Captives of the Desert. Zane Grey

lad of perhaps eighteen years.

      Katharine missed Curry and Hanley, and unable to explain their absence, was inclined to hope that they might be locking fists somewhere, Hanley, of course, getting the worst of it. She blamed Hanley for the new complexities which burdened Mary, for the pressure of anxiety that Mary was struggling to disguise under false gaiety. Wilbur, she felt, was not so much to blame. He was negative, a weak instrument for Hanley, and therefore pitiable. She did not want to abandon her faith in his one outstanding virtue, his complete abstinence from all kinds of liquor. She had established her faith on Mary’s own declaration of this fact. Now she was beginning to have misgivings. Did not Mary herself doubt him after last night’s episode?

      At the moment attention was focused on Miss Miller who, Mrs. Weston declared, was to start a painting of Oraibi Mesa shortly, and had to find the best perspective, but was afraid to scout around alone. Mrs. Weston was ready to accompany her if she could find some other recruits. Wilbur, to Katharine’s amazement, suggested that she and Mary go along. And when Mary agreed, Mrs. Weston was delighted.

      So it happened that an hour later their little party of four set out on horseback, prepared for a lengthy excursion by a picnic lunch, and promising that they would return in plenty of time for the dance. Wilbur was left to his own resources—and Hanley’s.

      * * * *

      When Katharine and Mary rode up Oraibi Mesa the second time, Wilbur did not accompany them. He failed to appear when and where he had stipulated, and after giving him a half-hour’s grace, Mary accepted Mrs. Weston’s invitation to join her party. Under the circumstances meeting Curry was inevitable. He was again the ingratiating person of Katharine’s first acquaintance. The altercation of last night might never have happened. Manifestly it was forgotten.

      “I’d been thinking that Miss Winfield might want a rattlesnake to take home for a pet,” he said when, as he rode along with the girls for a brief time, Katharine had confessed to him her utter horror of snakes. “They’re really good-natured snakes. I like them. They’re square. Always give a fellow a chance to get out of the way, rattle their tails like they were tootin’ horns. These Hopis love them—worship them. You’d never catch them killing a rattler.”

      “How ever do they catch them for the dance?” Katharine asked.

      “Just like an eagle swooping down. They sneak up on them and nab them just behind the head and press so hard that the snake can’t twist around to strike. You’ll see them at the dance, dropping the snakes and catching them again.”

      The Eastern girl considered Curry’s words thoughtfully. “And the snakes are not doped for the dance nor their fangs removed nor anything?”

      Curry received the question with a smile. “No Hopi would ever molest a rattlesnake or dope him either. The dancers take precaution by fasting and drinking something they prepare from desert plants, but even that doesn’t make them immune from the effects of a bite. It slows up the working of the poison, and after the dance is over they take one of their strange antidotes. In fact, they all take it whether they need it or not.”

      “It’s all so solemn and sacred to them,” murmured Mary. “It’s an appeal to the snake god, who, in their belief, controls the rains. Drought is their one great fear.”

      “Then how terrible it would be for them, believing this, if the dance were prohibited. There’s all sorts of legislation on foot about it now,” Katharine demurred. “Why can’t we keep our noses out of other people’s business, particularly when they are not citizens and live only by sufferance?”

      “Because since the beginning of time man has wanted to take the mote out of his neighbor’s eye before he casts the beam out of his own,” replied Mary. “Perhaps on an average of once in ten years an Indian might die from a rattlesnake bite received at a snake dance, but any white man’s town, east or west, the size of Oraibi, has two or three fatalities a year because the enforcement of traffic laws is so lax or because no laws exist. We are very, very inconsistent mortals.”

      Curry enjoyed Mary’s tirade immensely. “And all this time I’ve been thinking you were a reformer.” The twinkle in his eye belied his words.

      “I try to see things whole,” was Mary’s reply.

      The dance was to be held in a large square court hemmed in partly by the walls of the pueblo where the Indians were already gathered. Katharine was impressed with the solemnity of the occasion. She felt that she was treading on holy ground amid reverent, worshipful souls. She could not pretend to understand the childish manifestations of the Hopis’ belief, but their apparent faith was nonetheless beautiful, and commanded her respect. She had come to join them in their church. They sat crowded along the roofs, some high, some low, waiting in silence. A few black cotton umbrellas, glaringly incongruous, spread blotches of shade here and there. Surely they were not necessary to a people who loved the sun; rather they were enviable possessions proudly flaunted on special occasions. Even the Indians wore their all to church.

      Separation of members of the Weston party could not be avoided because the few available points of vantage were scattered. For Mary and Katharine, Curry chose a low roof, partly shaded by an adjacent wall. The spot was secure, comfortable, and with an unobstructed view. He left them to return to the professor and his sisters. “Now let Wilbur show up if he must,” thought Katharine grimly.

      Mary seemed to divine what had passed through Katharine’s mind. “I wonder what is keeping Wilbur?” she whispered.

      “Hanley, likely,” returned her friend. “Haven’t you missed him and—” She bit her tongue in irritation over her vast stupidity.

      “The Blakely girls?” supplemented Mary. “Yes. But that’s not particularly significant. They’ve witnessed the Snake Dance several times, you know. Wilbur has never seen it.”

      The New York girl meditated on the situation. The cartoonist spoke of the Blakely girls as a pretty fast pair from Phoenix, the Phoenix summer variety he said, whatever that might mean. Well, she’d bite her tongue out before she would tell that to Mary!

      She felt herself staring steadily at a hut not large enough for a person to enter standing, which stood in the center of the court; she wondered about its use. Something like heavy burlap hung over the place designed for an entrance. Somehow she did not want to question Mary about it. Mary might not know. If, as she suspected, an Indian would suddenly pop out his head, Katharine would have been delighted. However, no such thing happened, and presently a nudge from Mary drew her attention to a corner of the court where a strangely costumed group of Indians came pouring through a doorway in single file.

      “These must be the men of the antelope order,” Mary whispered low. “They dance first, I believe.”

      They were certainly most extraordinary-looking. An odd block design of black and white paint, applied thickly to their faces, made their heads seem broader than they were long. One noticed at once that they were naked to the waist because their bodies had been treated with an intensely red stain. They wore knee-length dance skirts, and dangling from the waist, tail-fashion, long beautiful foxskins. Their feet were encased in tight-fitting moccasins, and bird feathers were caught in their long black hair. In their hands they carried gourds that rattled with each step. Keeping place as they had emerged, the antelope men marched around the court several times, then drew up in double file, forming a path to the opening of the hut. There they swung from one foot to the other with a quick tapping step, shaking the gourds, and defining each movement with a decided toss of the head. This monotonous performance continued for almost ten minutes, after which time the antelope men dispersed to clear the court for a new procession of dancers, who Katharine surmised must be the snake priests. Their costumes were similar to those of the antelope men. She was too fascinated to try to note any minor dissimilarity, and very concerned about the absence of snakes. The last four to appear were boys not over twelve years of age.

      These dancers, too, paraded the court, perhaps half a dozen times, but with speedier movement. They appeared a trifle more impressive than their predecessors. Every time they passed the hut—the kisi, Mary called it—the dancers