At the time, the Indian had met the situation with no more awkwardness than any other young fellow in the same position would have shown. He had at once given his name to Mrs. Burton as John Mase. However, both she and the girls, who were her companions, understood this was not the young man’s Indian name, but probably the one which had been bestowed upon him at a government school and which he evidently preferred using at college and among strangers of the white race.
The following day none of the Camp Fire party saw anything of him, though frankly all the girls were curious, after learning of Bettina’s escapade. It was on the second morning that, going back to his own coach from the dining car, the young man chanced to pass Bettina and Mrs. Burton. At the moment they were seated side by side in one compartment. But it was Mrs. Polly Burton—the official guardian of the new group of Camp Fire girls en route to their desert camp—who this time accosted him. For the young Indian had only bowed and continued to walk gravely on.
But the train was now entering the Arizona plateau country. By nightfall the Camp Fire party expected to arrive at a tiny village not far from Winslow and the next day begin the trek to their own camp.
Already the air was clear and brilliant. Away to the west were the outlines of high mountains and the peaks of giant canyons. Here and there were bits of dreary, olive-gray desert and then an unexpected green oasis.
In the night it appeared as if the face of the world had changed, and with it the Camp Fire girls had changed also. If there were further coldness or friction between them, it had disappeared in their great common interest in the things before them and in the dream of their new life together in the desert. And, though they were too absorbed at the time for reflection, this is the way in which all friction between human beings may be destroyed; unconsciously the girls were acquiring one of the big lessons of the Camp Fire work—to live and think outside themselves.
At every station there were dozens of Indians offering their wares for sale. To eastern girls it seemed scarcely possible that they were still in the United States, so unlike was this new land. Yet the Camp Fire girls nobly refrained from making purchases, having solemnly promised to add nothing to their luggage until they reached camp.
Yet, in reality, it was the sight of so many Indian treasures which inspired Mrs. Burton to speak to Bettina’s Indian acquaintance. She appreciated that he must know more of the requirements of camp life in Arizona than she could learn from any number of books or from the conversation of a dozen acquaintances.
Yet possibly this was just a “Pollyesque” excuse. She may have been attracted by the young Indian’s appearance, as Bettina had previously been, and simply wished to be entertained by him.
He was so grave and yet so courteous; and his voice had the gentle, caressing sound which afterwards the campers learned was a peculiarity of Hopi Indians.
“My father is a kiva chief,” he explained good-naturedly. “We have many chiefs among the Hopis, but the kiva is the underground chamber for our religious ceremonies, and the kiva chief has charge of them.”