‘‘You take the bear hide there and sell it, and send us our share of the money,” I told him.
‘‘I"ll do it, just as soon as I get my old men safely home,” he answered.
We had waited supper for him, and now, while we ate, our Indian friend told us a lot about his school life in the East, and the big cities he had seen, Chicago, New York, Philadelphia, and Washington. He kept us so interested that we hardly knew what we were putting into our mouths, and once I mistook the salt cup for my tea cup and sure got a surprise.
Later on, after we had washed the dishes, we asked how his old men were getting on in the cave, and how they managed to endure a fire in it ?
‘‘Oh, they are doing fine, and are very happy,” he answered. “There is a narrow crack in the rock, running from the roof of the kiva into the hole going down to the Under World, and that carries off the smoke. They are very comfortable in there. They have said many of their prayers, and sung the songs that go with them, and last night White Deer had a revealing dream: he dreamed that he was in a great rainstorm out upon the desert; that he saw heavy rain falling upon our plantings at the foot of the cliffs of Oraibi. That is a pretty sure sign the Rain God is taking pity upon us, that he will soon give us what water we need.”
‘‘If he does, he will also be doing us a good turn: he will put out our terrible forest fires,” said Hannah, with a laughing toss of her head.
‘‘Oh, please don’t laugh at us! ” our friend cried. “We do not laugh at your beliefs; we are very willing that you shall have your gods and believe in them, so do that much for us! ”
“Oh, you misunderstand me!” she told him. “I was n’t laughing at your beliefs. I was thinking how a big rain would put an end to the awful work of the fire-setters.”
“That, also, my priests are praying Rain God to do,” he solemnly answered.
As I had had some sleep during the day, I took the first watch that night, while our friend slept on the porch, wrapped in his blanket. At midnight I called him, as agreed upon, and he stood watch for the remainder of the night. Nothing happened. Day came, we had an early breakfast, and then went up on top, Hannah and I to the lookout, the Hopi to his old men. We had no sooner climbed to the top of the little butte than we saw that the firebugs had again been busy during the night: a thick column of black smoke was rising from a point about two miles south of the big fires, and there was still another fire started to the west of Green’s Peak. And this morning there was again a brisk wind! We felt blue enough as we looked down upon the mean work of the I.W.W. firebugs. How bold they were, and how cunning, setting the fires right where many men were constantly searching for them, and managing day after day to keep themselves safely hidden. The telephone called me, and the Supervisor said: Hurry up to the lookout, George, and chart some new fires that are burning.”
“We are on top. In the lookout! Wait, I’ll give you the readings,” I answered.
Hannah was already at the chart stand. She made the sightings, told me the degrees, and I repeated them.
And then the Supervisor said, more to himself than to me, I thought: don’t know what to do! I can’t get more men, oh, this is sure terrible!”
I wanted to ask him if there were any traces of the firebugs, but he rang off. Later on, we learned by listening in that the sheriff’s men could not find even a footprint of them. We went outside and sat for hours looking down upon the forest and trying to think just where the fire-setters might be hiding. As they were afoot, we believed that they were cached somewhere within five miles of the sawmill. But where — just where ?
The wind that we dreaded proved to be only an early morning breeze; it died completely out before ten o’clock and the day turned warm even up where we were. By noon the great desert to the north was lost in the heat waves rising from it. We had brought a lunch this day, and asked the young Hopi to share it with us. When he came, a little after twelve, he was very silent and anxious, we thought, and finally Hannah asked what was troubling him.
He pointed to the northwest: ‘‘Our poor plantings are drying up, out there! If Rain God does not soon answer our prayers, we shall starve!’’ he answered.
“Yes. And we shall lose our forest, and starve along with our cattle,” I told him.
“To-morrow is to be our great day. To-morrow my priests make their offerings, and sing and dance to Rain God, and you shall see them do it,” he said.
Chapter IX.
The Bear Skin is Stolen
When Hannah and I returned to the cabin that evening, we found everything as we had left it, and thought that the deserter had made up his mind to make no more raids upon our little stock of provisions. After I had started a fire in the stove, we went out and admired our great bear skin, now almost dry — so thoroughly had it been fleshed and stretched. I struck it with my hand and it boomed like a drum.
“Sister, our friend can’t be right: it is n’t possible that any one will pay four hundred dollars for that hide, big though it is!” I exclaimed.
“I guess that we have very little idea of what rich people are willing to give for things that they want. It seems to me that people who think nothing of paying a hotel twenty-five dollars a day for meals and a place to sleep, will not mind four hundred for the hide. And with the reward that we are to have, that will be six hundred in all, two hundred dollars for each of us. Oh, I never dreamed of having that much money of my very own!” she said.
We went back into the cabin and cooked supper, sure pleased over our good luck. Our Hopi friend came down just before sunset, and we all sat up to the table and ate and talked, and were just plumb happy. Our friend told us more about Grand Canyon and the rich people who visited it. A few of them, he said, seemed to appreciate what a wonderful place it was, but many just said: ‘‘Some cut, isn’t it! Well, I've seen it, anyhow!” And then they would hurry from the rim back to the hotel to talk and eat and smoke and dance. Dancing — silly dancing — was more to them than looking down at that most wonderful sight in all the world. Some of those dancing women wore dresses that cost all of a thousand dollars each; and diamond necklaces and rings worth all the way up to fifty thousand dollars.
And at that Hannah cried out, “Oh, it does n’t seem possible that there are women so rich as that!”
“But it is so” our friend answered. ‘‘And more than that, there is a woman in Philadelphia — I have seen her — she once came to our Carlisle school — who owns over a million dollars worth of diamonds and pearls! ”
“I guess that we may get four hundred for our bear hide,” I said.
“Five hundred, maybe,” said our friend. And we saw that he meant it.
Hannah and I were very happy that night, planning what we should do with all the money that we were soon to have.
Again our Hopi friend and I divided the night watch. Nothing happened. We had an early breakfast, cooked by Hannah, and then, after washing the dishes and packing a pail of lunch, we hurried up the trail, the Hopi to his old men and Hannah and I to the lookout. There had been no wind during the night, so we had hoped to find that the fires were, anyhow partly, under control. Not only were they burning as fiercely as ever; we saw at a glance that two more had been started during the night, both of them between the sawmill and the edge of the desert, and about a mile apart. Our hearts were sure heavy as we looked off at that wicked burning of our forest, and when I reported, at nine o’clock, the Supervisor’s voice had a weary, hopeless sound as he answered: "‘Yes, George, I know just where the new fires are, you need n’t chart ’em. Boy, if we don’t soon get rain we shall lose all this end of the forest!”
“No