Yours Sincerely...

NAVAJOS IN THE PACIFIC

Between trains at St. Louis, in mid November 1946, I visited with Dr. Martin Withers, who formerly served under me for several summers as a seasonal ranger at Mesa Verde National Park. During the war Dr. Withers served with Argus 20, the radar unit with the First Division. In this connection, he told me of the friendship developed incidentally with a group of eight Navajo boys then stationed on Pelilu Island at the foot of Bloody Nose Ridge. They were engaged in hazardous commando work and never knew how many would return at the close of their next assignment. One had received a copy of ARIZONA HIGHWAYS contain ing many pictures in color of cherished places on the Navajo Reservation. So that these pic tures might be preserved, they were removed from the magazine and divided among the boys so that if one did not return from the next assignment the group would lose only the picture he carried. James Nankai, from near Shiprock, New Mexico, and Allen June, from near Tuba, Arizona, were the two Navajo boys best known to Dr. Withers. Such high attachment to their homeland and such high evaluation of your superb color illustrations by these eight Navajo boys is the interest that prompts the sharing of this little human-interest story with you. Jesse L. Nusbaum, Senior Acheologist, National Park Service, Santa Fe, N. Μ.

ARIZONA HIGHWAYS' greatest mission was to bring a story of home to Arizonans serving all over the world during the war.

LOVE DANCE OF THE SUPAI:

I have been reading ARIZONA HIGHWAYS for about four years and each number seems to be the best. Every one we show it to sub scribes to it. We have also sent it to many of our friends, some as far away as Honolulu. I have been eagerly looking forward to the time when you would publish something about HAVASUPAI or Cataract Canyon. You can hardly imagine my joy when your August and December numbers came out with grand tribute to the Supai Indians and a fine descrip tion of the canyon. Fifty years ago August 14, 1896, with thirteen other people, a big wagon, four horses, lots of eats, hay and feed for the horses, we set off from Williams, Ariz., at the invitation of the schoolmaster or the Supai In dian Agent and his wife to visit the Supai Vil lage. It took us two days to reach the top of one of the trails where we stayed all night. Early the next morning with our bedding and eats on two of the horses and our canteens of water on us for there was no drinking water going down the trail we set forth on a twelve mile walk and I mean walk as the round and slip pery rock kept us busy picking ourselves up and wondering how far twelve miles was. When the Arizona sun got going we wondered where that shade tree was, but we never did find it and all we could do was to hope we would last until we arrived at the village. We got in about four o'clock greeted by lots of dogs and Indians and the schoolmaster and his wife whose names I have forgotten. After fifty years you forget lots of things.

After our beds were fixed up and we had gotten our supper, we were told we were to go farther down the canyon, one and one-half miles to see two Indian dances the Corn and Love Dances. They had postponed these dances one night for our benefit, as they knew we were coming soon, but they had to take place that night. We had to walk and we were all weary and tired but off we went and it was worth every bit of the exertion. Any one who was not married could dance in the Love Dance. As most of us were single we got to dance and believe me it was some dance. The next day we rested and the following day we hired ponies of the Indians and toured the canyon down to both falls and many other places. Any one taking this trip feels they have been endowed with great strength and courage. The next day after visiting the falls we hired ponies from the Indians and went back up the trail to our wagon. Then we headed across to the Old Bass Trail where we stayed one night going down that trail as far as we could walk. What a glorious view. I prefer it to Bright Angel. Although my brother-in-law, Sanford Rowe, first opened up the Bright Angel and also had Rowe's Well later, I am still sold on the Old Bass Trail. I afterward went out to Bright Angel with my husband and stayed all night at El Tovar. Six years ago we went by auto and camped or stayed at one of the cottages, still the trip to Cacaract Canyon is the most wonderful of all of them. This trip to Cataract Canyon consumed most of two weeks. Thanks to Mrs. Adams, her sons Bert and Amos, and daughter, Mabel, that was a grand outing. If one got a chance to go now it would be so much easier for fifty years does bring ease but not any more happiness. I lived at Williams, Ariz., during the Bucky O'Neill and Geo. U. Young era. Later I lived at Winslow, Ariz., where Navajos on horseback and Moquis in wagons came in almost every day from the reservations. They were always a source of pleasure to look at their calm, serene faces and know that time counts as nothing to them.

Mrs. Maud Ranney Britton Turlock, California

DREAMS OF MOUNTAINS:

In regard to the inscription quoted in the October magazine ARIZONA HIGHWAYS, I send you this information given me some years ago by Mr. H. U. Felleman of the New York Times Book Review Magazine: "Dreams of mountains, as in their sleep They brood on things eternal." This quotation comes from an article in a pamphlet written on the Grand Canyon by C. A. Higgins, entitled "Titans of (or in) Chains." Mr. Higgins was assistant general passenger agent of the Santa Fe railroad more than thirty-five years ago. I tried to get a copy of the pamphlet but found it was out of print. Yours truly, Mrs. William Magill Schultz Tucson, Arizona

THAT THE SPIRIT MAY GO

With long strokes he rubbed the bow Close to his hunt-tuned ear He tried the bow-string And with gay and magic touch, he tipped The arrows as he liked them best; The whole array was polished by his loving use, Driven by his strength, the bow and arrow Held the imprint of his heart. But now he sleeps Break the long bow, scatter the fleet arrows Let his part in them know flight That his spirit may go whole, into the greatness Swiftly the clay ball whirled As slim brown hands controlled its growth; Water, earth and fire united, shaped This fragile vessel Gracefully the running deer curves upon its surface; Hogan symbols rim its edge As dream filled eyes appraised the finished whole But the potter, too, is gone now Break the patient bowl scatter the yellow meal Let whatever of her lingers in them yet, go free Release her and her handicraft that she may go complete

DESERT RAIN

All yesterday the sky was tarnished brass, And lurid clouds, riding a ghostly breeze, Filed in a long procession through the pass, Dropping cold shadows on the pepper-trees. But when the day broke, wind and boughs were still; Sultry red blossomed in the Fast; mists veiled A livid sun that barely topped the hill Before his ineffective lantern failed. Now from the desert parchment of the plain Intoxicating odors, bitter-sweet, Rise at the drumming roll-call of the rain From aromatic greasewood and mesquite, And arid mesas, long unused to showers, Bear alien meadows, galaxied with flowers.

SNOW IN THE HUACHUCAS

Blue mountains lean expectantly Against a leaden sky, To capture heavy snow-clouds Slowly drifting by. Crags and peaks and canyons Will be curtained from our sight By snowflakes falling swiftly In a frenzied whirl of white.

When the storm has ended, When the wind has ceased to blow, The Huachucas will be wearing A mantilla made of snow.

COLORED ANSWER

For months, the tawny desert lay Quiescent in the valley's mold, Its lineaments dusty gray, Unpromising, exhausted, old. Then rain and sun and silent air Unlocked the secret of the seed, And color cancelled out despair That beauty's wealth could match our need.