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 then tugging up afoot. 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, em -bosomed 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 a 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 Shi'vwits, a tribe that lives about
WUNAVAI GATHERING SEEDS.
THE RIO VIRGEN AKD THE UINKARET MOUNTAINS.
the springs on the mountain sides and canyon cliffs to the southwest. They say that their village is now about 30 miles away, and promise to send a messenger for them to-morrow morning.
Having finished our business for the evening, I ask if there is a tugwi'nagunt in camp; that is, if there is any one present who is skilled in relating their mythology. Chuar'ruumpeak says Tomor'rountikai, 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 tugwi'nai 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 ask Tomor'rountikai to tell us about the So'kus Wai'unats, 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 the members of the tribe gather about and make comments or receive impressions from the morals which are enforced by the story-teller, or, more properly, story-tellers; for the exercise partakes somewhat of the nature of a theatrical performance.
THE SO'KUS WAI'UNATS.
Tumpwinai'rogwinump, He Who Had A Stone Shirt, killed Sikor', the Crane, and stole his wife, and seeing that she had a child and thinking it would be an incumbrance to them on their travels, he ordered her to kill it. But the mother, loving the babe, hid it under her dress and carried it away to its grandmother. And Stone Shirt carried his captured bride to his own land.