Down in the Colorado Desert is a well which is bringing its owner a fortune. Within a radius of fifty or sixty miles are a score or more of mining camps where no water is to be found. Prospectors and other travelers, also, frequently pass that way, and there is no other water for many miles about. These travelers and the residents of the mining camps are glad to pay handsomely for water from this well.

The proprietor has built tanks and loading apparatus for the convenience of his patrons, and he has established the following schedule of prices:

The well is a very deep one and the water was obtained by drilling. It requires a power-pump to raise the water to the surface, and the fuel to run the boiler and engine has to be hauled many miles across the desert sands, so, after all, the rates for water are not so exorbitant as they may seem at first glance.

Every year the great deserts of the West claim scores of victims, the most of whom die of thirst. Men go out into the arid plains, are not again heard from, and their fate remains, in many cases, a mystery to the end of time. Again, beside a bleaching skeleton is found a trinket or belonging which serves to identify the remains. Sometimes the identification comes long after death, as in the case of a Los Angeles prospector who years ago left that city with a companion to cross the desert.

The two men lost their way, and the prospector, leaving his companion with the burros at the foot of an eminence, climbed to the top to take a survey of the country and try to get his bearings. After waiting an hour or more for him to return, his comrade began searching for him, and after several hours of vain seeking he resumed the journey alone and eventually reached his destination in safety. Twenty years later some prospectors found human bones upon the desert and beside them a hunting-knife and a watch which had belonged to the long-lost prospector. He had died within two miles of good water.

Here and there in the solitudes of these great Saharas may be seen rude crosses, or stones heaped into mounds, to mark the spot where, in horrible torture, some human life went out. And, strange as it may seem, these graves are more plentiful in the vicinity of the oases than elsewhere. To drink heavily after several hours of abstinence is almost certain death. Many a poor fellow has struggled on through hours of extreme torture, buoyed up by the thoughts of the refreshing draught awaiting him, only to die in agony from drinking too deeply of the precious potion.

Sometimes death comes from a very different cause. Not long ago a veteran prospector was taking a party across the desert, and saw in the distance a green spot on the plain. They were headed for Timber Mountain, where good water is plentiful, but they had run short of water some hours before, and were nearly choked with thirst. They turned from their course to visit the green spot, believing that water would be found there. They were not mistaken, for a bubbling spring greeted their eyes, a sight more welcome than would have been a mine of gold, but about the spring were strewn a number of human skeletons, indicating that a goodly sized caravan had met death there.

They were too thirsty to pause to make inquiry as to the cause of this wholesale fatality, and hurried on to the spring to cool their parched tongues. The leader of the party, however, was suspicious and insisted that no one should take more than a few drops of the water at that time. His caution proved their salvation, for within a few minutes after drinking of the water all were taken violently ill. The spring was a natural arsenic fountain.

As soon as the party was able to travel the journey was resumed and Timber Mountain was reached in safety. The guide carried away some of the water for analysis and thus learned of the properties of the spring. Later, he returned and set up a sign to inform travelers of the dangerous character of the water.

CHAPTER III

CURIOUS PLANTS WHICH LIVE IN THE DESERT

In the mystic mid-region grows vegetation as weird and wonderful as the region which it inhabits. The Mojave yucca (clistoyucca arborescens) is a strange freak of vegetation found nowhere else in the world. The palo-verde stands grim and sentinel-like, along the banks of the Colorado River which skirts the deserts, an evergreen but leafless tree with curious branches which cross and recross each other, forming a perfect network of green vegetation. Cacti in innumerable variety abound in certain portions of the deserts, from the tiny prickly balls covered with long gray hairs to the giant sahuaro which attains a height of fifty feet. In some places the deer-bush thrives: this plant is so named because of the resemblance borne by its branches to the horns of a deer. There are also sage, mesquite, chaparral, and greasewood, and numbers of other peculiar species of plants.

Cacti are the most numerous of the species of vegetable life. The several varieties all have their uses to those versed in the lore of the desert. In them the Indians, who make the desert their home, find food, drink, raiment, and shelter. This is particularly true of the cereus giganteus, which is abundant in the arid regions of Southern Arizona, New Mexico, Texas, and Mexico. This plant grows, in many cases, to a height of fifty feet. In some sections it grows so thickly that several hundred plants are found on a single acre. The plant consists of a main trunk which rises to a height of from ten to twenty feet, and then branches into two, three, or several columns, which grow upright several feet. The main trunk and branches are ribbed, and these ribs are thickly studded with clusters of heavy spines, which if lighted will burn readily, the flame running up the ribbed columns, seeking and burning all the spines thereon. This fact has given rise to the name of "Arizona candle" which is often applied to the giant cactus.

Alternating with the spiny ribs, and just beneath the epidermis, are ligneous fascicles—one for each rib—which serve as a support for the soft tissues which constitute the bulk of the plant. These fascicles are from twenty to forty feet long, according to the height of the plant, and are from one to three inches in diameter. They constitute the framework or skeleton of the plant, and are left standing when the plant itself dies from age or other cause. This frame is of great value to the desert Indians or to desert travelers who know its properties. The fascicles make excellent firewood, and when cut into required lengths they are used as pickets with which to build corrals, and for the roofs to the adobe huts. The spines of the plant are also used by the Indians as combs. The plant lives to be more than one hundred and fifty years old, as has been determined by counting the layers of growth.

The first flowers appear when the plant has attained a height of eight or ten feet, and they come into bloom early in May and continue in blossom till near the middle of June. The blossoms are large, white, and waxy. The flowers are borne in the axils of the bunches of spines, often fifty or more blossoms in the summit of a single branch. It comes to fruit in August, and then it is that the Indians ride from plant to plant and with long poles detach the fruit, which is gathered and preserved as food or is made into an intoxicating drink of which they are very fond.

Another plant, a species of yucca, abundant in the southern deserts, is the Spanish bayonet. These plants have a thick, palm-like stem or trunk with long, thick, spine-pointed leaves. The flowering stem shoots up many feet in height and bears myriads of white, showy, panicled flowers, lily-like in appearance. As many as six thousand blossoms have been observed upon a single plant.

An interesting peculiarity of this plant is that it cannot pollenize itself, but is obliged to depend for its perpetuity upon a little moth whose sole aim in life seems to be to perform the work of pollenizing this plant. This moth does not eat the honey or pollen of the plant, but lays her eggs upon the stigma of the flower and then gathers the pollen of the blossom and deposits it over the eggs, thus protecting the eggs and pollenizing the plant at the same time. The larvæ hatch at the time that the flower goes into seed, and the grubs feast upon the seeds, destroying a part of them, but leaving enough to keep up the supply of plants.

The Indians eat the undeveloped flower-shoots of this plant raw, the stalks are roasted over hot stones and make a very palatable dish; the fruit, which is cylindrical and yellow, ripening in August and September, is eaten raw, and is also dried for future use. It is pulpy, sweet, and nourishing.

The Mojave yucca is a remarkable plant, which resembles in its nature both the cactus and the palm. It is found nowhere save in the Mojave Desert. It attains a height of thirty or forty feet, and the trunk, often two or three feet in diameter, supports half a dozen irregular branches, each tipped with a cluster of spine-like leaves. The flowers, which are of a dingy white color, come out in March and last till May, giving off a disagreeable odor. The fruit, however, which is two or three inches long, is pulpy and agreeable, resembling a date in flavor.

From the base of the plant radiate countless roots. These lie near the surface and extend a long distance, absorbing such moisture as they find with avidity. One of the peculiarities of the yucca wood is its ability to store moisture. The fiber of the wood is cellular, and it is almost equal to a sponge in its capacity for storing and retaining water. Fully sixty per cent. of its weight is sap.

The trunk and branches of the tree are covered, a portion of the time, with bristling reflex leaves, which finally fall, showing that bark has been added to the tree. A sectional view of this bark shows concentric rings such as characterize exogenous stems. As the yucca is an endogen, this peculiarity is a remarkable one.

Like its cousin, the sahuaro, the Mojave yucca is a friend to the Indians, who eat of the fruit when fresh, and dry it to be used when it is out of season. They also utilize the flower-buds and blossoms in preparing a stew, which, if not tempting to the appetite, is at least nourishing, and with them that is the main object of food. The seeds, when dried, are ground in rude mortars and used for mush and in making a sort of bread.

In the middle and northern desert, where the cacti are not so plentiful, there grows the Allenrolpea occidentalis, or greasewood. This shrub grows to the height of four or five feet, and is a leafless, jointed-branched plant, which appears to be too succulent to burn unless plucked and left for days to dry. The reverse is the case, however, for, if lighted, the plant will make an excellent fire when green, but if cut for a few hours it becomes so watery that nothing can induce it to burn. Though the days on the desert are terrifically hot, the nights are apt to be chilly, and the greasewood often proves a most welcome friend to the traveler.

Another friend to the desert wanderer is the chlorogalum pomeridianum, or soap plant. This grows from two to five feet high and has a bulbous root two or more inches in thickness which is an excellent substitute for soap—hence its name. The leaves are from one to two and one half feet in length, and from an inch to an inch and a half in thickness. The plant flowers in July and August, the blossoms opening in the afternoon only. The bulb of the plant lies deep in the earth and has the power of storing moisture, in time of rain, for the long, dry months which follow.

As previously stated, the numbers of the cactus family to be found in various portions of the desert are almost innumerable. In a three-days' journey through the southern desert, taken early in May, the writer noted forty-two different varieties of cacti in blossom. These ranged from the delicate bloom of tiny plants to the gorgeous blossoms of the giant species, thirty, forty, and even fifty feet in height.

It was a most memorable trip. At no other season of the year does the desert present so gay an appearance as in May and early June. Blossoms, white, pink, yellow, purple, and scarlet, are to be seen on all sides, till one loses the idea that he is in the desert and almost dreams that he is in some wonderful garden. But there are no sparkling fountains and grassy lawns to complete the illusion; only the thorny shrubs with their vivid blossoms and the scorching sands, the dust, the thirst, and the cloudless sky above.

A very common species of cactus is the nopal or prickly-pear, the fruit of which is known as the tuna, and which is much prized both by Indians and by Mexicans.

A welcome plant to the desert traveler is the bisnaga, or "well of the desert." This is a cylindrical-shaped green plant thickly covered with sharp spines. By cutting out the center of the plant, a bowl is formed which quickly fills with water of an excellent quality, affording a palatable drink to the thirsty traveler. Many a life has been saved by these plants, and there have been a number of instances recorded where travelers, ignorant of the properties of the plant, have died of thirst in the midst of them.

Another cactus found in the southern desert is the grape cactus, which bears in clusters fruit resembling the tuna. The fruit is green without and purple within, is juicy, melting, and luscious.

A very common and ungainly plant is the ocotilla, growing clusters of straight poles from ten to fifteen feet in height, which are covered with spines. The poles terminate in long spikes of beautiful scarlet blossoms.

The maguey or mescal, sometimes misnamed the century plant, is common along the foothills bordering the desert. It is from this plant that the Mexicans and Indians distil the fiercely intoxicating drink known as mescal, which contains a large percentage of alcohol of a villainous quality.

From the cluster of spiked leaves, which attain a height of four or five feet, springs a pole ten to twelve feet tall, which bears large clusters of small yellow flowers filled with a sickishly sweet syrup. The maguey furnishes the native Indian with both food and clothing. From the fibers of the leaves he weaves coarse cloth, and the inner leaves, when stripped and cooked in the earth ovens by surrounding them with stones heated on coals, are considered a delicacy.

Snake-weed is the name given a low-growing plant with a pulpy leaf, because when the leaves are crushed and applied to the wound, in case of snake-bite, they serve as an antidote to the poison.

Pectis, or creosote bush, is another desert plant, with odor not unlike the essence of lemon. It is prized by the Indians for its medicinal properties.

There are a number of other varieties of plants—mostly of the cactus family—which contribute to the sustenance of the Indians of the desert, but it is in the fibrous tissues of the giant cactus and the yuccas that they find their material for the weaving of garments, plaiting ropes, and making baskets and other articles of use and ornament. Of late years the squaws of the several desert tribes have found the making of baskets and other trinkets for sale to curio hunters a very profitable undertaking. One squaw of the Mojave Indians received more than three thousand dollars in a single year for work of that sort.

And the desert, which flaunts the banner of death in the face of the stranger, hands out its treasures to its children, and they live and thrive and love it.

There is a little flower found growing in certain portions of California's deserts, which fulfills the poet's statement embodied in the couplet:

The little yellow blossom has, so far as the writer knows, no name in the text-books on botany. It is a tiny blossom, growing very close to the ground, and it opens only at night. Then, whoso chances to pass through a patch of these flowers is treated to incense such as never exhaled from the most redolent orange orchard.

The perfume is given off in vast quantities, and is sweet beyond the power of language to describe, yet it is not the sickening, overpowering perfume of some plants.

One does not need to lift the flower to the face to get the fragrance,—the air is fairly saturated with the sweet odor. The daylight, however, puts an end to both blossom and perfume. There is not a sign of the blossom to be found when the morning sun lights up the desert plain. It is only the night traveler who is favored with the sweet experience arising from an acquaintance with this strange plant.

CHAPTER IV

STRANGE DWELLERS OF THE DESERT

The representatives of the animal kingdom in the desert are fully as strange and curious as are the specimens of vegetable life. It may seem strange that animal life should exist at all in this region of death and desolation, but several forms of creatures seem to find this dread region congenial.

In keeping with its surroundings is the crotalus cerastes, one of the most deadly of the rattlesnake family. It is known to the frequenters of the desert region as the "sidewinder," because of its alleged propensity for springing sidewise at the object of its wrath, and because it travels with a sidelong motion. The bite of this creature is considered to be certain death, and it is a saying in the West, when some unusually frightful catastrophe overtakes one: "It was a regular sidewinder."

The sidewinder is of a grayish color, mottled with dark blotches. It is found in the very heart of the desert, miles and miles from any known supply of water, and it is believed by many to be able to exist without that fluid.

Near the borders of the desert the great yellow diamond-back rattler, crotalus horridus, is found, as well as a species of constrictor known as the "bull snake." The latter grows to a length of ten or twelve feet and, while formidable to look upon, is perfectly harmless.

Such innocence is not claimed for the Gila monster, heloderina horridum, which is found in the southern portion of the Colorado Desert. This huge lizard is like the chameleon in one respect: it changes its color to conform to its surroundings. It is in the main of a yellow hue, with dark markings which change to a gray or to a reddish tint according to the character of the soil about its abiding-place. When it lies quietly upon the earth it is very difficult to detect it because of this resemblance to the soil.

The Gila monster attains a length of nearly two feet. It is covered with horny protuberances and scales similar to the horned toad, so called. When angry it makes a hissing noise not unlike that made by a serpent.

The horned toad—which is not a toad, but the lizard phrynosoma—is an innocent little fellow, attaining a length of six or eight inches at the most. There was a time when his reputation for evil was second only to that of the Gila monster. Now that he is better known he has become a plaything of children and a pet in many a household.

A common creature in the portions of the desert in which cacti abound is the cactus rat, a small rodent about midway in size between the mouse and the ordinary rat. He is provided with a bushy tail which he carries over his back, squirrel fashion. He lives upon the barrel cactus, a plant so protected by spines as to seem unapproachable by man or animal. The cunning rat, however, has found a way of attacking this formidable vegetable. He burrows in the earth at the foot of the plant and comes at it from beneath. One specimen of the matured plant will keep a colony of the rats several months. They gnaw at its vitals till nothing but the empty shell remains, then they emigrate to some other plant and there set up housekeeping for another six or eight months.

Living so far from a habitable country, the rat finds few enemies to molest it. The rattler is about the only creature which preys upon it, therefore it thrives and multiplies in the midst of the fearful region it has chosen for its home.

It is astonishing to the desert traveler, after he has crossed half a hundred miles of parched and barren territory, to find about the spring of an oasis tortoises basking in the sun or swimming in the waters of the desert well.

The desert tortoise differs from the ordinary tortoise in several respects. It never exceeds in length over fifteen or sixteen inches, but in form and other characteristics it more nearly resembles the sea turtle than it does the tortoise. This leads to the belief that the desert specimen is the descendant of a sea turtle that throve in the waters of the gulf when it extended over the now desert country. Change of conditions from sea to land—and most forbidding land at that—is supposed to have dwarfed the original species till a new one is the outcome of the change.

If one familiarizes himself with the desert, he will find that the rattler and the Gila monster are not the only representatives of the "poison people" in that region. The scorpion, the tarantula, and the centipede make their home there and add to the dangers and terrors of desert travel. There are also animals found here and there in the desert and along its borders, which cannot be classed as typical desert animals. Bands of wild horses and wild burros are known to roam the formidable region, migrating from oasis to oasis, cropping the grasses at one place till they are exhausted, then moving across the burning sands, guided by unerring instinct, to the next green spot in the desert, twenty, forty, or perhaps fifty miles away. The coyote, too, finds his way to nearly all portions of the desert, and even in the midst of the great desolate waste his uncanny cry goes up in the night-time, making the darkness still more lonely for the chance traveler who pitches his tent in the land of terror.

Few birds are seen in the desert after one has left the border-lands behind, but there is one inhabitant of the air which is never absent. Hovering ever over the region of death is the vulture, ready to settle down to his grewsome feast the moment thirst and heat shall have robbed his victim of life. One may scan the heavens with never a sight of one of these birds while all goes well with himself and his beast, but let one of his horses or burros fall by the way, and lo! from the heavens descend numbers of the birds, and, should a traveler pass that way a few hours later, he would find but the whitening bones of the animal and a few fragments of the hide. And were he to look aloft, he, too, would discern not a speck against the blue canopy above him.

CHAPTER V

HUMANITY IN THE DESERT

Why human beings should have chosen such a place as the desert for their habitation is a mystery without a solution. Possibly the forefathers of the present dwellers of the region fled thither to escape the oppression of tribes more powerful and war-like than their own. Be that as it may, there dwell in the Great Mojave and in the Colorado deserts several tribes of men who, according to their traditions, have made their home there many centuries.

Up in the Death Valley region is a tribe known as the Panamint Indians. They live in rude huts built of sticks and mud, and they subsist upon the most disgusting of foods. At a certain season of the year Owen's Lake and several smaller saline lakes in that region abound with a white grub—the larva of a two-winged fly, ephydra Californica—called by the Indians "Koochabee." The Indians visit the lakes at the season of the year when the grub is most plentiful, and from the shores of the lakes they gather them where the waves throw them up in windrows several inches deep. The grubs are dried and are then pulverized in rude stone mortars. The powder is used in making a sort of bread which is highly prized as an article of food.

Snakes and lizards are also cooked and eaten by the Panamints, and their vegetable diet consists chiefly of leaves and buds of cactus plants and other wild herbs. They are not agriculturists and are but indifferent hunters. They seem contented with their lot and evince no desire to leave the desert for a more habitable region.

The Seri Indians are found at the extreme southern portion of the desert. At one time there were considerable numbers of them in the Colorado Desert, but in 1779 the Mexican Government, then in possession of the territory, removed them to the island of Tiburon, where the greater number now live. A few families are to be found, however, in the vicinity of the "Volcanoes" in the Colorado Desert.

The Seri Indians are unreasoning, treacherous, and indolent. The women of the tribe command great respect from the men, and the family relationship is always traced through the mother. In the language or dialect of the tribe there is no equivalent to the word "father," although there is for "mother." Little attention is paid to the death of a male member of the tribe, but when a woman dies the funeral ceremonies are elaborate.

The Cocopahs are another banished tribe, now occupying the desert region south of the boundary line between the United States and Mexico.

Not many years ago their chief village was a few miles from Yuma, which town was their trading-post. Smallpox broke out in the Indian village, but the Indians continued to visit Yuma and soon carried the disease thither. When the authorities learned the source of the infection they forbade the Indians to come to the town, and to insure obedience to the command, a mounted guard was placed about the Indian village. Two Indians one day eluded the guards and walked into Yuma. Then the edict of banishment went forth. The Indians were driven from their homes and across the border into Mexico, and the village and all effects left behind became food for the flames.

The Cocopahs, as a rule, are of fine physique, hardy, and nimble, but like all desert tribes they are unprogressive.

A peculiar burial custom prevails among these Indians. As a rule they wear their hair long—a custom with all of the Western tribes—but upon the death of a relative it is cut. If the deceased was a distant relative the hair is but slightly shortened. If a very near relative it is cut close to the head. The nearness of kinship is easily determined by the length of hair of the mourners.

A still more curious custom prevails in connection with the marriage ceremony. Before a Cocopah girl may become a bride she must be buried over night in the earth.

A hole is first dug in the sand deep enough to admit her in a sitting posture. Then a fire is built in the pit and is made to burn till the earth is thoroughly warmed. It is then extinguished, and the bride enters the grave and is buried to the neck in the earth. Here she remains till the morning, when she is ready for the marriage ceremony.

Occupying the region between these dwellers of the extreme southern portion of the desert and the tribe first described are the Mojave Indians and the Yumas. The Indians of these tribes are of good stature, but they are dull, coarse, and unprogressive. They live in rude huts, curiously constructed of twigs, stones, and mud. The occupation of the men consists in an occasional visit to the fertile country in search of game, or to the mountains in search of turquoise, a gem much prized by nearly all the Indian tribes. The women make baskets and toys, blankets, and beaded ornaments to sell to curio dealers, whose agents make frequent visits among them to gather up these articles.

They live upon fish taken from the Colorado River, game taken in their occasional hunting excursions, and upon dishes prepared from cacti. A sort of government is maintained. They have their chiefs and medicine men, the latter being second in power and importance. The medicine men practice the healing art, depending more upon mysterious rites and incantations than upon herbs and medicines for their cures. Among the Indians of the northern desert it is the custom, as it is with some other Western tribes, to execute the medicine man when he shall have lost his third patient.

The Chemehuevi Indians are also desert-dwellers. They depend chiefly upon nature to supply them with food and other necessities. The desert cactus furnishes a large proportion of their food. The fibers of the plants are woven into a coarse cloth, which gives them clothing, and mud and sticks form the material for their houses. Like the other desert tribes, they know of no more desirable spot for an abiding-place; and no greater sorrow could come to them than to be told that they were to be transported to a land of "green fields and running brooks." The desert is their home. They know its peculiarities and its mysteries; it keeps them and lets them live, and they love it. Why should they long for that which is strange, and for which their natures are not adapted?

CHAPTER VI

A FUNERAL IN THE REGION OF DEATH

In the great weird wastes which make up the Mojave Desert, Death is king. He sits enthroned in the terrible region known as Death Valley, and from that fiery pit he stretches forth his fleshless fingers over all the desert region, and exacts a fearful toll from the desert-dwellers and from those who travel through his domain.

To the Mojave Indians, a visit from the Great Destroyer comes as an event. In their lives few incidents occur to relieve the monotony of existence in that barren, isolated, and uneventful region, and the circumstances attending the taking off of a member of the tribe are made the most of. Even in the case of the death of the most humble member of the community the rites are elaborate and prolonged.

The traditions of the tribe do not record any funeral so memorable as was that of the recently deceased chief, Sutuma, who had ruled his people for more than half a century.

Sutuma was of a royal line. His father, his fathers father, and his father's father's father had ruled the tribe before him, even as his son is now presiding over the affairs of his people. Sutuma's father was chief of the Mojaves when Padre Junipero Serra, the founder of the California missions, came into the desert from the San Gabriel Mission in search of a fabled city supposed to be located in the midst of the great desert.

This city was reported to be a mighty pile of stately stone buildings, with walls and towers and domes and spires in profusion. Indians told the good father of having viewed the city from a distance and, believing that he was about to discover a civilized race of beings, Padre Junipero set out for the desert on an expedition of discovery.

When he had passed the barrier of mountains at what is now known as Cajon Pass, he looked out upon the great desert spread before him and lo! miles away, plainly outlined against the azure sky, was the wonderful city. It was, as had been described, a city of walls, and spires, and lofty buildings. With exultant cries the padre and his followers made haste toward it.

When they had traveled several hours the city seemed no nearer. When darkness compelled them to pitch their tents for the night it appeared to be as far away as when they had started toward it in the morning. When they arose on the following day and turned their eyes toward the point whither they had been traveling, the city had disappeared.

Disappointed and filled with alarm, the padre and his men prepared to return to San Gabriel. Before they had completed their arrangements for the return journey the city reappeared. When they had journeyed city-ward half a day, and it seemed still as far away as ever, they met a party of Indians. These Indians were Mojaves, and at their head was their chief, the father of Sutuma.

By means of the sign language the Indians made the padre understand that the city was a phantom and did not really exist, and the disappointed party turned back. It was the padre's first experience with the mirage, that phenomenon of refraction and reflection which has lured so many men to their death in this same desert.

The Mojaves cremate their dead. When Sutuma passed away, his body was arrayed in all the splendor which his regal wardrobe afforded and he was laid in state under the thatched roof of an open approach to the "White House" of the Mojave Desert. During the three days in which the silent form lay awaiting the final rites, it was surrounded by a band of mourners who uttered cries and lamentations unceasingly.

Old Morabico, the aged prophetess of the tribe, with eyes raised heavenward, recounted, in a chanting monotone, the joys of the Spirit Land whither the departed chief would go when the fires of the funeral pile had freed the captive spirit. Braves of the tribe hid their faces against the supporting posts of the structure and uttered doleful cries till exhaustion compelled them to give way to other braves who in like manner wailed their grief. Women and children, seated about the form of their late chief, added their voices to the mournful chorus.

On the evening of the third day, the body of the old chieftain was borne on the shoulders of six strong young braves to a huge pyre out on the plain some distance from the village. Here were found waiting the men, women, and children of the tribe and the official chanters, or poets-laureate who officiate on such occasions.

The body was laid upon the pile of fagots, and it was then securely bound to an upright stake and the torch applied. Two of the chanters took their places at the head and foot of the body, and the third began running about the pyre, chanting in a loud voice the virtues of the departed.

The Indians are natural poets. The simpleness of diction, the imagery of thought and directness of statement, render their improvised measures exceedingly attractive. Much of the charm of their poetry is lost in the translation and the writer cannot give, with any degree of accuracy a rendition of the poems thus weirdly chanted about the blazing pile. The following will give an idea of the words of the chanters: