The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, November 29, 1903, Page 13

THE SUNDAY CALL £ the way e - the Na = the Hopis, have e S t titie to the 'and they ps Ve must remember whose - was before Columbus touched 2A0r and also that this par- t p tion *was theirs by a ¥ of 3 nd almost ce I ars on it dwellivg i sand in 1he hottom of the valley grew the food supply, just as in the days of near at hand, that is id be considered “‘con- that is beyond that k below the cave, seemingiy untraversable by any creatuce save a epider “Thie i= in the Canyon de Chellev,* #aid the explorer, lingering over the pic ce baffie the f f this regic n of the Dead. t #0 grand, but more und , but more b . while back of the defer rock, was a great comr In such a isions, one wouid have terly unapproach were ted e v the arrow marks th while weapons excavated from the foot of the cliff tell where f n indulges in the state of mind of American who, after an in a cava neighboring haps, prehistoric ith true Indian forced to seek a front e this by ti it of the cliff awellin sadvantages, but, o t k of the opportun nes between a Mon- pulet of prehistoric Ari- 1 digre 'm the and pa ion of this - Monson was prepared is ethnographical photo- whole O of them, full ut he had little more st told- how they ears of investigation nty-three different hich have since be- ot wh to en it seem- t we were not ppreciate the replacing h d them awa injustice of But though he gave up trying to in- culcate ethnological theories, the pro- fessor felt bound to correct any Feni- more Cooper conceptions of the red man that we might possess, and his tales of the Indians of to-day took the piace of the accounts of the aborigines, “For instance, the Moqui,” said he, s as gulleless 2s a three r-old child. Like the child, too, he is keen in observation and illogical in reasoning. The specimens of the white man he nerally sees along the railroads are poor specimens indeed, and he is t convince that the rest of the vorld is mot .. 1 speak of some of the traders who buy the In- dian blankets and silver work at star- n prices—paid in aluminum coin. et and think of the displayed! Some are for the sheep that grew the wool, do the shearing and carding, dye ard spin the wool into yarn and then build her loom and plan her design before she could start on the weavine, which may have taken many months. The product of all this labor she must carry miles to the trading station, and there some trader will give her, perhaps. half its value im aluminum trading checks good only at his particular store. With these she buys her provisions and., as she turns homeward, she is thinking probably ihat the winter is not far off and she must make another blanket to take the place of the one she has just sold be- fore tke first snow farls. “Surprising, 1sn’t it, that after a few such experfences the squaw falls to de- velop a feeling of cordial confidence to- ward the white man! There were two Indian boys I knew,” Professor Monson went on, “who had gone away to school and each learned one of the white man's trades. They were as fine, stalwart Indian lads as you could hope to see when thev came back and went to work on the reservation. They were giving excellent satisfaction, when one day a union man espled them and promptly demanded their discharge. The proprietor happened to be one of those men constructed without cere- bral vertebrae, so the Indians lost their places. My sympathles were enlisted, s0 I hunted up the walking delegate and found an Irishman who had been a naturalized citizen only about ten years. I suggested that the Indians be admitted to their ‘brotherhood’ if that was all they had against them. “‘Well,’ sald Pat, when I had fin- ished, ‘I'd like to oblige ye; faith, I'd ike to oblige ye, but we don’t want no ‘foreigners” In this union!’ ” “Here, then, is a new definition of foreigner, to wit: A man who has In his veins the blood of people who were Americans when the first President of the United States was still an English- man. Here were these boys educated at the expense of the white man that they might earn their bread and then denied by the white man the right to so earn it, and reduced to a state where they must be supported by tax- ation of the white man. Is it not strange that the Indian mind finds it difficult to assimilate the white man's ideas on political economy! “What is’ there then for these boys to do but to revert to the mode of life of their fathers? And if that i§ their ultimate destiny, for what purpose have they been educated away from it? And, speaking of education, you must remember that in introducing to é@&be th - - @Biddle ‘education’ making them acquainted for the first them our we are not time with the virtues. These Indians are by nature hospitable, generous, faijthful, and they keep the laws a great deal better than many of us.” “Better than the traders, you think?” “I'll tell you what one of the traders himself told me. You know,” the pro- fessor said parenthetically, with a twinkle in his eyes, “you know they think I am a crank down there, that I ‘side in’ with the Indian too much, so Uli give you some statisties from the mouth of a trader, whence it will doubtless have more effect than from mine. Well, this trader said once that he had never lost a dollar through any dishonesty of the Indlans. Not a dol- lar! And he has been there for years. In the terrible winter a few seasons ago he trusted the Indians with $10,000, and it is all paid back. Some of them died in that winter still owing for the provisions he had furnished to them, but their relatives paid their debts. The only persons who have cheated him were white men, those illustrious examples that the Indian is daily ex- horted to emulate.” “But if they have come to so dis- trust the white men how were you able to know them so intimately? Why did they admit you to their inner circle?” 1 asked. He smiled. “Glass beads and honesty BERKELEY PROFESSOR'S DISCO AMONG - THE : CLIFF - DWELLERS - wrought the charm,” he answered. * hire Indians as guides and always treat them fair and square; 1 buy ail I can of whatever they have to sell, and 1 encourage them to talk. When you listen to all the stories an old chief may choose to tell he is flattered and will quickly spread good reports of your party. Then the glass beads are a great heip. I have won my way to the heart of many a shy little Navajo miss with a few cents' worth of col- ored glass, and after that the way to the parents’ hearts is an easy road.” ‘‘Some of the Indlan women are really beautiful,” he went on, handing us a picture that showed the regular fea- tures and soft, dark eyes of the “Nav: Jo Jewess. “Some of them follow almost the Semitic type, while others again clearly show a trace of the old Castilian blood, but best of all in my eyes are the strong outlines of the true Indian face. Look at this. Is it not a sweet face and capable, too? You may be assured that this woman is queen within her house, as indeed is every Indian woman within those mud walls that bound her domain. Here everything is ordered according to her will and pleasure. Out- side her lord and master may rule, but not here. He would not dare to touch one article, even to gamble with, if it be part of the household furnishing. See, here is an interlor view showing the squaw's loom placed where it will get the best light, just back of the only window, which is this opening in the roof. This is the winter home, this mud-covered dome, and a few yards from it is the summer residence, a mere arbor of rough-cut logs screened with leafy branches. “And the country fitself is of won- drous beauty. ‘“After a day’'s journey across a des- ert like this the travelers must hail with thanksgiving the firs¢ sigh of a mesa, rising like a puff of blue smoke on the horizon. From a puff of smoke it will change to a dome, from a dome to a walled and templed city as the little bend wearily crawls toward it over the sand. These walls are more fantastic than those weird battlements erlin raised for his g and more icult to scale. At last some trail, = like a cobweb across the cliff, will entrance to t Camelot of na- e’'s building.: Onward the traveler is through defile: t are surely fit ace, their walls s of tapestry; arpet of vs? Of vn right her archi- tect than a little sand. You of the has concentrated rticular point and rder to get away from Pro- fessor Morson’s studio than to get into e to g0 there were tfolios containing some of the fruliS or travels and | tigations in the Mojave Desert ard Death Valley, along the San Juan and Colorado, among the ruins of the ¥ Verde and through the Red Rock le more than he had of the Moqui and Na te of the Utes, Pau rados, Yumas, H javes, Papagos, with othe 1ally ing and unspellabie. of r s in the studio are going soon to their final homes in 4 C 1 rseif in the s and your museum w be away at least a year, will you n “Yes, 1 suppose so,” he said, n added after a pause, “vet, after aill, I have a secret feeling that next summer will nd me for a time, at least, ba e Indian countr love it so I bt whether I ca away for a ole twelvemonth. ONE-SIDED By Maravene Hennedy. | (Copyright, 1903 MeClure.) You mean a epe Uniess 3 ok your ers and make my you won't me. Very she laid his ring on the table. “It isn’t f0 much that I object to the work of and sewing, but that you iake it an issue in our mar- cooking should ton’s handsome face was trou- “I love you,” he s just to look-at you, your voice: but th than an emotion between bappy wedded poor stuff; we never r k material wants. When a man has just downed a poorly cooked dinner—burned steak, undone biscuit, soggy pie—he’s not just in the humor to appreciate his wife's kisses.” s He drew her on his knee and kissed tenderly the mutinous little mouth: 1if “It's for your happiness as much as ne, sweetheart. I don’t want to make a slave of you. We'll have a girl help with the work, and I won't how over the bills for my little wife's dresses. But I want you to know how to do things.” “Papa i manage hi Weston glar the slovenly servant pa R window. He thought of the unsavory meals he had eaten in “this house,” and inwardly groaned. “But, Lucie,” he urged. “wouldn’t you rather laugh with me evenings than cry on my shouider because the cook’s left and you've burned the meat up? Or because Madame Highflier has ruined your new frock? My sister was raised pretty much as you've been, and I lived with her a year after she was married, so I know whereof 1 speak. John has dyspepsia and looks as though he wished heaven were his home.” “He had no right to marry unless he could support his wife properly,” she retorted, unreasonably. “‘He earns $6000 a year,” said Weston, drily; “three times what I do.” He shrugged his shouiders and laughed. “You see, darling, it behooves us to know how to manage our house and our frocks.” “Life is too short to drudge,” said she, unmollified. “I want my time for my own—to read, study, travel about.” “That’s different,” he answered in a constrained volce. “l1 was thinking of just a little home, with our own pretty yard and garden. I even looked for- ward, joyfully, to working that same garden myself; and a nice little ho and runabout, and a few weeks’ vaca- tion {n summer, and one servant just to help—not to manage. My brother Ned lives that way—he and Alice and the two children. Ned don’t earn as much as I do, either. So you see—I—I thought He waited a little. “Good- by, Lucie,” he sald softly, and put the discarded ring in his pocket. “It's my ring.” she cried, then jerked her hand away as he tried to put it on her finger. “Keep it, Lucie; it's yours, as is my heart and life. You can send it to me when—you—marry the man who can give you the things I can't.” “I hate vou'!" she sobbed and rushed from the room. Weston went slowly down the walk, a serious look on his strong, young face. Perhaps he had bungied, he thought miserably. But he was only a man, praciical and unimaginative; he could P not know that to the mind it was simply ir of love as other than t blissful hours of being toge Lucie cried heart-bre Zor a week she stayed at home and hugged her grief—not nearly so joyous a ceeding as hugging Tom way to= and laughing in their ‘ol gether. But on Thursday she went (o see Emma Day. Emma was a music teacher. Then t de turned. was a buxom face and hear take music le a foine fam hours a day an’ could she be a the pianny at all Palm Sunday? Miss Day looked the girl's big, “It takes a long the piano well it would cost you h girl with pleasant voice. She wanted to was cook in had me to e said kindly about all your earn to Frankly, T would advise against The girl" turned to Luce. asked piteously sthrate, an" I henrs y wants to play that chu Shamrock that you play She sat down Lucie's face, too, “T must, ma'am,” Ignatius. He's comin’ loves the pianny—he's t an’ he sines f. me ire, an’ it's t If I could only do som g to plaze him: somethin' to make him feel I was desarvin” h T He'll have vour love—yourself!™ in strange. tense voice e an’ he will, maam: a great hulk whko can ecook his victuals an’ wash an’ iron: eny gi*l can de that I wants to do somet for him. some- thin' that'll make him feel histed np over. ma'am. ‘An’ shure. an’ Katje did this for me,’ he'll say. It's the swate consate of men to want their swafe- do for thim what they've e for no one It wou'd ba worth all the time an’ money. ma'am, jest to see me boy's face whin I sets down an’ plays him a chune.” Lucle’s falr face was transfigured, To see her Tom's face. to hear him say, “And my Lucle did this for me!” “You shall play,” sk= eried joyouslv. “T'Il teach you myself. an hour sve-v dav. and you can teach me to cook anl to keep house properly. I'm to be mar- rled, too: it's . one-sided now. but—it won't be.” Then they both cried a little, but dqu~- ing the next month life was roseate n Lucie and Katie, thoush they both worked harder than they had ever done before. Lncie had intended to be v=ry dignified about her love affair. bnt somehow Fatie learned as much abont Tem perfections as did Lucis ut Tenatine and his “darlint ways." ie was in the kitchen. hands deen in biscuit dough, dimp'ed arms movinz with scientific motion. face flushed and interested—vhen in walked And the look be gave her! Th a fash we—-+ doughy hands and all around his nee'e “I got the dinmer all a; * was whet “And Tve made two dresses. 2nd Katie says my pies 2re as goad as here—<he ¢an play exercices an. Tom! to-mor- row I'm to bake a cake!™ And thouzh two onen-monthed, wide- eved Irish gir's stood pot six feet awav. Tom kissed the sweet unturned face tin whole times. kusmack. for I count- ed thim meself,” wrote Katle to Igna=- tius. el b vaelf yomtaw. raw—and