we could bring them back."

"I do not understand," said Chi-weé. "All that you say is strange, but here are horses–here, in this corral–and if Loki is with them we will go fast and catch them."

And they all three ran back to the corral, and the fat woman got on the strange pony, for it was the largest, and they rode fast down the road where she had seen the wagon go, and Chi-weé felt a great excitement beat in her heart as they ran, and she asked questions of the woman.

"It is a little girl," cried the woman, "a lost little girl and two boys–and Su-hú-bi, the evil one with little eyes, has a reason–I do not know what it is–that they must not go up in that pueblo and see Lampayo. And so he has told this man to take them away. I saw how he put them in a wagon, but I was not near and could not stop him, and all the people are up on the mesa to see the dance. But Mah-pee-ti came down, and I have told him. I could fight Su-hú-bi or I could fight anyone for that little girl. But they were gone before I could get close, and Su-hú-bi and the two men laughed at me as I ran."

"Was the name of the little girl Nah-tee?" asked Chi-weé suddenly. "Did they call her that?"

"Nah-tee–that is it!" said the woman. "And she has lost her mother and her father. I have a sorry feeling for that little girl, and I hope we can catch her and bring her back. I will fight that man if he will not let her go."

"I will fight him, too," cried Chi-weé, and Mah-pee-ti did not speak, but there was a look in his eyes that said it would not be good for the man in the wagon if he did not let the children come back. And all this time they had been riding very fast down the road, and now the woman gave a cry.

"There is the wagon. We must go faster. And look, who are those who stand in the road?"

"They are running away," cried Chi-weé. "See how they are running away!" for it was plain that three children and a man were trying very hard to climb up the steep bank that was by the road in this place; and a burro that was with them raised his head and looked curiously at the horses that came flying down the road.

"Loki!" cried Chi-weé, and almost she had no breath to cry with. "Loki–come back–see how it is Chi-weé, and here is your pony!"

And quickly as they had tried to climb up the bank the others came scrambling down again, and such a talking and explaining and crying aloud from the fat woman and the fat man who owned the burro.

For a little everyone tried to speak at the same time, and no one could understand, but after a little it was clearer–and then it was Nah-tee who had the red cheeks of excitement and the eyes that sparkled like stars.

"Always I have thought my mother was there," she cried, "and now I will see her. Oh, how I am happy again!"

"But we must go carefully," said Loki. "Su-hú-bi is still there–and there is a reason why he does not want us up on the mesa."

"But now we are so many," said Moyo, "I am not afraid. Now we know that he is evil, and we will fight him if he comes near."

"I will fight him," cried the fat woman, and she made her hands into fists. "Never have I liked that man of little eyes, and now I know the reason why I have not liked him: not only are his eyes like a snake's, but his heart, too, is like that."

"Come," said Mah-pee-ti, "if we are to reach the mesa for the big ceremony that Lampayo is to give, we must go quickly."

"It is a surprise thing!" cried Loki. "But I wish very much the smell of those skins would go away from my clothes."

"And I have things–and things to show," cried Chi-weé. "Almost I forgot–I wore the Butterfly Katchina in that dance–and not yet has come the time of the feast!"

Then they climbed on the horses–the fat woman and Nah-tee on the horse of Moyo because it was the largest, and Chi-weé and Moyo on Magic, and Loki took Mah-pee-ti on his pony with him; and the fat man rode on his burro, as always, and in a little they left him far behind.

"I will come," he cried, "but this lazy creature will not go fast–ai-ee, how he is slow!" and after that they could only hear the "whack" of his hands as he slapped the burro, who did not so much as flick an ear in return. But they did not even listen for that–in the heart of each one was a song of happiness, and almost it seemed that the hoofs of the ponies kept time to that song.

CHAPTER XV
THE SURPRISE

Little stars are peeping now–from the sky,
All the desert sleeping now–silent lie
Dancing sands and breezes, too,
Golden sky turns deeply blue,
Father Moon is creeping, too–softly nigh!

THERE had been many dances up on the mesa top, but now was to come the biggest time of all–the surprise time that Lampayo had spoken about–and there was a fresh wave of excitement plainly to be felt and seen. Little children who had been laughing until the tears came to their eyes at the things done by the clowns, crept close to their mothers and waited. The drums in the kiva began to beat to a new rhythm, and the place of dancers in the square was empty. There were people everywhere. It seemed as if the housetops were alive with dots of color, and the mother of Chi-weé shaded her eyes with her hand and looked in every place for Chi-weé, but she did not come back–that Chi-weé–not yet. And the mother of Loki came panting up the trail.

"Not all this day and not all last night have I seen him," she said breathlessly. "Always Loki comes back and does many things that help me, but this time he has not come, and I have worry thoughts for him."

"Ah," said the mother of Chi-weé, "if Loki is gone, too, then I think my Chi-weé is with him and they are both safe. Maybe they both look for the little runaway papoose–that is what Chi-weé said." And then she spoke in a lower voice to the mother of Loki. "The white agent man is here on the mesa top, and I think he does not come to see a dance. He walked past with eyes that saw no one and a frown on his face–I do not like that." And others did not like it, and spoke in low voices with their eyes turned toward the place where he had gone.

And then a man walked out into the open place of the dancers, and his face was very red and angry. It was Su-hú-bi, and the people held their breath to see him. It was not pleasant to see Su-hú-bi, and he did not look to have pleasant things to say.

He held up his hand; there was a silence immediately, and he began to speak.

"Lampayo is your chief," he said, and his voice was hard like his face, "and a next-to-chief does not say words against the chief one, but Lampayo has done things that are not right. Very soon you will know what he has done and you will not like it. I, Su-hú-bi, do not like the thing that he has done–and your children will not like it. I have tried very hard to make him do a different thing, and he will tell you evil against me for that, but I have not done wrong, and some day you will know it. If you were strong in your hearts you would not let Lampayo do this thing, but I think you are not strong. The white man has made you weak, and like a willow in his hands you bend, or like a feather in the air you go the way he blows." There was a murmur of voices when Su-hú-bi said that, but he did not stop to listen to what they said. "Your little children go to school and come back with white-man ways, and you say, 'It is good,' but it is not good. I, Su-hú-bi, tell you that it is not good! And I tell you, do not listen to the words of the white man–the one who is here. He says he comes for one thing, but always you cannot believe his words. He will take the children away, and when they come back they will not be your children–they will be like white men and will not listen to your words."

"Much that he says is true," spoke a voice.

"It has the sound of truth," said the mother of Loki, but she did not speak very loud. "It is like the money that will not buy things–the look is good, but the heart of it is false. I will hear, first, what the white man has to say before I will believe Su-hú-bi."

"It is Lampayo we would hear!" cried a voice then. "We came to hear Lampayo. See how the hour is late. If you have words to say we will hear them when Lampayo has spoken." And not again would they listen to Su-hú-bi. They made much noise and called and laughed to one another, and pretended that they did not know that he tried to speak again–and then he went angrily away. And far down the trail others heard that noise of many voices and cried to one another.

"Go fast! See how the surprise of Lampayo is already here and we have not seen it! " And they went faster up the trail until their faces were red with the hurry, and the fat woman could not get her breath at all.

"Ai!" she cried. "If we go that fast I will drop on the trail before we get to the top!" and Nah-tee and Chi-weé stopped a little to help her, but their

a group of people going up a steep trail towards buildings
And they went faster up the trail.

hearts were beating hard with the excitement of what was on the top of the mesa.

And then Lampayo walked out into the little square place, and his face was as if sunshine were on the inside of it, and the people shouted when they saw him and stood on their feet on the housetops, and even the little children cried aloud in joy, and it made him glad to hear their welcome, and when he held up his hand for silence there was a little tremble in his voice as he began to speak.

"My people," he said, "my men and women and little children–I give you thanks that you are here. And always you have come when I have called. For a long time–for many moons–I have thought of this thing which I shall tell you now. And I have fasted and gone out into the desert to the high shrine places to hear, in the long silence, the voice of Him who speaks in wisdom–and I have heard and have obeyed His counsel. So the thing that I have done is not mine but has come from the Great Spirit who does not make mistakes."

And when he said that, everyone leaned forward to hear the better. What was this thing that they were to hear? And in the silence, before Lampayo spoke again, there was the rattle of little stones on the trail and the fast breathing of those who ran.

"It is known to you, my people," went on Lampayo, "how in the very long ago–in the beginning of things–our fathers lived yonder in the cañon–in the place of cliffs. And how in those days there was a division in our people, and some went north and some went south, each with a chief who was brother to the other and equal in power. And also it is known to you that the one who is ruler since that time to this very day has been a son always of our father Hukuman, both in the town of Tawamana, to the south, and in our own pueblo of the north. And never has there failed a son to the house of those who rule–never, until now," and a sad note came into the voice of Lampayo. "There is no son to Lampayo, and he who comes next in power is not of the house of Hukuman."

"Su-hú-bi is next," came a murmur of voices, "and Su-hú-bi will be chief when Lampayo is gone."

Lampayo lifted high his head at those words and looked around at the faces of the people.

"Is it your wish that Su-hú-bi should be chief?" he asked, and his voice rang loud in that quiet place. There were puzzled looks then, and men turned to each other with question in their eyes. Why ask a thing when there could be only one answer?

"That is why I am here this day," said Lampayo, "to know what is your wish. For it may be that Su-hú-bi will not be chief when I am gone. I have said how I have thought of this for many moons, and I have done more than that. I have gone great distances and talked to those I shall have words of in a little while. A son has not come to Lampayo, but to our brother of the south–to Tawamana–there is still a son of Hukuman who rules. It is to him I have gone. This is the surprise I have brought to you, my people; this is the thing that has made glad the heart of Lampayo–that our brother of the south will come to the mesa–that now he is here–and, after me, his sons will rule! Do not speak quickly. Do not tell me that you will not have a stranger here, for he is not a stranger–in a moment you shall see–and it will not be good for you, my people, that Su-hú-bi rule when I am gone. For in the heart Su-hú-bi is not wise. When he had heard the thing that was in my heart to do, and I had sent messengers to show the way to my brothers of the south who came across the desert, Su-hú-bi took men and drove back our friends who came, and gave them false messages from me. It was an evil thing to do, But they only chose another road and came more slowly, and that is why their coming was so little known–they were men of peace and had fear that Su-hú-bi would make other evil plans. And now I will tell you of Su-hú-bi and why the agent man is here on our mesa. I have asked, and the White Father in Washington has granted that it be so, that Su-hú-bi be put in another place–a pueblo far from here. He will be more happy so, and we will be more free. For that the agent has come–to tell him this and to see that he goes in peace. One other thing I have to say–and this is sad–our brother of the south is sad, he and all his house–because a little one is lost. When they were in the desert, when Su-hú-bi came, this little one ran away from fear of those who fought, and the desert sand has swallowed even the trail of her; and so, my people, we will be sorry with him. And now–this is my brother, he has come to you." And he waved his hand, and out of his house walked those who had come for many days across the desert, and in their faces were smiles that asked if they would be welcome.

And when the people saw Pah-tō-qua they gave a great cry of surprise–over all the place could be heard that sound–for he was as like Lampayo as his own son could be, and he smiled with the smile of Lampayo–and when Lampayo saw the look in the faces about him he smiled more deeply than before.

"Did I not say, my people, that no stranger was here?" And the people nodded and pushed forward eagerly to see Pah-tō-qua and those who came with him. But louder than all the noise of the people was a cry that came from a little girl who stumbled up the last steps of the trail and ran forward with a look in her eyes that was so bright it almost hurt the hearts of those who saw it.

"MY MOTHER!" she cried. "My very own mother!" and Nah-tee threw herself into those arms that closed so eagerly about her, and into the eyes of Pah-tō-qua and those who stood near came stinging drops that they did not shame to show. And Nah-tee, for it was Nah-tee, was hugged and petted as she had never been before, and so many questions were asked that she grew dizzy with the answering of them. And when, after a little, the breath came back to her, a memory came, too, and she made a little grab for the place under her dress where still hung the buckskin bag that had been given her by the old man of the stone houses. And she told Lampayo all that had happened in that place and the things that the old man had said, and those who stood near listened to her words with eyes that grew ever bigger. And Lampayo, when he had seen what was in the little bag, was the most astonished of all.

"See how we are rich, Brother!" he cried. "Always I have wished for more money to get for my people those many things that they need–and now it shall be done."

"Yes, we are rich," answered Pah-tō-qua, but the look in his eyes was all for Nah-tee, and he put his arms close about her and squeezed her tight." Yes, we are rich–for see how my little runaway Papoose has run back to me."

And Nah-tee felt very rich, for, besides her mother and her father and her friends that she had found, something else made a warm, happy feeing come into her heart every time she thought of it, for on the trail, as they ran to the top, Chi-weé had said:

"I know now why I found that little baby burro–it is for you, Nah-tee. Already I have a pony and a goat, and you will like a baby burro–this baby burro–he has eyes that you will like." And Nah-tee could not find words to thank her, but she knew very well that she would like the baby burro, and she liked Chi-weé and Loki, too, and the pueblo, and the big wide desert she could see from this high place. And Moyo had said that he would come back, sometime, when there were no sheep to keep; and the fat woman put her hands on her sides and laughed as she said:

"If you had not found your very own mother, I would have taken you to my own hogan. But now I think you have very many mothers and fathers and sisters and brothers, and you cannot run away again, for now the whole world is your home place."

"Oh," answered Nah-tee, and her eyes opened wide at the thought, "how that is a funny thing. One time there was a home place for me in the little hills–over there. And then the camp place in the desert was where my home was–and now–I think"–she spoke very slowly–"I think a little piece of my home is in everything that I like. Even in that baby burro–and in you," she smiled at the fat woman, and then a twinkle came to her eyes, for far down the trail she could hear the "whack" of the fat man as eagerly he drove forward that lazy burro. "And in him, too," she cried. "I think, like you say, that all the world is a home place, so how can I run away any more?" And she gave a little dancing step of joy.

"Yes," said Chi-weé, "I know that, too–it is because–like me–you have a smile place inside. If you have that everywhere is home."

Lampayo nodded, with a deep look in his eyes at the things they said.

"Always little heads are wiser than big ones," he said, "and things like that the white man does not teach in schools. And now"–he threw back his head and pretended to sniff the air–"where are all those good things to eat that I can smell?"

And the answer to that was not in words at all!

CHAPTER		PAGE
I.	A NIGHT OF ADVENTURE	1
II.	THE RACE WITH THE STORM	24
III.	THE MANY-WALLED CAÑON	47
IV.	OVER THE WALL	67
V.	THE HOUSE IN THE CAÑON	81
VI.	THE OLD MAN OF THE CLIFF	105
VII.	THE TALE OF THE SACRED EAGLE	123
VIII.	INTO THE DESERT AGAIN	148
IX.	CHI-WEÉ OF THE HIGH ROCK	162
X.	LOKI TELLS A STRANGE TALE	175
XI.	SU-HÚ-BI OF THE LITTLE EYES	189
XII.	THE BUTTERFLY KATCHINA	203
XIII.	PRISONERS	225
XIV.	A RESCUE	237
XV.	THE SURPRISE	251

The Runaway Papoose. By Grace Purdie Moon, 1877-1947. Illustrations and decorations by Carl Moon, 1878-1948. Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday, Doran & Co., 1940, c1928.

CONTENTS

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

CHAPTER I
A NIGHT OF ADVENTURE

CHAPTER II
THE RACE WITH THE STORM

CHAPTER III
THE MANY-WALLED CAÑON

CHAPTER IV
OVER THE WALL

CHAPTER V
THE HOUSE IN THE CAÑON

CHAPTER VI
THE OLD MAN OF THE CLIFF

CHAPTER VII
THE TALE OF THE SACRED EAGLE

CHAPTER VIII
INTO THE DESERT AGAIN

CHAPTER IX
CHI-WEÉ OF THE HIGH ROCK

CHAPTER X
LOKI TELLS A STRANGE TALE

CHAPTER XI
SU-HÚ-BI OF THE LITTLE EYES

CHAPTER XII
THE BUTTERFLY KATCHINA

CHAPTER XIII
PRISONERS

CHAPTER XIV
A RESCUE

CHAPTER XV
THE SURPRISE

Nah-tee	Frontispiece
Quietly, like a little mouse, Nah-tee began to move in her tree	PAGE 11
On–on they flew–just ahead of the storm	37
Nah-tee jumped in little circles all the way round the fire	49
"You go now like a mountain sheep," Nah-tee cried	72
"Look for the holes in the rock to put your hands and feet in," directed Moyo	89
"Did you take away any of those blue stones?" asked the old man	111
"The eagle would hear his cry and drop down at his feet."	127
Nah-tee had, with the happy feeling, a sorry one	153
It looked as if a town had planted itself at the foot of the mesa	185
There was no kindness in his face	193
The dance of the Little Katchinas was only for children	209
"My burro will not move," cried the fat one	241
And they went faster up the trail	255

The Runaway Papoose. By Grace Purdie Moon, 1877-1947. Illustrations and decorations by Carl Moon, 1878-1948. Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday, Doran & Co., 1940, c1928.

CONTENTS

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

CHAPTER I A NIGHT OF ADVENTURE

CHAPTER II THE RACE WITH THE STORM

CHAPTER III THE MANY-WALLED CAÑON

CHAPTER IV OVER THE WALL

CHAPTER V THE HOUSE IN THE CAÑON

CHAPTER VI THE OLD MAN OF THE CLIFF

CHAPTER VII THE TALE OF THE SACRED EAGLE

CHAPTER VIII INTO THE DESERT AGAIN

CHAPTER IX CHI-WEÉ OF THE HIGH ROCK

CHAPTER X LOKI TELLS A STRANGE TALE

CHAPTER XI SU-HÚ-BI OF THE LITTLE EYES

CHAPTER XII THE BUTTERFLY KATCHINA

CHAPTER XIII PRISONERS

CHAPTER XIV A RESCUE

CHAPTER XV THE SURPRISE

CHAPTER I
A NIGHT OF ADVENTURE

CHAPTER II
THE RACE WITH THE STORM

CHAPTER III
THE MANY-WALLED CAÑON

CHAPTER IV
OVER THE WALL

CHAPTER V
THE HOUSE IN THE CAÑON

CHAPTER VI
THE OLD MAN OF THE CLIFF

CHAPTER VII
THE TALE OF THE SACRED EAGLE

CHAPTER VIII
INTO THE DESERT AGAIN

CHAPTER IX
CHI-WEÉ OF THE HIGH ROCK

CHAPTER X
LOKI TELLS A STRANGE TALE

CHAPTER XI
SU-HÚ-BI OF THE LITTLE EYES

CHAPTER XII
THE BUTTERFLY KATCHINA

CHAPTER XIII
PRISONERS

CHAPTER XIV
A RESCUE

CHAPTER XV
THE SURPRISE