The Treasure Chest of Northern Arizona

STUDIES OF THE POW-WOW IN PHOTOGRAPHS BY MAX KEGLEY

Indians are its everyday customers, as well as the source of supply for the rugs, baskets, pottery, and silver goods that its shops display to delight the tourist.

The Pow-Wow is unique in that it combines business and pleasure, bazaar and festival, without noticeable conflict. The Indians bring goods to sell, in the hope of improving upon trading post prices for their wares. Tourists descend upon the city to mingle with the Indians. And the tradesmen, who are the hosts, profit from both.

Of the many Indian tribes represented, the Navajo are most numerous and most easily distinguished. Both men and women wear the same colorful velvet blouses with handwrought silver buttons, silver concho belts, plain red-brown moccasins, and as much "hard goods" in silver and turquoise, shell and coral, as they possess, or can personally accommodate. The men wear tall Stetsons that set rather high over abundant and usually uncut hair worn in a double loop, bound round and round with yarn to form a bulky knot under the brim behind. Tight fitting "Levi's" complete their costume; disdain. There are the pleasant Hopi, from the mesa towns that are ancient beyond the memory of man. Apaches, strong and dark, silent as their mountains. Havasupai, from the depths of the Grand Canyon. Maricopas, desert farmers, ever-friendly. There are Indians from the pueblos of New Mexico; Indians from the rich oil lands of the plains; more Indians than I could name, or attempt to classify. They have come for the three days' Pow-Wow, as guests of the shining Arizona mountain city, that has not forgotten its trading post beginning. The while the women wear wide-swinging, deeply flounced skirts, reminiscent of Old Spain. The ensemble is always pleasing; for the Navajo has an instinctive color-sense that is unerring. Navajo children are replicas of their parents, from earrings to moccasins.

Another tribe, the Hopi, share honors, numerically speaking, with the Navajos. For the Hopi there is no better label than friendly. It is their trade mark. Short and thick-set and smiling, they are, except for similarity in dress, the antithesis of the Navajos.

Housing is still less of a problem to the Navajo, who, when he has reached his des tination, stops, unloads his wagon, throws down a bundle of sheepskins, a pile of blankets, and his saddle and riding gear. He then unharnesses his horses, hobbles their forelegs, and turns them loose to shift for themselves. This done, nothing further may be expected from the male contingent. Selecting a soft heavy sheepskin from the bundle, he disposes himself comfortably in the shade of a tree, that has by this act become his home. The women of the family complete the task of making camp. Food supplies are rolled in canvas and hung from convenient branches. A line is stretched between two trees, and the rugs they have brought to sell displayed thereon. Cradle boards, with their cargo of brown-faced babies in mummy-like wrappings, are prop ped upright among the household goods. Small children roll and tumble about on blankets, good-natured as puppies, and no more demanding. Family relations, in gen eral, are notably harmonious.

During the Pow-Wow the forest park is transformed into a modernized version of an Indian village, through which the visitor may roam at will, unheralded and unhindered. There are tents of every sort, and even a sprinkling of house trailers to carry out the modern theme. And it is in contrast to the ugliness and discomfort of these makeshift dwellings, that the high, white conical teepees of the plains tribes stand, Accustomed as we are to the wear and tear of high pressure salesmanship, buying from the Indians affords a rare opportunity to exercise our talents for barter. It goes without saying that it is more sensible to buy from a reliable trader, and so be assured of getting in quality what you pay for in price. But there is a personal satis faction in buying a rug, or basket, or piece of hammered silver direct from the maker thereof that is worth the hazard. You need not expect to out-bargain an Indian. He knows values, and you, at best, are only guessing.

For the uninitiated, rug buying combines. the most fun with the least hazard. The procedure may be somewhat as follows. Having made a tentative selection, you may haul the rug down from the line for closer examination. You test the firmness of the weave, study the design, hold it up against the light, look for some imperfec tion in the pattern, such as is, according to the best authority, left by experienced weavers to placate the jealous Spider Woman whose skill they emulate. All this is intended to impress the Indians, who look on in silent admiration. At last, you ask the man nearest you, "How much?"

At this unexpected and quite unreasonable question, his eyes take on a far-away look; his ears seem visibly to close; making it plain that he has neither seen nor heard. His wordless reproof serves to remind you that among the Navajo it is the women who are the weavers. Accordingly, you shift your inquiring glance from face to face until a woman, not bothering to rise from her sheepskin, looks at you and extending her arms, opens and closes both hands twice.

"Twenty dollars?" You are amazed, and a little hurt. Reluctantly, sorrowfully even, you hang the blanket on the line, and walk slowly away. Of course, you will come back. You know it and so does the woman who also knows, as you do, that the rug is worth not more than sixteen dollars, and that is what, eventually, you pay.

All the color, beauty of our Indians.

It is harder to estimate the value of "hard goods." And if you do not know the difference between a commercial stone, and one that has been cut and polished by hand, then, "let the buyer beware." There was one necklace I coveted, made of a huge uncut turquoise of an incomparable skyblue color, joined by strings of flat shell beads, such as one finds among the artifacts of our prehistoric peoples. Fortifying myself with a Navajo-speaking acquaintance, I approached the woman who was wearing it and made known my desire. She disentangled the turquoise necklace from among not less than five others, laid it carelessly in my hands. Before I could ask the price, three Navajo men appeared from nowhere, bore down upon the woman threatingly, loosing torrents of Navajo the while. The discussion waxed so eloquent as to tax the ability of any interpreter.

"What are they saying?" I asked finally. "The old man who is talking for the others says, 'It is very, very ancient. Our people have had it for a very long time, and the Hopi had it before that. Do not sell it cheap. It is worth ten horses.' "

"About four hundred dollars that would be."

Not having ten horses, I looked my bewilderment.

With unfeigned reluctance, I returned the necklace that was worth ten horses to its Ceremonial creations of beauty. owner. But if it is there next year, I may hold it in my hand again.

Turquoise at any price is cheap, considering its power to protect the wearer from evil machinations of gods and men, as is commonly believed among some tribes. It is worn in innumerable ways, tied into the hair, and onto cradle boards.

It is something between irritating and amusing to realize that the Indians with whom you are conducting business by sign and pantomime actually understand every word you say and could speak English very well if they chose to do so.

The all-Indian rodeo that is held each afternoon is for visitors the chief attraction. It is one of the few remaining nonprofessional contests of its kind. The riders are right off the range, as are the horses they ride, and the wild tough little steers they rope. Competition is keen for the very generous prizes awarded by Flagstaff business men to the winners of the various events. And a small fortune in horses, blankets, and silver is wagered by the Indians on the outcome. The Navajos, both men and women, are super-horsemen, riding with a disregard for danger that is magnificent, if foolhardy, but it is the Apaches and Havasupai, whose business is cattle raising, who make the best showing as all-around cowboys.

The smell of wood smoke drifts lazily through the pines, as fires are lighted in preparation for the evening meal. Flames leap and crackle, and soon the aroma of boiling coffee and roasting mutton rises to whet the appetite. Women, seated flat on the ground, expertly shape and stretch pieces of dough into large disks of bread, which are baked on low grills over glowing coals. A sack of sugar is brought from the wagon, a few cups set out, and the meal is ready. Each member of the family eats when he is ready, and apparently, as much as he is able. The residue is thrown into the fire. And there are no dishes to wash.

Ceremonial Dances begin around eight o'clock, and last for two or three hours. For this event, as for the rodeo, there is an admission charge for spectators who sit in the grandstand, whether white or Indian. Few Indians avail themselves of this privilege, but sit or stand within the arena, where the dancing takes place. Little is known, and less is understood, of the real significance of these so-called dances; what they mean to the Indian, that is. We do know that they are religious in nature, and we marvel that any ritual, however sacred, should have survived four centuries of unremitting antagonism, Spanish and Anglo alike.

When it is dark, the ceremonial fires are kindled, their flames lighting the arena, the wall of expectant Indian faces, the tiers of bewildered white faces. The stillness is broken only by the crackling of the fires, as the dancers enter in tribal costumes, restored for the moment to ancient grandeur. The Indian School band plays The Star Spangled Banner, welding the silent, standing throng, Red men and White, into one people of one land.

It is beautiful. The spectator, enthralled, forgets that every painted symbol, every feather, every piece of fur or shell, every gourd rattle and drum beat, every step and chant and posture of the dance is purely utilitarian in function. That these things combine to create a spectacle of surpassing beauty is accidental. The dance is a means of some desired end. Dances are performed to exorcise the workings of evil; to delight the spirits of the departed; to insure success in the hunt. There are war dances, now impotent, but still hair raising; prayer dances and rituals of the equinoxes. Dozens of dances may be performed publicly, besides the ceremonials that are regarded