Part 37 (1/2)

They are friendly enough, but Indians are sensitive,” advised Tad.

”So am I,” replied Chunky.

”You may be sorry that you are if you are not careful. I shall be uneasy all the time for fear you'll put your foot in it,” said Tad.

”Just keep your own house in order. Mine will take care of itself.

There's the village.”

”Surely enough,” answered Tad, gazing inquiringly toward the scattered shacks or ha-was, as the native houses were called. These consisted of posts set up with a slight slant toward the center, over which was laid in several layers the long gra.s.s of the canyon. Ordinarily a bright, hued Indian blanket covered the opening. A tall man could not stand upright in a Havasupai ha-wa. They were merely hovels, but they were all sufficient for these people, who lived most of their lives out in the open.

The street was full of gaunt, fierce-looking dogs that the boys first mistook for coyotes. The dogs, ill-fed, were surly, making friends with no one, making threatening movements toward the newcomers in several instances. One of them seized the leg of Chunky's trousers.

”Call your dog off, Chief Chickadee!” yelled the fat boy.

The Indian merely grunted, whereupon the fat boy laid a hand on the b.u.t.t of his revolver. A hand gripped his arm at the same time. The hand was Tad Butler's.

”You little idiot, take your hand away from there or I'll put a head on you right here! The dog won't hurt you.” Tad was angry.

”No, you've scared him off, now. Of course he won't bite me, but he would have done so if he hadn't caught sight of you.”

”I must be good dog medicine then,” replied Tad grimly. ”But, never mind,” he added, with a smile, ”just try to behave yourself for a change.”

About that time Chief Tom was leading out his squaw by an ear.

”White man see Chi-i-wa,” grinned the chief.

Chi-i-wa gave them a toothless smile. She was the most repulsive-looking object the boys ever had looked upon. Chi-i-wa's hair came down to the neck, where it had been barbered off square all the way around. This was different from her august husband's. His hair lay in straight strands on his shoulders, while a band of gaudy red cloth, the badge of his office, was twisted over The forehead, binding the straight, black locks at the back of the head.

The squaw wore baggy trousers bound at the bottom with leggings, while over her shoulder was draped a red and white Indian blanket that was good to look upon. The brilliant reds of the blankets all through the village lent a touch of color that was very pleasing to the eye.

The chief's son was then brought out to shake hands with the white men, while Chi-i-wa squatted down and appeared to lose all interest in life. Dogs and children were by this time gathered about in great numbers regarding the new comers with no little curiosity.

The chief's son was introduced to the boys by Nance as ”Afraid Of His Face.”

Stacy surveyed the straight-limbed but ugly faced young buck critically.

”I don't blame him,” said the fat boy.

”Don't blame him for what?” snapped Nance.

”For being afraid of his face. So am I.”

The boys snickered, but their faces suddenly sobered at a sharp glance from the piercing eyes of the Kohot.

”Mi-ki-u-la,” said Afraid Of His Face, pointing to the much-soiled trousers of Stacy Brown.

”He likes your trousers, he says,” grinned the guide.

”Well, he can't have them, though he certainly does need trousers,”