From time to time the chanters changed places, and the poem of praise and sorrow continued till the fire burned low and died out. Then the old prophetess, Morabico, lifted from the embers a handful of ashes, which she cast upon the winds saying:
"To the Glad Land waft thy spirit. Be there happy ever as thou art entitled to be because of thy goodness and wisdom."
Then, in the blackness of the night, lighted only by the stars above, the picturesque band journeyed back into the lonely desert village, and the funeral was at an end.
[CHAPTER VII]
DESERT BASKET-MAKERS
In the midst of a region so repellent that a large part of it remains comparatively unknown and unexplored, one art has reached a state of perfection unattained in civilized communities. This is the art of basket-making.
When, in 1539, Marcos de Niza, in his explorations northward from Mexico, entered the great desert region, he found peoples equipped with baskets of wonderful make and of marvelous fineness, such as the enlightened nations of Europe could not produce.
The basket-makers of that time had all the skill that is known to their descendants to-day. More than three and one-half centuries have passed since then, but it has marked no improvement in the art. It was perfect then; it was perfect as far back as the traditions of that early day could trace it. It is an art to which civilization can add nothing; on the contrary, civilization threatens it with retrogression.