CHAPTER XXI.

The Navaho And His Desert Home

The Navaho Reservation. To see the Navaho in the Hopi House making silverware, or watch his wife weaving blankets, is one thing. To see him on his native heath in the heart of the Painted Desert--is another. With the conveniences of travel now made possible by the excellent equipments of the El Tovar transportation department, any visitor who is not afraid of a strenuous trip may now visit these people with the minimum of discomfort. Indeed, the Navahos and Hopis may be seen together, on the one excursion described in an earlier chapter. The Navahos are the warlike nomads of the desert. They occupy an extensive reservation in northern Arizona and New Mexico, that adjoins the Hopi reservation on the north and east. They now number some twenty thousand souls, and are slowly on the increase. They are proud, independent, and desirous of being left alone by the United States Government.

Punishment for Depredations. In the early days, before they had learned the power of the new people who had flocked into the land, they committed many depredations upon Americans, and when remonstrated with were insolent and defiant. So an expedition was sent against them, and large numbers--the major portion of the tribe were arrested and moved near Fort Bayard--the Bosque Redondo--in New Mexico, on the Pecos River. Here the conditions were so adverse that many scores of them died, and when, finally, they were allowed to return, it was an humbled people that wended its way back to the high mesa lands they had for so many centuries called their own.

Navaho Customs. Linguistically, the Navaho is akin to the Apache and the Tinneh of Alaska; indeed, he calls himself Tinne. In winter he lives in a rude shelter of logs and mud called a hogan. In summer this is changed for a simple brush stack, which affords shade from the sun, and yet allows free course of the cooling air. He is a polygamist, and lives with his one or more wives, as he can afford. His chief industries are cattle, horse and sheep-raising. The latter supply his wife (or wives) with the wool needed for blanket-weaving, which is her chief industry.

Navaho Superstition. The Navaho is superstitious about several things: If any one dies in the hogan it is henceforth "tabu." The body is burned and the building with it, and whatever fragments of poles, etc., withstand the fire are regarded with distrust.

Dislikes and Fears. Another tabu of the Navaho is his fear of seeing his mother-in-law. Whenever she comes in sight, he disappears. Technically he never sees her, and I have often had great fun in trying to bring them together. Fish is another object placed under the Navaho ban. He will neither eat, see, nor smell fish, if he can help it.

Essentially Religious. He is an essentially religious being, and has a large number of ritualistic ceremonies. He has many dances for various purposes, the most exciting of which is locally known as the HoshKon. It is a healing ceremony. Dr. Matthews calls it the Mountain Chant. It requires many days for its complete performance, and one of its final ceremonies consists of a wild fire dance which is thrilling in the extreme.

Superior Horsemanship. But perhaps it is in his every-day horsemanship that the Navaho shows himself the superior man. Oftentimes he introduces feats of skill on a horse into his ceremonies. A few years ago at Tuba City, I saw a large band of Navahos unite with the Hopis in their dances and ceremonies of harvest thanksgiving. The Hopi director of the dances was Mootchka, whose costume was as astoundingly frightful as he could possibly make it. His naked body was smeared over with whitewash, some of which adhered and some of which did not. On his head was a mass of rudely woven black wool, crowned with the duplex pads of some wild flower. Around the waist was a similar black wool mat, fastened on with a Navaho belt of silver disks. When all was ready the dancers began. The trader's store-yard was the plaza, and the roofs of all the buildings on the three sides of the square were covered with Navaho spectators. Hour after hour they continued. Some of the dancers were decorated, others were in ordinary costume, but all danced and sang with fervor.

Dancing. The chief instrument was a large drum, made by hollowing out a section of a tree trunk, and covering the ends with rawhide, which were tightly laced on with strips of the same material. The dull monotonous thump of the drum kept time, while dancers sang and rattled. Their songs are invocations to "Those Above" to continue their good gifts, and at the same time accept thanks for all that had been given. One dance was particularly beautiful. It was supposed to represent the movements of the planets in and out of the fixed stars. Two little girls, brightly and beautifully dressed, waving feather plumes in their hands, threaded their way in and out of the lines of the dancers, themselves moving with an easy graceful swing.

Origin of Dances. To seek to penetrate the origin of these dances is to find ourselves in the darkness of antiquity. Almost all Indian peoples have the firmly fixed notion that the gods can be propitiated only by these exhausting dances. Consequently they are not performed by a few professional dancers, or even by certain families; all the people must dance. The smallest child, as soon as he is able to understand, must take his place with the elders, and the women and girls enter into the dances with the same religious fervor and zeal that is displayed by the men. And there is none of that sex enjoyment injected into their sacred dances, as there is in the white man's pleasure dances. The Indian men dance together, and the Indian women together, or, where both sexes participate, men are in one row and women in another. So that Indian dances are not pleasure dances. Neither are they competitive. There is none of the negro cake-walk idea connected with them, nor the Italian peasant's carnival, where rivals dance to gain the applause of the village.

Gifts Thrown to Spectators. During these dances at Tuba, gifts of corn, squash, melons, flour, cloth of native texture, and loaves of unleavened bread were brought and given with accompanying prayers to Mootchka, the leader. Then, at certain times, these were thrown among the spectators and eagerly caught, for not only were the articles themselves to be desired, but there accompanied them the prayers of the original donors, which, in some subtle manner, were supposed to bring good fortune to the final recipients.

The "Rooster" Race. The next day the Navahos had their turn. The two leading chiefs selected a suitable site, and, taking a rooster, buried it up to the neck in sand. The running course was soon cleared, and excited Indians on horseback lined up on either side for half a mile. Horseflesh of all kinds known to the Indians (from fleet, wiry steeds that had won many a prize, to broken-down cayuses fit only for the boneyard) was to be seen. The riders were decked in all the gorgeousness they could afford. Silk bands were around jet black masses of hair; calico of rainbow colors was made into garments, here and there overshadowed by a beautifully woven and exquisitely patterned native blanket. Around the waist of many of the men were leathern belts, to which were attached large silver disks worked by native silversmiths; and rings, bracelets, necklaces and earrings of similar work abounded.

Beginning of the Fun. The competitors were soon gathered together at one end of the course. The chiefs stated the conditions upon which the prizes must be won, and a signal was given. Like a shot, a rider darted out from the mass toward the tiny head of the buried rooster, stooping over from the saddle as he neared the bird, with fingers of the right hand extended, the left hand holding the bridle and clutching the horse's mane. With a sweep, sudden as it was delicate, he tried to catch the rooster's head between his extended fingers. He failed, but dashed on, for another horse and rider were at his heels, and another and another; the string seemed endless. Now and again one would touch the bird, or would actually catch the head, but the body was too securely buried to be pulled out easily. Cheers would ascend as the riders showed approximate success. Sometimes a horse would shy, and the white visitor looked for nothing less than a broken neck for his rider. But, laughing and shouting, the athletic and careless Indian would swing himself into the saddle, and in a few rough jerks teach the unruly animal to recognize a master. Of course, long before this, the rooster was dead, for at the first strong clutch his neck was broken, so that there was no unnecessary torture. The stream of riders flowed on, and at last one lucky fellow gave the right kind of a pull, and out came the rooster, to be swung around his head with a fierce yell of triumph.

Pursuit of the Victor. Now the real sport begins. With a shout that only Indian lungs can produce, every rider darts after the possessor of the rooster, and for an hour, more or less, it is a question of hard riding, dodging, evading, whirling to and fro. Over the sand-hills they go, pursued and pursuers, yelling and shouting like demons. The victor's horse seems to know all about the sport. He watches and dodges and doubles, like a hunted hare. Now a stalwart ruffian has caught the rooster carrier, and hangs on like grim death, while he is beaten over head and breast and shoulders with the rooster as a weapon. Others join in. Surely someone will get hurt! Watch the horses. They nip and pinch each other, and squeal with pain and anger. Ah, the winner still keeps his prize! Again he is caught, and this time it seems as if he must succumb. But his horse helps him out and, by clinging desperately to the horn of the saddle and his horse's mane, he wrests himself away from his pursuer, aided by the shying of the pursuing horse, which is kicked and bitten by his own animal. But where is the pursuer? His horse is dashing riderless away. Is he trampled to death in that swirling, sandy conflict? No, he is hanging on to the man with the rooster, belabored the while with the now bloody and dilapidated bird. Regardless of this he still clings, although the horse is bounding along at great speed, and a hundred or more are following, all yelling and encouraging him not to let go. With a superb effort, he swings himself onto the horse behind the saddle, and with a second sudden move grabs the rooster and wrests half of it out of the original victor's hands. Seeing a chance to escape he drops upon the sand, picks himself up unhurt, and is soon seated upon a new horse. Now he becomes the pursued, and two bands, instead of one, of howling, raving, shouting demons, occupy the attention.

Finish of Contest. And thus the struggle goes on, good-naturedly, yet with a fierceness of energy that is exhausting in its wild excitement; exhausting to the onlooker, as well as the participant. When the unlucky bird is all dismembered, and the racers smeared from head to heels with blood, and it seems impossible to divide the pieces any smaller, then, and not till then, the conflict ceases.

Two Thousand Horsemen. But for superb riding watch nearly two thousand of these sons of the desert as they train their young men and boys in daring control of their horses. The greatest chief of the Navahos is a good friend of mine, and it was by his kind invitation that I was privileged to see this never-to-be-forgotten sight. He commanded the "regiment"--shall I call it?--riding alongside at times, and again standing where he could signal his demands and note the result.

An Exhibition of Riding. Let us stand with him. These riders are about to dash past. Just before they reach us, a signal is given, and every rider, in an instant, disappears over the side of his mount, while the horses continue running under perfect control. Simultaneously, every Indian reappears upon his saddle, sits about as long as one might count three, and then slides over to our side of his horse, fully in our sight, holding on by stirrup and mane, but completely hidden from one who might be looking from the other side.

Wonderful Agility. The chief was delighted, in his dignified quiet way, as I burst into warm encomiums, and told me I should soon see "some more" riding. Again the horsemen dashed past. This time I watched for their disappearance and saw where and how they went, but I was scarcely prepared to see many of them peeping at me from under the bellies of their animals. This was done several times; then Pacoda gave me another treat. The riders came toward us. At a sign, every man sprang from his horse to the ground, to our left, gave three or four wild jumps, sprang completely over the saddle to the other side of his horse, where he gave more jumps, and then, with a yell of joyful triumph, landed into his saddle, the horse, meanwhile, keeping up his speed.

An Impressive Spectacle. But to see the whole party ride furiously away from us, nothing but black hair, sturdy backs, horses' tails and hindquarters with galloping feet presented, and then, in the twinkle of an eye it almost seemed, to have the same party dashing towards you, was a feat in horsemanship which impressed me most profoundly.

Horsemen almost from Birth. It is not to be wondered at that the Navaho is an expert horseman. He is as nearly born on horseback, literally, as he can be, for on several occasions I have ridden with Navaho friends, among whom was an expectant mother, have stopped half an hour for the birth, and then, with the new-born babe strapped on the mother's back, have resumed the trip, completing, perhaps, forty or fifty miles in a day. Children born under such conditions could not fail to be skilful horsemen.