 CHAPTER XII A YEAR IS PASSED, AND WE HAVE DETERMINED TO RESUME THE EXPLORATION OF THE CANIONS OF THE COLORADO. Our last trip was so hurried, owing to the loss of rations, and the scientific instruments were so badly injured, that we are not satisfied with the results obtained. So we shall once more attempt to pass through the canyons in boats, the voting two or three years to the trip. It will not be possible to carry in the boats sufficient supplies for the party for that length of time, so it is thought best to establish depots of supplies at intervals of one hundred or two hundred miles along the river. In Gunnison's crossing and the foot of the Grand Canyon we know of only two points where the river can be reached, one at the crossing of the Fathers, and another a few miles below at the mouth of the Paria, on a route which has been explored by Jacob Hamlin, a Mormon missionary. These two points are so near each other that only one of them can be selected for the purpose above mentioned, and others must be found. We have been unable up to this time to obtain, either from Indians or white men, any information which will give us a clue to any other trail to the river. At the headwaters of the Sevier we are on the summit of a great watershed. The Sevier itself flows north and then westward into the lake of the same name. The Rio Vergan, heading nearby, flows to the southwest into the Colorado, sixty or seventy miles below the Grand Canyon. The Canab, also heading nearby, runs directly south into the very heart of the Grand Canyon. The Paria, likewise heading nearby, runs a little south of east and enters the river at the head of Marble Canyon. To the northeast from this point other streams which run into the Colorado have their sources. Until forty or fifty miles away we reach the southern branches of the Dirty Devil River, the mouth of which stream is but a short distance below the junction of the Grand and Green. The Ponsegne Plateau terminates in a point which is bounded by a line of beautiful pink cliffs. At the foot of this plateau on the west the Rio Vergan and Sevier River are dovetailed together as their minute upper branches interlock. The upper surface of the plateau inclines to the northeast so that its waters roll off into the Sevier, but from the foot of the cliffs quite around the sharp angle of the plateau for a dozen miles we find numerous springs whose waters unite to form the Canab. A little farther to the northeast the springs gather into streams that feed the Paria. Here by the upper springs of the Canab we make a camp and from this point we are to radiate on a series of trips, southwest, south, and east. Jacob Hamlin, who has been a missionary among the Indians for more than twenty years, has collected a number of Kavavats with Charum Peek, their chief, and they are all camped with us. They assure us that we cannot reach the river, that we cannot make our way into the depths of the canyon, but promise to show us the springs and water pockets, which are very scarce in all this region, and to give us all the information in their power. Here we fit up a pack-train for our bedding and instruments and supplies are to be carried on the backs of mules and ponies. Number 5, 1870 The several members of the party are engaged in general preparation for our trip down to the Grand Canyon. Taking with me a white man and an Indian, I start on a climb to the summit of Poncegan Plateau, which rises above us on the east. Our way for a mile or more is over a great peat-bog which trembles under our feet, and now and then a mule sinks through the broken turf and we are compelled to pull it out with ropes. Our way is up a gulch at the foot of the pink cliffs, which form the escarpment or wall of the great plateau. Soon we leave the gulch and climb a long ridge which winds around to the right toward the summit of the great table. Two hours riding, climbing, and clamoring bring us near the top. We look below and see clouds drifting up from the south and rolling tumultuously toward the foot of the cliffs beneath us. Soon all the country below is covered with a sea of vapor, a billowy, raging, noiseless sea, and as the vapor-y flood still rolls up from the south, great waves dash against the foot of the cliffs and roll back. Another tide comes in, is hurled back, and another and another, lashing the cliffs until the fog rises to the summit and covers us all. There is a heavy pine and fur forest above, beset with dead and fallen timber, and we make our way through the undergrowth to the east. It rains. The clouds discharge their moisture and torrents, and we make for ourselves shelters of boughs, only to be soon abandoned, and we stand shivering by a great fire of pine logs and boughs which the pelting storm half extinguishes. One, two, three, four hours of the storm, and it at last partially abates. During this time our animals, which we have turned loose, have sought for themselves shelter under the trees, and two of them have wandered away beyond our sight. I go out to follow their tracks and come near to the brink of a ledge of rocks, which in the fog and mist I suppose to be a little ridge, and I look for a way by which I can go down. Standing just here there is a rift made in the fog below by some current or blast of wind, which reveals an almost bottomless abyss. I look from the brink of a great precipice of more than two thousand feet, but through the mist the forms are half obscured and all reckoning of distance is lost, and it seems ten thousand feet, ten miles, any distance the imagination desires to make it. Catching our animals we return to the camp. We find that the little streams which come down from the plateau are greatly swollen, but at camp they have had no rain. The clouds which drift up from the south, striking against the plateau, were lifted up into colder regions and discharged their moisture on the summit and against the sides of the plateau, but there was no rain in the valley below. September 9. We make a fair start this morning from the beautiful little meadow at the head of the Canob, cross the line of little hills at the headwaters of the Rio Verde, and pass to the south a pretty valley. At ten o'clock we come to the brink of a great geographic bench, a line of cliffs. Behind us are cool springs, green meadows, and forest-clad slopes. Below us, stretching to the south until the world is lost in blue haze, is a painted desert. Not a desert plain, but a desert of rocks cut by deep gorges and relieved by towering cliffs and pinnacled rocks. Naked rocks, brilliant in the sunlight. By a difficult trail we make our way down the basaltic ledge, through which innumerable streams here gather into a little river running in a deep canyon. The river runs close to the foot of the cliffs on the right hand side, and the trail passes along to the right. That noon we rest, and our animals feed on luxuriant grass. Again we start and make slow progress along a stony way. At night we camp under an overarching cliff. September 10. Here the river turns to the west, and our way, properly, is to the south. But we wish to explore the Rio Verde as far as possible. The Indians tell us that the canyon narrows gradually a few miles below, and that it will be impossible to take our animals much farther down the river. Early in the morning I go down to examine the head of this narrow part. After breakfast, having concluded to explore the canyon for a few miles on foot, we arrange that the main party shall climb the cliff and go around to a point 18 or 20 miles below. Where the Indians say the animals can be taken down by the river, and three of us set out on foot. The Indian name of the canyon is Pyrunaweep, or Roaring Water Canyon. Between the little river and the foot of the walls is a dense growth of willows, vines, and wild rosebushes, and with great difficulty we make our way through this tangled mass. It is not a wide stream, only twenty or thirty feet across in most places, shallow but very swift. After spending some hours in breaking our way through the mass of vegetation and climbing rocks here and there, it is determined to wade along the stream. In some places this is an easy task, but here and there we come to deep holes where we have to wade to our armpits. Soon we come to places so narrow that the river fills the entire channel and we wade per force. In many places the bottom is a quicksand, into which we sink, and it is with great difficulty that we make progress. In some places the holes are so deep that we have to swim, and our little bundles of blankets and rations are fixed to a raft made of driftwood and pushed before us. Now and then there is a little flood plain on which we can walk, and we cross and recross the stream and wade along the channel where the water is so swift as almost to carry us off our feet, and we are in danger every moment of being swept down until night comes on. Finding a little patch of flood plain on which there is a huge pile of driftwood and a clump of box elders, and nearby a mammoth stream bursting from the rocks, we soon have a huge fire. Our clothes are spread to dry, we make a cup of coffee, take out our bread and cheese and dried beef, and enjoy a hearty supper. We estimate that we have traveled eight miles today. The canyon here is about twelve hundred feet deep. It has been very narrow and winding all the way down to this point. September eleven. Waiting again this morning, seeking in the quicksand, swimming the deep waters, and making slow and painful progress where the waters are swift, and the bed of the stream rocky. The canyon is steadily becoming deeper and in many places very narrow, only twenty or thirty feet wide below, and in some places no wider and even narrower for hundreds of feet overhead. There are places where the river in sweeping curves has cut far under the rocks, but still preserves its narrow channel, so that there is an overhanging wall on one side and an inclined wall on the other. In places a few hundred feet above it becomes a vertical again, and thus the view to the sky is entirely closed. Everywhere this deep passage is dark and gloomy and resounds with the noise of rapid waters. At noon we are in a canyon twelve hundred feet deep, and we come to a fall where the walls are broken down and huge rocks beset the channel, on which we obtain a foothold to reach a level two hundred feet below. Here the canyon is again wider, and we find a floodplain along which we can walk, now on this and now on that side of the stream. Gradually the canyon widens, steep rapids, cascades, and cataracts are found along the river, but we wade only when it is necessary to cross. We make progress with very great labor, having to climb over piles of broken rocks. Late in the afternoon we come to a little clearing in the valley and see other signs of civilization, and by sundown arrive at the Mormon town of Shunsberg, and here we meet the train and feast on melons and grapes. Our course for the last two days, through Paranaweep Canyon, was directly to the west. Another stream comes down from the north and unites just here at Shunsberg, with the main branch of the real vergan. We determine to spend a day in the explorations of this stream. The Indians call the canyon through which it runs Makuntuweep, or straight canyon. Entering this we have to wade upstream, often the water fills the entire channel, and, although we travel many miles, we find no flood plain, talus, or broken piles of rock at the foot of the cliff. The walls have smooth, plain faces, and are everywhere very regular and vertical for a thousand feet or more, where they seem to break back in shelving slopes to higher altitudes. And everywhere as we go along we find springs bursting out at the foot of the walls, and passing these the river becomes steadily smaller. The great body of water which runs below bursts out from beneath this great bed of red sandstone as we go up the canyon it comes out to be a creek, and then a brook. On the western wall of the canyon stand some buttes, towers, and high pinnacle rocks. Going up the canyon we gain glimpses of them here and there. Last summer, after our trip through the canyons of the Colorado, and on our way from the mouth of the vergan to Salt Lake City, these were seen as conspicuous landmarks from a distance away to the southwest of sixty or seventy miles. These tower rocks are known as the temples of the vergan. Having explored this canyon nearly to its head we return to Schunisburg arriving quite late at night. Sitting in camp this evening, Charim Peek, the chief of the Kavavits, who is one of our party, tells us there is a tradition among the tribes of this country that many years ago a great light was seen somewhere in this region by the parape shoppets who lived to the southwest, and that they supposed it to be a signal kindled to warn them of the approach of the Navajos, who lived beyond the Colorado River to the east. The other signal fires were kindled on the Pine Valley Mountains, Santa Clara Mountains, and Uncuret Mountains, so that all the tribes of northern Arizona, southern Utah, southern Nevada, and southern California were warned of the approaching danger. But when the parape shoppets came nearer they discovered that it was a fire on one of the great temples, and then they knew that the fire was not kindled by men, for no human being could scale the rocks. The Tamarug Waitsigate, or rock rovers, had kindled a fire to deceive the people. So in the Indian language this is called Tamarug Waqsigate Tuip, or rock rovers land. September 13. We start very early this morning, for we have a long day's travel before us. Our way is across the Riovergan to the south. According to the bank of the stream here we find a strange metamorphosis. The streams we have seen above, running in narrow channels, leaping and plunging over the rocks, raging and roaring in their course, are here united and spread in a thin sheet several hundred yards wide and only a few inches deep, but running over a bed of quicksand. Crossing the stream our trail leads up a narrow canyon, not very deep, and then among the hills of golden, red, and purple shales and morals. Coming out of the valley of the Riovergan we pass through a forest of dwarf cedars and come out at the foot of the vermilion cliffs. All day we follow this Indian trail toward the east, and at night camp at a great spring known to the Indians as yellow rock spring, but to the Mormons as pipe spring, and nearby there is a cabin in which some Mormon herders find shelter. Pipe spring is a point just across the Utah line in Arizona, and we suppose it to be about sixty miles from the river. Here the Mormons design to build a fort another year as an outpost for protection against the Indians. We now discharge a number of the Indians, but take two with us for the purpose of showing us the springs, for they are very scarce, very small, and not easily found. Half a dozen are not known in a district of country large enough to make as many good sized counties in Illinois. There are no running streams, and these streams and water pockets are our sole dependents. Everything we leave behind a long line of cliffs, many hundred feet high, composed of orange and vermilion sandstones. I have named them the vermilion cliffs. When we are out a few miles I look back and see the morning sun shining in splendor on their painted faces. The salient angles are on fire, and the retreating angles are buried in shade, and I gaze on them until my vision dreams and the cliffs appear a long bank of purple clouds piled from the horizon high into the heavens. At noon we pass along a ledge of chocolate cliffs, and taking out our sandwiches we make dinner as we ride along. Yesterday our Indians discussed for hours the route which we should take. There is one way farther by ten or twelve miles with sure water, and another shorter where water is found sometimes. Their conclusion was that water would be found now, and this is the way to go, yet all day long we are anxious about it. To be out two days with only the water that can be carried in two small kegs is to have our animals suffer greatly. At five o'clock we come to the spot, and there is a huge water pocket containing several barrels. What a relief! Here we can't for the night. September fifteen. Up at daybreak for it is a long day's march for the next water. They say we must run very hard to reach it by dark. Our course is to the south. From pipe springs we can see a mountain, and I recognize it as one seen last summer from a cliff overhanging the Grand Canyon, and I wish to reach the river just behind the mountain. There are Indians living in the group of which it is the highest whom I wish to visit on the way. These mountains are of volcanic origin, and we soon come to a ground that is covered with fragments of lava. The way becomes very difficult. We have to cross deep ravines, the heads of canyons that run into the Grand Canyon. It is curious now to observe the knowledge of our Indians. There is not a trail but what they know, every gulch and every rock seems familiar. I have prided myself on being able to grasp and retain in my mind the topography of a country, but these Indians put me to shame. My knowledge is only general, embracing the more important features of a regular region that remains as a map engraved on my mind, but theirs is particular. They know every rock and every ledge, every gulch and canyon, and just where to wind among these to find a pass, and their knowledge is unerring. They cannot describe a country to you, but they can tell you all the particulars of a route. I have but one pony for the two, and they were to ride turnabout. But Charon Peak, the chief, rides, and shuts the one-eyed, bare-legged, merry-faced pygmy, walks and points the way with a slender cane, then leaves and bounds by the shortest way and sits down on a rock and waits demurely until we come, always meeting us with a jest, his face a rich mine of sunny smiles. At dusk we reach the water pocket. It is in a deep gorge on the flank of this great mountain. During the rainy season, the water rolls down the mountain side, plunging over precipices, and excavates a deep basin in the solid rock below. This basin, hidden from the sun, holds water the year round. September 16. This morning, while the men are packing the animals, I climb a little mountain near camp to obtain a view of the country. It is a huge pile of volcanic scoria, loose and light as cinders from a forge, which give way under my feet, and I climb with great labor, but reaching the summit and looking to the southeast, I see once more the labyrinth of deep gorges that flank the Grand Canyon. In the multitude, I cannot determine whether it is itself in view or not. The memories of grand and awful months spent in their deep, gloomy solitudes come up, and I live that life over again for a time. I supposed before starting that I could get a good view of the great mountain from this point, but it is like climbing a chair to look at a castle. I wish to discover some way by which it can be ascended, as it is my intention to go to the summit before I return to the settlements. There is a cliff near the summit, and I do not see any way yet. Now down I go, sliding on the cinders, making them rattle and clang. The Indians say we are to have a short ride today, and that we shall reach an Indian village situated by a good spring. Our way is across the spurs that put out from the great mountain as we pass it to the left. Up and down we go across deeper veins, and the fragments of lava clank under our horses feet, now among cedars, now among pines, and now across mountain-side glades. At one o'clock we descend into a lovely valley with a carpet of waving grass. Sometimes there is a little water in the upper end of it, and during some seasons the Indians we wish to find are encamped here. Charampeake rides on to find them, and to say we are friends, otherwise they would run away or propose to fight us, should we come without notice. Soon we see Charampeake riding at full speed and hear him shouting at the top of his voice, and away in the distance are two Indians scampering up the mountain-side. One stops, the other still goes on and is soon lost to view. We ride up and find Charampeake talking with the one who had stopped. It is one of the ladies resident in these mountain glades. She is evidently paying taxes, Godiva-like. She tells us that her people are at the spring, that it is only two hours' ride, that her good master has gone on to tell them we are coming and that she is harvesting seeds. We sit down and eat our luncheon and share our biscuits with the woman of the mountains. Then on we go over a divide between two rounded peaks. I send the party on to the village and climb the peak on the left, riding my horse to the upper limit of trees and tugging up a foot. From this point I can see the Grand Canyon and I know where I am. I can see the Indian village too in a grassy valley embosomed in the mountains, the smoke curling up from their fires. My men are turning out their horses and a group of natives stand around. Down the mountain I go and reach camp at sunset. After supper we put some cedar boughs on the fire, the dusky villagers sit around and we have a smoke and talk. I explain the object of my visit and assure them of my friendly intentions. Then I ask them about a way down into the canyon. They tell me that years ago a way was discovered by which parties could go down but that no one has attempted it for a long time, that it is a very difficult and very dangerous undertaking to reach the big water. Then I inquire about the Shivwits, a tribe that lives about the springs on the mountain sides and canyon cliffs to the southeast. They say that their village is now about 30 miles away and promised to send a messenger for them tomorrow morning. Having finished our business for the evening, I ask if there is a Tugwina gunt in camp. That is, if there is anyone present who is skilled in relating their mythology. Charim Peek says Tomor-Rountekai, the chief of these Indians, is a very noted man for his skill in this matter but they both object by saying that the season for Tugwini has not yet arrived. But I had anticipated this and soon some members of the party come with pipes and tobacco, a large kettle of coffee and a tray of biscuits. And after sundry ceremonies of pipe lighting and smoking, we all feast and warmed up by this, to them unusually good living, it is decided that the night shall be spent in relating mythology. I asked Tomor-Rountekai to tell us about the Sokka Swionuts or one two boys and to this he agrees. The long winter evenings of an Indian camp are usually devoted to the relation of mythologic stories, which purport to give a history of an ancient race of animal gods. The stories are usually told by some old man assisted by others of the party who take secondary parts while members of the tribe gather about and make comments or receive the impressions from the morals which are enforced by the storyteller or more properly storytellers for the exercise partakes somewhat of the nature of a theatrical performance. The Sokka Swionuts. Tumpwani Raghwinump, he who had a stone shirt, killed Sokkor the Crane and stole his wife and seeing that she had a child and thinking it would be an encumbrance to them and their travels, he ordered her to kill it. But the mother loving the babe hid it under her dress and carried it away to his grandmother and stone shirt carried his captured bride to his own land. In a few years the child grew to be a fine lad under the care of his grandmother and was her companion wherever she went. One day they were digging flag roots on the margin of the river and putting them in a heap on the bank. When they had been at work a little while the boy perceived that the roots came up with greater ease than was customary and he asked the old woman the cause of this but she did not know and as they continued their work still the reeds came up with less effort at which their wonder increased until the grandmother said, surely some strange thing is about to transpire. Then the boy went to the heap where they had been placing the roots and found that someone had taken them away and he ran back exclaiming, grandmother did you take the roots away? And she answered, know my child perhaps some ghost has taken them off let us dig no more come away. But the boy was not satisfied as he greatly desired to know what all this meant. So he searched about for a time and at length found a man sitting under a tree and taunted him with being a thief and threw mud and stones at him until he broke the stranger's leg. The man answered not the boy nor resented the injuries he received but remained silent and sorrowful and when his leg was broken he tied it up in sticks and bathed it in the river and sat down again under the tree and beckoned the boy to approach. When the lad came nearer the stranger told him he had something of great importance to reveal. My son, said he, did that old woman ever tell you about your father and mother? No, answered the boy. I have never heard of them. My son, do you see these bones scattered on the ground? Whose bones are these? How should I know? Answered the boy. It may be that some elk or deer has been killed here. No, said the old man. Perhaps they are the bones of a bear but the old man shook his head. So the boy mentioned many other animals but the stranger still shook his head and finally said, these are the bones of your father. Stone shirt killed him and left him here to rot on the ground like a wolf. And the boy was filled with indignation against the slayer of his father. Then the stranger asked, is your mother in Yonder Lodge? No, the boy said. Does your mother live on the banks of this river? I don't know my mother. I have never seen her. She is dead, answered the boy. My son, replied the stranger, stone shirt who killed your father stole your mother and took her away to the shore of a distant lake and there she is his wife today. And the boy wept bitterly and while the tears filled his eyes so that he could not see, the stranger disappeared. Then the boy was filled with wonder at what he had seen and heard and malice grew in his heart against his father's enemy. He returned to the old woman and said, grandmother, why have you lied to me about my mother and father? But she answered not for she knew that a ghost had told all to the boy and the boy fell upon the ground weeping and sobbing until he fell into a deep sleep when strange things were told to him. His slumber continued three days and nights and when he awoke he said to his grandmother, I am going away to enlist all nations in my fight and straight way he departed. Here the boy's travels are related with many circumstances concerning the way he was received by the people all given in a series of conversations very lengthy so they will be omitted. Finally he returned in advance of the people whom he had enlisted bringing with him Shinnahov, the wolf and Togoov, the rattlesnake. When the three had eaten food the boy said to the old woman, grandmother, cut me in two. But she demurred saying she did not wish to kill one whom she loved so dearly. Cut me in two, demanded the boy and he gave her a stone axe which she had brought from a distant country and with a manner of great authority he again commanded her to cut him in two. So she stood before him and severed him in twain and fled in terror and lo, each part took the form of an entire man and the one beautiful boy appeared as two and they were so much alike no one could tell them apart. When the people or natives whom the boy had enlisted came pouring into the camp Shinnahov and Togoov were engaged in telling them of the wonderful thing that had happened to the boy and now there were two and they all beheld it to be an augury of a successful expedition to the land of stone shirt and they started on their journey. Now the boy had been told in the dream of his three days slumber of a magical cup and he had brought it home with him from his journey among the nations and the Sokos why not carried it between them filled with water. Shinnahov walked on their right and Togoov on their left and the nations followed in the order in which they had been enlisted. There was a vast number of them so that when they stretched out in a line it was one day's journey from the front to the rear of the column. When they had journeyed two days and were far out on the desert all the people thirsted for they found no water and they fell down upon the sand groaning and murmuring that they had been deceived and they cursed the one too. But the Sokos why nots had been told in the wonderful dream of the suffering which would be endured and that the water which they carried in the cup was to be used only in dire necessity and the brothers said to each other now the time has come for us to drink the water. And when one had quaffed of the magical bowl he found it still full and he gave it to the other to drink and still it was full and the one too gave it to the people and one after another they did drink and still the cup was full to the brim. But Shinnahov was dead and all the people mourned for he was a great man. The brothers held the cup over him and sprinkled him with water when he arose and said, why do you disturb me? I did have a vision of mountain brooks and meadows of cane where honeydew was pleasant. They gave him the cup and he drank also but when he had finished there was none left. Refreshed and rejoicing they proceeded on their journey. The next day being without food they were hungry and all were about to perish and again they murmured at the brothers and cursed them. But the Sokka Svayunats saw in the distance an antelope standing on an eminence in the plain in bold relief against the sky and Shinnahov knew it was the wonderful antelope with many eyes which stone shirt kept for his watchman and he proposed to go and kill it but Togoav demurred and said, it were better that I should go for he will see you and run away. But the Sokka Svayunats told Shinnahov to go and he started in a direction away to the left of where the antelope was standing that he might make a long detour about some hills and come upon him from the other side. Togoav went a little way from camp and called to the brothers, do you see me? They answered they did not, hunt for me. While they were hunting for him the rattlesnake said, I can see you, you are doing so and so. Telling them what they were doing but they could not find him. Then the rattlesnake came forth declaring, now you know that when I so desire I can see others and I cannot be seen. Shinnahov cannot kill that antelope for he has many eyes and is the wonderful watchman of stone shirt but I can kill him for I can go where he is and he cannot see me. So the brothers were convinced and permitted him to go and Togoav went and killed the antelope. When Shinnahov saw it fall he was very angry for he was extremely proud of his fame as a hunter and anxious to have the honor of killing this famous antelope and he ran up with the intention of killing Togoav but when he drew near and saw the antelope was fat and would make a rich feast for the people his anger was appeased. What matters it said he who kills the game when we can all eat of it. So the people were fed in abundance and they proceeded on their journey. The next day the people again suffered for water and the magical cup was empty but the Sokos Wyonats having been told in their dream what to do transformed themselves into doves and flew away to a lake on the margin of which was the home of stone shirt. Coming near to the shore they saw two maidens bathing in the water and the bird stood and looked for the maidens were very beautiful. Then they flew into some bushes nearby to have a nearer view and were caught in a snare which the girls had placed for intrusive birds. The beautiful maidens came up and taking the birds out of the snare admired them very much for they had never seen such birds before. They carried them to their father's stone shirt who said, My daughters, I very much fear these are spies from my enemies for such birds do not live in our land. He was about to throw them into the fire when the maidens besought him with tears that he would not destroy their beautiful birds but he yielded to their entreaties with much misgiving. Then they took the birds to the shore of the lake and set them free. When the birds were at liberty once more they flew around among the bushes until they found the magical cup which they had lost and taking it up they carried it out into the middle of the lake and settled down upon the water and the maidens supposed they were drowned. The birds when they had filled their cup rose again and went back to the people in the desert where they arrived just at the right time to save them with the cup of water from which each drank and yet it was full until the last was satisfied and then not a drop remained. The brothers reported that they had seen stone shirt and his daughters. The next day they came near to the home of the enemy and the brothers in proper person went out to reconnoiter. Seeing a woman gleaning seeds they drew near and knew it was their mother whom stone shirt had stolen from Sikor the Crane. They told her they were her sons but she denied it and said she never had but one son but the boys related to her their story with the origin of the two from one and she was convinced. She tried to dissuade them from making more upon stone shirt and told them that no arrow could possibly penetrate his armor and that he was a great warrior and had no other delight than in killing his enemies and that his daughters also were furnished with magical bows and arrows which they could shoot so fast that the arrows would fill the air like a cloud and that it was not necessary for them to take aim for their missiles went where they willed. They thought the arrows to the hearts of their enemies and thus the maidens could kill the whole of the people before a common arrow could be shot by a common person but the boys told her what the spirit had said in the long dream and that it had promised that stone shirt should be killed. They told her to go down to the lake at dawn so as not to be endangered by the battle. During the night the Sokos Wyonats transformed themselves into mice and proceeded to the home of stone shirt and found the magical bows and arrows that belonged to the maidens and with their sharp teeth they cut the sinew on the backs of the bows and nibbled the bow strings so that they were worthless. Togo Av hid himself under a rock nearby. When dawn came into the sky, Tump Winnari, Ragn Winnump, the stone shirt man, arose and walked out of his tent, exulting in his strength and security and sat down upon the rock under which Togo Av was hiding and he, seeing his opportunity, sank his fangs into the flesh of the hero. Stone shirt sprang high into the air and called to his daughters that they were betrayed and that the enemy was near and they seized their magical bows and their quivers filled with magical arrows and hurried to his defense. At the same time all the nations who were surrounding the camp rushed down to battle but the beautiful maidens, finding their weapons were destroyed, waved back their enemies as if they would parley and standing for a few moments over the body of their slain father, sang the death song and danced the death dance, whirling in giddy circles about the dead hero and wailing with despair until they sank down and expired. The conquerors buried the maidens by the shores of the lake but Tumpuina Rai Raghunam was left to rot and his bones to bleach on the sands as he had left sea-cours. There is this proverb among the youths, do not murmur when you suffer in doing what the spirits have commanded for a cup of water is provided and another, what matters it who kills the game when we can all eat of it. It is long after midnight when the performance has ended. The story itself is interesting though I had heard it many times before but never perhaps under circumstances more effective. Stretch beneath tall somber pines, a great campfire, by the fire men, old wrinkled and ugly, deformed, bleary-eyed, rye-faced women, lithe, stately young men, pretty but simpering maidens, naked children, all intently listening or laughing and talking by turns, their strange faces and dusky forms lit up with the glare of the pine-knot fire. All the circumstances conspired to make it a scene strange and weird. One old man, the sorcerer or medicine man of the tribe, peculiarly impressed me. Now and then he would interrupt the play for the purpose of correcting the speakers or impressing the moral of the story with a strange dignity and impressiveness that seemed to pass to the very border of the ludicrous, yet at no time did it make me smile. The story is finished, but there is yet time for an hour or two of sleep. I take Cherrim Peak to one side for a talk. The three men who left us in the canyon last year found their way up the lateral gorge, by which they went into the Shuwitz Mountains, lying west of us, where they met with the Indians and camped with them one or two nights and were finally killed. I am anxious to learn the circumstances and as the people of the tribe who committed the deed live but a little away from these people and are intimate with them, I ask Cherrim Peak to make inquiry for me. Then we go to bed. September 17th, early this morning the Indians come up to our camp. They have concluded to send out a young man after the Shuwitz. The runner fixes his moccasins, puts some food in a sack and water in a little wicker work jug, straps them on his back and starts at a good round pace. We have concluded to go down the canyon, hoping to meet the Shuwitz on our return. Soon we are ready to start, leaving the camp and pack animals in charge of the two Indians who came with us. As we move out our new guide comes up, a blear-eyed, wheezing face quiet old man with his bow and arrows in one hand and a small cane in the other. These Indians all carry canes with a crooked handle. They say to kill rattlesnakes and to pull rabbits from their holes. The valley is high up in the mountain and we descend from it by a rocky, precipitous trail down, down, down for two long, weary hours, leading our ponies and stumbling over the rocks. At last we are at the foot of the mountain, standing on a little knoll from which we can look into a canyon below. Into this we descend and then we follow it for miles, clamoring down and still down. Often we cross beds of lava that have been poured into the canyon by lateral channels and these angular fragments of basalt make the way very rough for the animals. About two o'clock the guide halts us with his wand and springing over the rocks he is lost in a gulch. In a few minutes he returns and tells us there is a little water below in a pocket. It is vile and our ponies refuse to drink it. We pass on, still descending. A mile or two from the water basin we come to a precipice more than 1,000 feet to the bottom. There is a canyon running at a greater depth and at right angles to this, into which this enters by the precipice and this second canyon is a lateral one to the greater one in the bottom of which we are to find the river. Searching about we find a way by which we can descend along the shelves and steps and piles of broken rocks. We start leading our ponies, a wall upon our left, unknown depths on our right. At places our way is along shelves so narrow or so sloping that I ache with fear lest a pony should make a misstep and knock a man over the cliffs with him. Now and then we start the loose rocks under our feet and over the cliffs they go, thundering down, down, the echoes rolling through distant canyons. At last we pass along a level shelf for some distance, then we turn to the right and zigzag down a steep slope to the bottom. Now we pass along this lower canyon for two or three miles to where it terminates in the Grand Canyon. As the other ended in this, only the river is 1,800 feet below us and it seems at this distance to be but a creek. Our withered guide, the human pickle, seats himself on a rock and seems wonderfully amused at our disconfiture as we can see no way by which to descend to the river. After some minutes he quietly rises and beckoning us to follow points out a narrow sloping shelf on the right and this is to be our way. It leads along the cliff for half a mile to a wider bench beyond which he says is broken down on the other side in a great slide and there we can get to the river. So we start out on this shelf. It is so steep we can hardly stand on it and to fall or slip is to go, don't look to see. It is soon manifest that we cannot get the ponies along the ledge. The storms have washed it down since our guide was here last years ago. One of the ponies has gone so far that we cannot turn him back until we find a wider place but at last we get him off. With part of the men, I take the horses back to the place where there are a few bushes growing and turn them loose. In the meantime the other men are looking for some way by which we can get down to the river. When I return one, Captain Bishop has found a way and gone down. We pack bread, coffee, sugar and two or three blankets among us and set out. It is now nearly dark and we cannot find the way by which the captain went and an hour is spent in fruitless search. Two of the men go away around an amphitheater more than a fourth of a mile and start down a broken chasm that faces us who are behind. These walls that are vertical or nearly so are often cut by chasms where the showers run down and the tops of these chasms will be back a distance from the face of the wall and the bed of the chasm will slope down with here and there a fall. At other places huge rocks have fallen and blocked away. Down such a one the two men start. There is a curious plant growing out from the crevices of the rock. A dozen stems will start from one root and grow to the length of eight or 10 feet and not throw out a branch or twig, but these stems are thickly covered with leaves. Now and then the two men come to a bunch of dead stems and make a fire to mark for us their way in progress. In the meantime we find such a gulch and start down but soon come to the jumping off place where we can throw a stone and faintly hear it strike away below. We fear that we shall have to stay here clinging to the rocks until daylight. Our little Indian gathers a few dry stems, ties them into a bundle, lights one end and holds it up. The others do the same and with these torches we find a way out of trouble. Helping each other, holding torches for each other, one clinging to another's hand until we can get a footing and then supporting the other on his shoulders, thus we make our passage into the depths of the canyon. And now Captain Bishop has kindled a huge fire of driftwood on the bank of the river. This and the fires in the gulch opposite and our own flaming torches light up little patches that make more manifest the awful darkness below. Still on we go for an hour or two and at last we see Captain Bishop coming up the gulch with a huge torch light on his shoulders. He looks like a fiend waving brands and lighting the fires of hell and the men in the opposite gulch are imps lighting delusive fires in inaccessible crevices over yawning chasms. Our own little Indian is surely the king of wizards so I think as I stop for a few moments on a rock to rest. At last we meet Captain Bishop with his flaming torch and as he has learned the way he soon pilots us to the side of the great Colorado. We are a thirst and hungry almost to starvation. Here we lie down on the rocks and drink just a mouthful or so as we dare. Then we make a cup of coffee and spreading our blankets on a sand beach. The roaring Colorado lulls us to sleep. September 18, we are in the Grand Canyon by the side of the Colorado, more than 6,000 feet below our camp on the mountain side which is 18 miles away. But the miles of horizontal distance represent but a small part of the day's labor before us. It is the mile of altitude we must gain that makes it a Herculean task. We are up early, a little bread and coffee and we look about us. Our conclusion is that we can make this a depot of supplies should it be necessary, that we can pack our rations to the point where we left our animals last night and that we can employ Indians to bring them down to the water's edge. On a broad shelf we find the ruins of an old stone house, the walls of which are broken down and we can see where the ancient people who lived here erased more highly civilized than the present, had made a garden and used a great spring that comes out of the rocks for irrigation. On some rocks nearby we discover some curious etchings. Still searching about we find an obscure trail up the canyon wall marked here and there by steps which have been built in the loose rock, elsewhere hewn stairways and we find a much easier way to go up than that by which we came down in the darkness last night. Coming to the top of the wall we catch our horses and start. Up the canyon our jaded ponies toil and we reach the second cliff. Up this we go by easy stages leading the animals. Now we reach the offensive water pocket. Our ponies have had no water for 30 hours and are eager even for this foul fluid. We carefully strain a kettle full for ourselves then divide what is left between them two or three gallons for each but it does not satisfy them and they rage around refusing to eat the scanty grass. We boil our kettle of water and skim it, straining, boiling and skimming make it a little better for it was full of loathsome wiggling larvae with huge black heads. But plenty of coffee takes away the bad smell and so modifies the taste that most of us can drink though our little Indians seems to prefer the original mixture. We reach camp about sunset and are glad to rest. September 19. We are tired and sore and must rest a day with our Indian neighbors. During the inclement season they live in shelters made of boughs or the bark of the cedar which they strip off in long shreds. In this climate most of the year is dry and warm and during such time they do not care for shelter. Clearing a small circular space of ground they bank it around with brush and sand and wallow in it during the day and huddle together in a heap at night. Men, women and children, buckskin, rags and sand. They wear very little clothing not needing much in this lovely climate. Altogether these Indians are more nearly in their primitive condition than any others on the continent with whom I am acquainted. They have never received anything from the government and are too poor to tempt the trader and their country is so nearly inaccessible that the white man never visits them. The sunny mountain side is covered with wild fruits, nuts and native grains upon which they subsist. The ooze, the fruit of the yucca or Spanish bayonet is rich and not unlike the pawpaw of the Valley of the Ohio. They eat it raw and also roasted in the ashes. They gather the fruits of a cactus plant which are rich and luscious and eat them as grapes or express the juice from them making the dry pulp into cakes and saving them for winter and drinking the wine about their campfires until the midnight is merry with their revelries. They gather the seeds of many plants as sunflowers, goldenrod and grasses. For this purpose they have large conical baskets which hold two or more bushels. The women carry them on their backs suspended from their foreheads by broad straps and with a smaller one on the left hand and a willow woven fan on the right they walk among the grasses and sweep the seed into the smaller basket which is emptied now and then into the larger until it is full of seeds and chaff. Then they winnow out the chaff and roast the seeds. They roast these curiously. They put seeds and a quantity of red-hot coals into a willow tray and by rapidly and dexterously shaking and tossing them keep the coals aglow and the seeds and tray from burning. So skilled are the crones in this work. They roll the seeds to one side of the tray as they are roasted and the coals to the other as if by magic. Then they grind the seeds into a fine flour and make it into cakes and mush. It is a merry sight sometimes to see the women grinding at the mill. For a mill they use a large flat rock lying on the ground and another small cylindrical one in their hands. They sit prone on the ground hold the large flat rock between the feet and legs then fill their lap with seeds making a hopper to the mill with their dusky legs and grind by pushing the seeds across the larger rock where they drop into a tray. I have seen a group of women grinding together keeping time to a chant or gossiping and chatting while the younger lassies would chest and chatter and make the pine woods merry with their laughter. Mothers carry their babes curiously in baskets. They make a wicker board by plating willows and sew a buckskin cloth to either edge and this is fold in the middle so as to form a sack closed at the bottom. At the top they make a wicker shade like my grandmother's son bought it and wrapping the little one in a wildcat robe place it in the basket and this they carry on their backs strapped over the forehead and the little brown midgets are ever peering over their mother's shoulders. In camp they stand the basket against the trunk of a tree or hang it to a limb. There is a little game in the country yet they get a mountain sheet now and then or a deer with their arrows for they are not yet supplied with guns. They get many rabbits sometimes with arrows sometimes with nets. They make a net of twine made of fibers of native flax. Sometimes this is made a hundred yards in length and is placed in a half circular position with wings of sagebrush. Then they have a circle hunt and drive great numbers of rabbits into the snare where they are shot with arrows. Most of their bows are made of cedar but the best are made of the horns of mountain sheep. These are soaked in water until quite soft cut into long thin strips and glued together. They are then quite elastic. During the autumn grasshoppers are very abundant and can be gathered by the bushel. At such a time they dig a hole in the sand heat stones in a fire nearby put some hot stones in the bottom of the hole put on a layer of grasshoppers then a layer of hot stones and continue this until they put bushels on to roast. There they are. When cold weather sets in these insects are numbed and left until cool when they are taken out thoroughly dried and ground into meal. Grasshopper gruel or grasshopper cake is a great treat. Their lore consists of a mass of traditions or mythology. It is very difficult to induce them to tell it to white men but the old Spanish priests in the days of the conquest of New Mexico spread among the Indians of this country many Bible stories which the Indians are usually willing to tell. It is not always easy to recognize them. The Indian mind is a strange receptacle for such stories and they are apt to sprout new limbs. Maybe much of their added quaintness is due to the way in which they were told by the fathers but in a confidential way while alone or when admitted to their campfire on a winter night one may hear the stories of their mythology. I believe that the greatest mark of friendship or confidence that an Indian can give is to tell you his religion. After one has so talked with me I should ever trust him and I feel on very good terms with these Indians since our experience of the other night. A knowledge of the watering places and of the trails and passes is considered of great importance and is necessary to give standing to achieve. This evening the Shivwits for whom we have sent come in and after supper we hold a long council. A blazing fire is built and around this we sit. The Indians living here, the Shivwits, Jacob Hamlin and myself. This man Hamlin speaks their language well and has a great influence over all the Indians in the region round about. He is a silent reserved man and when he speaks it is in a slow, quiet way that inspires great awe. His talk is so low that they must listen attentively to hear and they sit around him in death-like silence. When he finishes a measured sentence the chief repeats it and they all give a solemn grunt. But first I fill my pipe, light it and take a few whiffs then pass it to Hamlin. He smokes and gives it to the next man and so it goes around. When it has passed the chief he takes out his own pipe, fills and lights it and passes it around after mine. I can smoke my own pipe in turn but when the Indian pipe comes around I am non-plus. It has a large stem which has at some time been broken and now there is a buckskin rag wound around it and tied with sinew so that the end of the stem is a huge mouthful exceedingly repulsive. To gain time I refill it then engage in a very earnest conversation and all unawares I pass it to my neighbor unlighted. I tell the Indians that I wish to spend some months in their country during the coming year and that I would like them to treat me as a friend. I do not wish to trade, I do not want their lands. Here to four I have found it very difficult to make the natives understand my object but the gravity of the Mormon missionary helps me much. I tell them that all the great and good white men are anxious to know very many things, that they spend much time in learning and that the greatest man is he who knows the most, that the white men who want to know all about the mountains and the valleys, the rivers and the canyons, the beasts and the birds and the snakes. Then I tell them of many Indian tribes and where they live, of the European nations, of the Chinese, of Africans and all the strange things about them that come to my mind. I tell them of the ocean, of great rivers and high mountains, of strange beasts and birds. At last I tell them I wish to learn about their canyons and mountains and about themselves to tell other men at home and that I want to take pictures of everything and show them to my friends. All this occupies much time and the matter and manner make a deep impression. Then their chief replies, your talk is good and we believe what you say. We believe in Jacob and look upon you as a father. When you are hungry you may have our game. You may gather our sweet fruits. We will give you food when you come to our land. We will show you the springs and you may drink. The water is good. We will be friends and when you come we will be glad. We will tell the Indians who live on the other side of the Great River that we have seen Kapurats and that he is the Indian's friend. We will tell them he is Jacob's friend. We are very poor. Look at our women and children. They are naked. We have no horses. We climb the rocks and our feet are sore. We live among rocks and they yield little food and many thorns. When the cold moons come our children are hungry. We have not much to give. You must not think as mean. You are wise. We have heard you tell strange things. We are ignorant. Last year we killed three white men. Bad men said they were our enemies. They told great lies. We thought them true. We were mad. It made us big fools. We are very sorry. Do not think of them. It is done. Let us be friends. We are ignorant like the little children in understanding compared with you. When we do wrong do not you get mad and be like children too. When white men kill our people we kill them. Then they kill more of us. It is not good. We hear that the white men are a great number. When they stop killing us there will be no Indian left to bury the dead. We love our country. We know not other lands. We hear that other lands are better. We do not know. The pines sing and we are glad. Our children play in the warm sand. We hear them sing and are glad. The seeds ripen and we have to eat and we are glad. We do not want their good lands. We want our rocks and the great mountains where our fathers lived. We are very poor. We are very ignorant, but we are very honest. You have horses and many things. You are very wise. You have a good heart. We will be friends. Nothing more have I to say. Kapurats is the name by which I am known among the youths and Shoshonis. Meaning, arm off. There was much more repetition than I have given and much emphasis. After this a few presents were given, we shook hands and the council broke up. Mr. Hamlin fell into conversation with one of the men and held him until the others had left and then learned more of the particulars of the death of the three men. They came upon the Indian village almost starved and exhausted with fatigue. They were supplied with food and put on their way to the settlements. Shortly after they had left, an Indian from the east side of the Colorado arrived at their village and told them about a number of miners having killed a squaw in a drunken brawl. And no doubt these were the men. No person had ever come down the canyon. That was impossible. They were trying to hide their guilt. In this way he worked them into a great rage. They followed, surrounded the men in ambush and filled them full of arrows. That night I slept in peace. Although these murderers of my men and their friends, the Uncaretts were sleeping not 500 yards away. While we were gone to the canyon, the pack trained in supplies, enough to make an Indian rich beyond his wildest dreams, were all left in their charge and were safe, not even a lump of sugar was pilfered by the children. September 20. For several days we have been discussing the relative merits of several names for these mountains. The Indians call them Uncaretts, the region of Pines, and we adduct the name. The Great Mountain we call Mount Trumbull in honor of the senator. Today the train starts back to the canyon water pocket while Captain Bishop and I climb Mount Trumbull. On our way we pass the point that was the last opening to the volcano. It seems but a few years since the last flood of fire swept the valley. Between two rough, conical hills it poured and ran down the valley to the foot of a mountain standing almost at the lower end. Then parted and ran on either side of the mountain. This last overflow is very plainly marked. There is soil with trees and grass to the very edge of it on a more ancient bed. The flood was everywhere on its border from 10 to 20 feet in height, terminating abruptly and looking like a wall from below. On cooling it shattered into fragments but these are still in place and the outlines of streams and waves can be seen. So little time has elapsed since it ran down that the elements have not weathered a soil and there is scarcely any vegetation on it but here and there a lichen is found. And yet so long ago was it poured from the depths that where ashes and cinders have collected in a few places some huge cedars have grown. Near the crater the frozen waves of black basalt are rent with deep fishers transverse to the direction of the flow. Then we ride through a cedar forest up a long ascent until we come to cliffs of columnar basalt. Here we tie our horses and prepare for a climb among the columns. Through crevices we work till at last we are on a mountain a thousand acres of pine land spread out before us gently rising to the other edge. There are two peaks on the mountain. We walk two miles to the foot of the one looking to be the highest then a long hard climb to its summit. What a view is before us a vision of glory peaks of lava all around below us the vermilion cliffs to the north with their splendor of colors the pine valley mountains to the northwest clothed in mellow perspective haze unnamed mountains to the southwest towering over canyons bottomless to my peering gaze like chasms to nader hell and away beyond the san francisco mountains lifting their black heads to the heavens we find our way down the mountain reaching the trail made by the pack train just at dusk and follow it through the dark until we see the campfire a welcome sight two days more and we are at pipe spring one day and we are at canab eight miles above the town is a canyon on either side of which is a group of lakes four of these are in caves where the sun never shines by the side of one of these i sit at my feet the crystal waters of which in my drink at will and of chapter twelve chapter thirteen of canyons of the colorado this is a leber vox recording all leber vox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit leber vox dot o r g recording by fred ebert canyons of the colorado by john wesley powell chapter thirteen over the river it is our intention to explore a route from canab to the colorado river at the mouth of the pariah and if successful in this undertaking to cross the river and proceed to tussan and ultimately to santa fe new mexico we propose to build a flat boat for the purpose of ferrying over the river and i've had the lumber necessary for that purpose hauled from st george to canab from here to the mouth of the pariah it must be packed on the backs of mules captain bishop and mister graves are to take charge of this work while with mister hamlin and i explore the kai bop plateau september twenty-fourth today we are ready for the start the mules are packed and away goes our train of lumber rations and camping equipage the indian trail is at the foot of the vermilion cliffs pushing on to the east with mister hamlin for a couple of hours in the early morning we reached the mouth of a dry canyon which comes down through the cliffs instead of a narrow canyon we find an open valley from one fourth to one half a mile in width on rare occasions the stream flows down this valley but now sand dunes stretch across it on either side there is a wall of vertical rocks of orange sandstone and here and there at the foot of the wall are found springs that afford sweetwater we push our way far up the valley to the foot of the gray cliffs and by a long detour find our way to the summit here again we find that wonderful scenery of naked white rocks carved into great ground bosses and domes looking off to the north we can see vermilion and pink cliffs crowned with forest while below us to the south stretch the dunes and redlands of the vermilion cliff region and far away we can see the opposite wall of the grand canyon in the middle of the afternoon we descend into the canyon valley and hurriedly ride down to the mouth of the canyon then follow the trail of the pack train for we are to camp with the party tonight we find it at the navajo well as we approach in the darkness the campfire is a cheerful sight the navajo well is a pool in the sand the sands themselves lying in a basin with naked smooth rocks all about on which the rains are caught and by which the sand in the basin is filled with water and by digging into the sand this sweetwater is found september twenty-fifth at sunrise mr. hamlin and i part from the train once more taking with us juar the chief of the kaibai for a trip to the south for one more view of the grand canyon from the summit of the kaibab plateau all day long our way is over red hills with a bold line of cliffs on our left a little afternoon we reach a great spring and here we are to camp for the night for the region beyond us is unknown and we wish to enter it with a good day before us the indian goes out to hunt a rabbit for dinner and hamlin and i climb the cliffs from an elevation of eighteen hundred feet above the spring we watch the sun go down and see the sheen on the vermilion cliffs and redlands slowly fade into the gloaming then we descend to supper september twenty-sixth early in the morning we pass up a beautiful valley to the south and turn westward on to a great promontory from the summit of which the grand canyon is in view its deep gorge can be seen to the westward for fifty or sixty miles and to the southeastward we look off into the stupendous chasm with its marvelous forms and colors twenty-one years later i read over the notes of that day's experience and the picture of the grand canyon from this point is once more before me i did not know when writing the notes that this was the grandest view that can be obtained of the region from fremont's peak to the gulf of california but i did realize that the scene before me was awful sublime and glorious awful in profound depths sublime and massive and strange forms and glorious in colors years later i visited the same spot with my friend thomas moran from this world of wonder he selected a section which was the most interesting to him and painted it that painting known as the chasm of the colorado is in a hall in the senate wing of the capital of the united states if anyone will look upon that picture and then realize that it was but a small part of the landscape before us on this memorable twenty six day of september he will understand why i suppressed my notes descriptive of the scene the landscape is too vast too complex too grand for verbal description we sleep another night by the spring on the summit of the kybob and next day we go around points sublime and then push on to the very verge of the kybob where we can overlook the canyon at the mouth of the little colorado the day is a repetition of the glorious day before and at night we sleep again at the same spring in the morning we turn to the northeast and descend from kybob to the back of marble canyon and cross it at the foot of the vermilion cliffs and find our packers camped at jacob's pool where a spring bursts from the cliff at the summit of a great hill of talus in the camp we find a score or more of indians who have joined us here by previous appointment as we need their services in crossing the river on the last day of september we follow the vermilion cliffs around at the mouth of the pariah here the cliffs present a wall of about two thousand feet in height above orange and vermilion but below chocolate purple and gray and alternating bands of rainbow brightness the cliffs are cut with deep side canyons and the rainbow hills below are destitute of vegetation at night we camp on the bank of the colorado river on the same spot where our boat party at camp the year before leaving the party in charge of mister graves and mister bishop while they are building a ferry boat i take some indians to explore the canyon of the pariah we find steep walls on either side but a rather broad flat plain below through which the muddy river winds its way over quicksands the stream we have to cross from time to time and we find the quicksands treacherous and our horses floundering in the trembling masses these broad canyons or canyon valleys are carved by the streams in obedience to an interesting law of curation where the declivity of the stream is great the river curates or cuts its bottom deeper and still deeper ever-forming narrow clefs but when the stream has cut its channel down until the declivity is greatly reduced it can no longer carry the load of sand with which it is fed but drops a part of it on the way wherever it drops it in this manner a sand bank is formed now the effect of this sand bar is to turn the course of the river against the wall or bank and as it unloads in one place it cuts in another below and loads itself again so unloads itself and forms bars and loads itself with more material to form bars and the process of the vertical cutting is transformed into a process of lateral cutting the rate of cutting is greatly increased thereby but the wear is on the sides and not on the bottom so long as the declivity of the stream is great the rate of the load of sand carried the greater the rate of vertical cutting but when the declivity is reduced so that part of the load is thrown down vertical cutting is changed to lateral and the rate of curation multiplied thereby now this broad valley canyon or box canyon as such channels are usually called in the country has been formed by the stream itself cutting its channel at first vertically and afterwards laterally and so a great floodplain is formed for a day we write up the pariah and next day return the party in camp have made good progress the boat is finished and a part of the camp freight has been transported across the river the next day the remainder is ferried over and the animals are let across swimming behind the ferry boat in pairs here a bold bluff more than twelve hundred feet in height has to be climbed and the day is spent in getting to its summit we make a dry camp that is without water except that which has been carried in canteens by the indians october four all day long we pass by the foot of the echo cliffs which are in fact the continuation of the vermilion cliffs it is still a landscape of rocks with cliffs and pinnacles and towers and buttes on the left and deep chasms running down into the marble canyon on the right at night we camp at a water pocket a pool and a great limestone rock we still go south for another half day to a cedar ridge here we turn westward climbing the cliffs which we find to be not the edge of an escarpment with a plateau above but a long narrow ridge which descends on the eastern side to a level only five hundred or six hundred feet above the trail left below on the eastern side of the cliff a great homogenous sandstone stretches declining rapidly and on its sides are carved innumerable basins which are now filled with pure water and we call this the thousand wells we have a long afternoon's ride over sand dunes slowly toiling from mile to mile we can see a ledge of rocks in the distance and the indian with us assures us that we shall find water there at night we come to the cliff and under it in a great cave we find a lakelet sweeter, cooler water never blessed the desert while at jacob's pool several days before i sent a runner forward into this region with instructions to hunt us up some of the natives and bring them to this pool when we arrive we are disappointed in not finding them on hand but a little later half a dozen men come in with the indian messenger they are surly fellows and seem to be displeased that are coming before midnight they leave under the circumstances i do not feel that it is safe to linger long at this spot so i do not lie down to rest but walk the camp among the guards and see that everything is in readiness to move about two o'clock i set a couple of men to prepare a hasty lunch call up all hands and we saddle, pack, eat our lunch and start off to the south west to reach the moenkopi where there is a little rancheria of indians a farming settlement belonging to the orabis so we are told we set out at a rapid rate and when daylight comes we are inside of the canyon of the moenkopi into which we soon descend but the rancheria has been abandoned up the moenkopi we pass several miles in a beautiful canyon valley until we find a pool in a nook of a cliff where we feel that we can defend ourselves with certainty and here we camp for the night the next day we go on to al-Rabbi one of the pleblos of the province of tasayin at tasayin we stop for two weeks and visit the seven pleblos on the cliffs al-Rabbi is first reached then Shumapavi Shalpalovi Mashadgnavi and finally Walpi Sitchumavi and Hano in a street of al-Rabbi our little party is gathered soon a council is called by the kaseek or chief and we are assigned to a suite of six or eight rooms for our quarters we purchase corn of some of the people and after feeding our animals they are entrusted to two indian boys who under the direction of the kaseek take them to a distant mesa to herd this is my first view of an inhabited pueblo though i have seen many ruins from time to time at first i'm a little disappointed in the people they seem scarcely superior to the shashonis and youths tribes with whom i am so well acquainted their dress is less picturesque and the men have an ugly fashion of banging their hair in front so that it comes down to their eyes and conceals their foreheads but the women are more neatly dressed and arrange their hair in picturesque coils al-Rabbi is a town of several hundred inhabitants it stands on a mesa or little plateau two hundred or three hundred feet above the surrounding plain the mesa itself has a rather diversified surface the streets of the town are quite irregular and in a general way run from north to south the houses are constructed to face the east they are stone laid in mortar and are usually three or four stories high the second story stands back upon the first leaving a terrace over one tier of rooms the second story stands back upon the first leaving a terrace over one tier of rooms the third is set back of the second and the fourth back of the third so that their houses are terraced to face the east these terraces on the top are all flat and the people usually ascend to the first terrace by a ladder and then by another into the lower rooms in like manner ladders or rude stairways are used to reach the upper stories the climate is very warm and the people live on the tops of their houses it seems strange to see little-naked children climbing the ladders and running over the house tops like herds of monkeys after we have looked about the town and been gazed upon by the wondering eyes of the men women and children we are at last called supper in a large central room we gather and the food is placed before us a stew of goats flesh is served in earthen bowls and each one of us is furnished with a little earthen ladle the bread is a great novelty to me it is made of cornmeal and sheets as thin and large as foolscap paper in the corner of the house is a little oven the top of which is a great flat stone and the good housewife bakes her bread in this manner the cornmeal is mixed to the consistency of a rather thick roll and the woman dips her hand in the mixture and plasters the hot stone with a thin coating of the meal paste in a minute or two it forms into a thin paper-like cake and she takes it up by the edge folds it once and places it on the basket tray then another and another sheet of paper bread is made in like manner and piled on the tray I notice that the paste stands in a number of different bowls in that she takes from one bowl and then another in order and I soon see the effect of this the corn before being ground is assorted by colors white, yellow, red, blue, and black and the sheets of bread when made are of the same variety of colors white, yellow, red, blue, and black this bread, held on very beautiful trays, is itself a work of art they call it peeky after we have partaken of goat stew and bread, a course of dumplings, melons, and peaches is served and this finishes the feast what seem to be dumplings are composed of a kind of hash of bread and meat tied up in little balls with corn husks and served boiling hot they are eaten with much gusto by the party and highly praised some days after we learned how they are made they are prepared of goat's flesh, bread, and turnips and needed by mastication as we prefer to masticate our own food this dandy dish is never again a favorite in the evening the people celebrate our advent by a dance such it seemed to us but probably it was one of their regular ceremonies after dark a pretty little fire is built in the chimney corner and I spend the evening in rehearsing to a group of the leading men the story of my travels in the canyon country of our journey down the canyon in boats they have already heard and they listen with great interest to what I say my talk with them is in the Mexican patois which several of them understand and all that I say is interpreted the next morning we are up at daybreak soon we hear loud shouts coming from the top of the house the casique is calling his people then all the people, men, women, and children come out on the tops of their houses just before sunrise they sprinkle water and meal from beautiful grails then they all stand with bare heads to watch the rising of the sun when his full orb is seen once more they sprinkle the sacred water and the sacred meal over the tops of the houses then the casique, in a loud voice, directs the labor of the day so his talk is explained to us some must gather corn others must go for wood water must be brought from the distant wells and the animals of the strangers must be cared for now the house tops present a lively scene bowls of water are brought from them the men fill their mouths and with dexterity blow water over their hands and spray and wash their faces and lav their long shining heads of hair and the women dress one another's locks with bowls of water they make suds of the yucca plant and wash and comb and deftly roll their hair the elder women in great coils at the back of the head the younger women in flat coils on their cheeks and so the days are passed and the weeks go by and we study the language of the people and record many hundreds of their words and observe their habits and customs and gain some knowledge of their mythology but above all do we become interested in their religious ceremonies one afternoon they take me from a robbie chupolovie to witness a great religious ceremony it is the invocation to the gods for rain we arrive about sundown and are taken into a large subterranean chamber into which we descend by a ladder soon about a dozen shamans are gathered with us and the ceremony continues from sunset to sunrise it is a series of formal invocations incantations and sacrifices especially of holy meal and holy water the leader of the shamans is a great burly bald headed indian which is a remarkable sight for i have never seen one before whatever he says or does is repeated by three others in turn the paraphernalia of their worship is very interesting at one end of the chamber is a series of tablets of wood covered with quaint pictures of animals and of corn and overhead are conventional black clouds from which yellow lightnings are projected while drops of rain fall on the corn below wooden birds set on pedestals and decorated with plumes are arranged in various ways ears of corn vases of holy water and trays of meal make up a part of the paraphernalia of worship i try to record some of the prayers but i'm not very successful as it is difficult to hold my interpreter to the work but one of these prayers is something like this mowengwa pashlolomai master of the clouds we eat no stolen bread our young men ride not the stolen ass our food is not stolen from the gardens of our neighbors mowengwa pashlolomai we beseech of thee to dip your great sprinkler made of the feathers of the birds of the heavens into the lakes of the skies and sprinkle us with sweet rains that the ground may be prepared in the winter for the corn that grows in the summer at one time in the night three women were brought into the kiva these women had a synchro of cotton about their loins but were otherwise nude one was very old another of middle age and the third quite young perhaps fourteen or fifteen years old as they stood in a corner of the kiva their faces and bodies were painted by the bald headed priest for this purpose he filled his mouth with water and pigment and dexterously blew a fine spray over the faces the necks, shoulders and breasts of the women then with his finger as a brush he decorated them over this groundwork which was of yellow with many figures in various colors from that time to daylight the three women remained in the kiva and took part in the ceremony as choristers and dancing performers at sunrise we are filed out of the kiva and a curious sight is presented to our view Chupilovi is built in terraces about a central court or plaza and in the plaza about fifty men are drawn up in a line facing us these men are naked except that they wear masks, strange and grotesque and great flaring headresses in many colors our party from the kiva stand before this line of men and the bald headed priest harangs them in words I cannot understand then across the other end of the plaza a line of women is formed facing the line of men and at a signal from the old shaman the drums and the whistles on the terraces with a great chorus of singers set up a tumultuous noise and with slow shuffling steps the line of men and the line of women moved toward each other in a curious waving dance when the lines approach so as to be not more than ten or twelve feet apart our party still being between them they all change so as to dance backward to their original positions this is repeated until the dancers have passed over the plaza four times then there is a wild confusion of dances the order of which I cannot understand if indeed there is any system except that the men and women dance apart soon this is over and the women all filed down the ladder into the kiva and the men strip off their mask and arrange themselves about the plaza everyone according to his own wish but as if in sharp expectancy then the women return up the ladder from the kiva and climb to the tops of the houses and stand on the brink of the nearer terrace now the music commences once more and the old woman who was painted in the kiva during the night throw something I cannot tell what into the midst of the plaza with a shout and a scream every man jumps for it one seizes it another takes it away from him and then another secures it and with shouts and screams they wrestle and tussle for the charm which the old woman has thrown to them after a while someone gets permanent possession of the charm and the music ceases then another is thrown into the midst so these contests continue at intervals until high noon in the evening we return to al-Rabbi and now for two days we employ our time in making a collection of the arts of the people of this town first we display to them our stock of goods composed of knives, needles, auls, scissors, paints, dye stuffs, leather and various fabrics and gay colors then we go around among the people and select the articles of pottery, stone implements, instruments and utensils made of bone, horn, shell, articles of clothing and ornament, baskets, trays and many other things and tell the people to bring them the next day to our rooms a little after sunrise they come in and we have a busy day of barter when articles are brought in such as I want I lay them aside then if possible I discover the fancy of the one who brings them and I put by the articles the goods which I am willing to give in exchange for them having thus made an offer I never deviate from it but leave it to the option of the other party to take either his own articles or mine lying beside them the barter is carried on with a hearty goodwill the people jest and laugh with us and with one another all are pleased and there is nothing to mar this day of pleasure in the afternoon and evening I make an inventory of our purchases and the next day is spent in packing them for shipment some of the things are heavy and I engage some Indians to help transport the cargo to Fort Wingott where we can get army transportation October 24th today we leave a lobby we are ready to start in the early morning the whole town comes to bid us goodbye before we start they perform some strange ceremony which I cannot understand but with invocations to some daily they sprinkle us our animals and our goods with water and with meal then there is a time of handshaking and hugging goodbye goodbye goodbye at last we start our way is to Walpie by a heavy trail over a sand plain among the dunes we arrive a little afternoon Walpie, Sitchu Humovi, and Hano are three little towns on one butte with but little space between them the stretch from town to town is hardly large enough for a game of ball the top of the butte is of naked rock and it rises from three hundred to four hundred feet above the sand planes below by a precipitous cliff on every side to reach it from below it must be climbed by niches and stairways in the rock it is a good site for defense at the foot of the cliff and on some terraces the people have built corrals of stone for their asses all the water used in these three towns is derived from a well nearly a mile away a deep pit sunk in the sand over the site of a dune buried brook when we arrived the men of Walpie carry our goods camp equipage and saddles up the stairway and deposit them in a little court then they assign us eight or ten rooms for our quarters our animals are once more consigned to the care of indian herders and after they are fed they are sent away to a distance of some miles there is no tree or shrub growing near the Walpie mesa it is miles away to where the stunted cedars are found and the people bring curious little loads of wood on the backs of their donkeys it being a day's work to bring such a cargo the people have anticipated our coming and the wood for our use is piled in the chimney corners after supper the hours till midnight are passed in rather formal talk Walpie seems to be a town of about a hundred and fifty inhabitants sichimovi of less than a hundred and hano of not more than seventy-five hano or tua as it is sometimes called has been built lately that is it cannot be more than a hundred or two hundred years old the other towns are very old their foundation dates back many centuries so we gather from this talk the people of hano also speak a radically distinct language belonging to another stock of tribes they formerly lived on the real ground but during some war they were driven away and were permitted to build their home here two days are spent in trading with the people and we pride ourselves on having made a good ethnologic collection we are especially interested in seeing the men and women spin and weave in their courtyards they have deep chambers excavated in the rocks these chambers which are called kivas are entered by descending ladders they are about eighteen by twenty four feet in size the kiva is the place of worship where all their ceremonies are performed where their cult societies meet to pray for rain and to prepare medicines and charms against fancied and real ailments and to protect themselves by sorcery from the dangers of witchcraft the kivas are also places for a general rendezvous and at night the men and women bring their work in chat and laugh and in their rude way make the time merry many of the tribes of north america have their cult societies or medicine orders as they are sometimes called but this institution has been nowhere developed more thoroughly than among the Pueblo Indians of this region i am informed that there are a great number in tasayan that a part of their ceremonies are secret and another part public and that the times of ceremony are also times for feasting and athletic sports here at wallpay the great snake dance is performed for several days before this festival is held the people with great diligence gather snakes from the rocks and sands of the region round about and bring them to the kiva of one of their clans in great numbers by scores and hundreds most of these snakes are quite harmless but rattlesnakes abound and they are also caught for they play the most important role in the great snake dance the medicine men or priest doctors are very deft in the management of rattlesnakes when they bring them to the kiva they heard all the snakes in a great mass of writhing hissing rattling serpents for this purpose they have little wands to the end of each one of which a bunch of feathers is affixed if a snake attempts to leave its allotted place in the kiva the medicine man brushes it or tickles it with the feather-armed wand and the snake turns again to commingle with its fellows after many strange and rather worrisome ceremonies with dancing and invocations and ululations the men of the order prepare for the great performance with the snakes clothe only in loincloth each one seizes the snake and a rattlesnake is preferred if there are enough of them for all it is managed in this way the snake is teased with the feather wand and his attention occupied by one man while another standing near at a favorable moment seizes the snake just back of the head then he puts the snake in his mouth holding it across so that the head protrudes on one side and the body on the other which coils about his hand and arm a few inches of the head and neck are free and with this free portion the snake struggles squirming in the air but the attention of the snake is constantly occupied by the attendant who carries the wand then the men of the priest order carrying the snakes in their mouths arrange themselves in a line in the court and move in a procession several times about the court and then engage in a dance after the ceremony all the snakes are carried to the plain and given their freedom this snake dance was not witnessed at the time of the first visit but an account of it was then obtained such as given above it has since been witnessed by myself and by others and carefully prepared accounts of the ceremonies have been published by different persons at last our work at wallpay is done on october twenty-seven and we arrange to leave on the morrow end of chapter thirteen recording by fred chapter fourteen of canyons of the colorado this is a liberal box recording all liberal box recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit liberal box dot org recording by michelle krandall canyons of the colorado by john wesley powell chapter fourteen tizuni october twenty-eighth today we leave the province of tiziana for a journey through navajo country there is quite an addition to the party now for we have a number of indians employed as freighters their asses are loaded with heavy packs of the collections we have made in the various towns of tiziana after a while we enter a beautiful canyon coming down from the east and by noon reaches spring where we halt for refreshment the poor little donkeys are thoroughly wearied but our own animals have had a long rest and have been well fed and are all fresh and active on the rocks of this canyon picture writings are etched and i try to get some account of them from the indians but fail after lunch we start once more it is a halcyon day and with a companion i leave the train and push on for a view of the country away we gallop my indian companion and i over the country toward a great plateau which we can see in the distance the salakai is covered with a beautiful forest we have an exhilarating ride when the way becomes stony and rough we must walk our horses my indian who is well mounted on a beautiful bay is a famous writer about his brow a kerch of his tide and his long hair rests on his back he has keen black eyes and a beaked nose about his neck he wears several dozen strings of beads made of nacre shining shells and little tablets of turquoise are perforated and strung on sinew cord in his ears he has silver rings and his wrists are covered with silver bracelets his leggings are black velvet the material for which he has bought from some trader his moccasins are tan-colored and decorated with silver ornaments and the trappings of his horse are decorated in like manner he carries his rifle with as much ease as if it were a cane and rides with wonderful dexterity we get on with jargon and sign language pretty well at night after a long ride I descend to the foot of the mesa and near a little lake I find the camp the donkey train has not arrived but soon one after another the indians come in with their packs and with white men, oriby indians, wallpey indians, and navhos a good party is assembled October 29th we have a long ride before us today for we must reach old fort defiance I stay with the train in order to keep everything moving for we expect to travel late in the night on the way no water is found but in mid-afternoon the trail leads to the brink of a canyon and the indians tell me there is water below so the animals are unpacked and taken down the cliff in a winding way among the rocks where they are supplied with water again we start night comes on and we are still in the forest the trail is good yet we make slow progress for some of the animals are weary and we have to wait from time to time for the stragglers about ten o'clock we descend from the plateau to the canyon beneath and are at old fort defiance and the officers at the agency give us a hearty greeting we spend the thirtieth of October at the agency and see thousands of indians for they are gathered to receive rations and annuities it is a wild spectacle groups of indians are gambling there are several horse races and everywhere there is feasting at night the revelry is increased great fires are lighted and groups of indians are seen scattered about the plains November 1st after a short days ride we camp at rock spring a fountain gushes from the foot of the mesa then another days ride through a land of beauty on the left there is a line of cliffs like the vermilion cliffs of utah in the same red sandstones and on the top of the cliff the kaibab scenery is duplicated a great tower on the cliff is known as navajo church early in the afternoon we are at fort wingate and in civilization once more the fort is on a beautiful site at the foot of the zuny plateau and now our journey with the pack train is ended and i bid goodbye to my indian friends my own pack train is to go back to utah while from fort wingate i expect to go to san afey in an ambulance but the region about is of interest for its wonderful geologic structure and for the many ruins of ancient pueblos found in the neighborhood on the 2nd of november captain johnson an artillery officer takes me for a ride among the ruins many of these ancient structures are found but those which are of the most interest are the round towers nothing remains of these but the bare walls they average from eighteen to twenty feet in diameter and are usually two or three stories high probably they were built as places of worship above fort wingate there is a great plateau below there stretches a vast desert plain with maces and buttes the ruins are at the foot of the plateau where the streams come down from the pine clad heights on the 3rd of november with the party of officers i visit zuny in an ambulance the journey is forty miles along the foot of the plateau half the way and then we turn into the desert valley in the midst of which runs the zuny river sometimes in canyons cut in black lava zuny is a town much like those already visited except that it is a little larger nothing can be more repulsive than the appearance of the streets irregular crowded and filthy in which dogs asses and indians are mingled in confusion in the distance toyalon is seen a great butte on which an extensive ruin is found the more ancient home of these people the zuny itself appears to be hundreds of years old the people speak a language radically different from that of tusayan and no other tribe in the united states has a tongue related to it in the midst of the town there is an old spanish church partly in ruins but it is still graced with the wooden image of a saint gaily colored and the old tongueless bell remains for it was sounded with a stone hammer held in the hand of the bellman the marks of his blows are deeply indented on the metal alvar nuniez cabesa de vaca was the first white man to see zuny when he wandered in that long journey from florida around by the headwaters the arkansas through what is now new mexico and arizona southward to the city of mexico he had with him a barberry negro who was killed by the zuny and his burial places still pointed out among the zuny as among the tribes of tusayan the form of government which prevails throughout the north american tribes as well illustrated kinship is the tie by which the members of the tribe are bound together as a common body of people each tribe is divided into a series of clans and a clan is a group of people that reckon kinship through the family line the children therefore belong to the clan of the mother marriage is always without the clan the husband and father must belong to a different clan from the mother and children and the children belong to their mother and are governed by her brothers or by her mother's brothers if they be still living the husband is but the guest of the wife and the clan and has no other authority in the family than that acquired by personal character if he is an able and wise man his advice may be taken but each clan is very jealous of its rights and the members do not submit to dictation from the guest husband the woman is not the ruler of the clan the ruler is the patriarch or elder man or if he is not a man of ability a younger and more able man is chosen who by legal fiction is recognized as the elder over the officers of the clan are the officers of the tribe a chief with assistant chiefs the organization by tribal governors varies from tribe to tribe sometimes the chieftaincy is hereditary in a particular clan but more often the chieftaincy is elective there is very little personal property among the tribal people such property being confined to clothing ornaments and a few inconsiderable articles the ownership of the great bulk of the property inheres with the clan such as their houses, their patches of land, the food raised from the soil and the game caught in the chase sometimes the clans are grouped, two or more constituting a fratry and there are other officers or chiefs standing between the clan and tribal authority again tribes are sometimes organized into confederacies and a grand confederate chief recognized in addition to the chieftaincy of confederate tribes, fratrices, and clans there are councils but these are not councils of legislation in the ordinary sense the councils are clans whose decisions become a precedent tribal law is therefore court-made law and such customary law grows out of the exigencies which daily life presents to the people the problems as they arise are solved as best they may be and the deliberations of the councils look not to the future but only to the present and are invoked to settle controversy that peace may be maintained of course there is no written constitution or body of laws but there are traditional regulations which are well preserved in the idioms of oral speech every rule of procedure or of justice being sooner or later coined into an aphorism it has been seen that a clan is a body of kinship in the female line but the members of the different clans are related to one another by intermarriage thus the first tie is by affinity but as fathers belong to other clans in the children the tie is also by consanguinity thus the entire tribe is a body of kindred and the tribal organization is a fabric with warp of streams of blood and wolf of marriage ties when different tribes unite to form a confederacy for offensive or defensive purposes artificial kinship is established one tribe perhaps is recognized as the grandfather tribe another is the father tribe a third is the elder brother tribe a fourth is the younger brother tribe etc in these artificial kinships the members of one tribe address the members of another tribe by kinship terms established in the treaty strangers are sometimes adopted into the clan and this gives them a status in the tribe the adoption is usually accomplished by the woman claiming the individual as her youngest son or daughter and such adopted person has there upon the status belonging to such a natural child and though he be an adult he calls himself the child born into the clan before his advent though it be but a year old his elder brother or his elder sister then often young men are advanced in the clan because of superior ability and this is done by giving them a kinship rank higher than that belonging to their real age so that it is not infrequently found that old men address young men as their elder brothers and yield to their authority the ties of the tribe are kinship and authority inheres in superior age but in order to adjust these rules so that the abler men may be given control artificial kinship and artificial age are established the civil chiefs direct the daily life of the people in their labors to the civil organization of the tribe as thus indicated there is added a military organization and war chiefs are selected but usually these war chiefs are something more than war chiefs for they also constitute a constabulary to preserve peace and meetout punishment and young men from the various clans are designated as warriors and advanced in military rank according to merit there is thus a brotherhood of warriors and every man in this brotherhood recognizes all others of the group as being elder or younger and so assumes or yields authority in all matters pertaining to war and the enforcement of criminal law in addition to the secular government there is always a cult government in every tribe there are shamans designated variously by white men as medicine men priests priest doctors the urges etc in many tribes perhaps in all the people are organized into shamanistic societies but that these societies are invariably recognized is not certain the shamans are always found among the zuni there are thirteen of these cult societies the purpose of shamanistic institutions is to control the conduct of the members of the tribe in relation to mythic personages the mysterious beings in which the savage men believe in the mind of the savage the world is peopled by a host of mythic beings anthropomorphic and zoomorphic the difference between man and brute recognized in civilization is unrecognized in savagery all animal life is wonderful and magical to sylvan man wisdom, cunning, skill and prowess are attributed to the real animals to a degree often greater than to man and there are mythic animals as well as mythic men monsters dwelling in the mountains and caves are hiding in the waters who make themselves invisible as they pass over the land not only are there great monsters, beasts and reptiles in their mythology but there are wonderful insects and worms all life is miraculous and is worshiped as divine the heavenly bodies, the sun and moon and stars are mythic animals and all of the phenomena of nature are attributed to the zoic beings for example, the indian knows nothing of the ambient air the wind is the breath of some beast or it is a fanning which rises from under the wings of a mythic bird all the phenomena of nature, the rising and setting of the sun the waxing and waning of the moon the shining of the stars the coming of comets, the flash of meteors, the change of seasons the gathering and vanishing of the clouds the billowing of the winds, the falling of the rain the spreading of the snow and all other phenomena of physical nature are held to be the acts of these wonderful zoic deities it is deemed of prime importance that such deities should be induced to act in the interest of men thus it is that jamanistic government is held to be of as great importance as tribal government and the shamans are the peers of the chiefs with some tribes the cult societies have greater powers than the clan with other tribes clan government is the more important but always there is a conflict of authority and there is a perpetual war between shamanistic and civil government the shamans and cult societies have a great variety of functions to perform all disease and all injuries are attributed to mythic beings or to witchcraft and on these pathologic ideas the medicine practices of the people are based the mason men are sorcerers who work wonders in discovering witchcraft and averting its effects or discovering the disease making animals and overcoming their power so the shamans and the cult societies are the possessors of medicine and ceremonies designed to prevent and cure human elements they also have charge of the ceremonies necessary to avert disaster and to secure success in all the affairs of life and peace and war and they prescribe methods and observances and furnish charms and amulets and in every way possible control human conduct in its relation to the unknown no small part of savage life is devoted to cult ceremonies and observances the hunter cannot penetrate the forest without his charm the woman cannot plant corn until a ceremony is performed for securing the blessings of some divine being religious festivals and ceremonies are carried on for days and weeks a war must be submitted to the gods and a sneeze demands a prayer our arrival at Fort Wingate practically ended the exploration of the great valley of the Colorado this was in 1870 in 1891 we can look back upon the completion of the survey of all that region for it has now been carefully mapped the geology of the country has been studied and the tribes which inhabit it have been subjects of careful research and work has been carried on by a large core of men and interesting results have accrued End of Chapter 14 Read by Michelle Crandall, Fremont, California August 2007