The Moqui woman is favored above many of her sex who live in foreign lands. As a child she receives much attention and toys galore, as the parents are very fond of their children and devote much time to their amusement. They make dolls of their Katcinas which are given to the children to play with. A Katcina is the emblem of a deity that is represented either in the form of a doll carved out of wood, woven into a plaque or basket, or painted on tiles and pottery. There are between three and four hundred Katcina dolls each one representing a different divinity. When a doll is given to a child it is taught what it means, thus combining instruction with amusement. The method is a perfect system of kindergarten teaching, which the Moquis invented and used centuries before the idea occurred to Froebel.

When the girl is ten years old her education properly begins and she is systematically inducted into the mysteries of housekeeping. At fifteen she has completed her curriculum and can cook, bake, sew, dye, spin and weave and is, indeed, graduated in all the accomplishments of the finished Moqui maiden. She now does up her hair in two large coils or whorls, one on each side of the head, which is meant to resemble a full-blown squash blossom and signifies that the wearer is of marriageable age and in the matrimonial market. It gives her a striking yet not unbecoming appearance, and, if her style of coiffure were adopted by modern fashion it would be something unusually attractive. As represented by Donaldson in the eleventh census report the handsome face of Pootitcie, a maiden of the pueblo of Sichomovi, makes a pretty picture that even her white sisters must admire. After marriage the hair is let down and done up in two hard twists that fall over the shoulders. This form represents a ripe, dried squash blossom and means fruitfulness.

Her dress is not Spanish nor yet altogether Indian, but is simple, comfortable and becoming, which is more than can be said of some civilized costumes. She chooses her own husband, inherits her mother's name and property and owns the house in which she lives. Instead of the man owning and bossing everything, as he so dearly loves to do in our own civilization, the property and labor of the Moqui husband and wife are equally divided, the former owning and tending the fields and flocks and the latter possessing and governing the house.

The Moquis are famous for their games, dances and festivals, which have been fully described by Dr. J. Walter Fewkes in various reports to the Smithsonian Institution. They have many secret orders, worship the supernatural, and believe in witchcraft. Their great fete day is the Snake Dance, which is held in alternate years at Walpi and Oraibi, at the former place in the odd year and at the latter place in the even year, some time during the month of August. It is purely a religious ceremony, an elaborate supplication for rain, and is designed to propitiate the water god or snake deity.

Preliminary ceremonies are conducted in the secret Kiva several days preceding the public dance. The Kiva is an underground chamber that is cut out of the solid rock, and is entered by a ladder. It has but a single opening on top on a level with the street, which serves as door, window and chimney. The room is only used by the men, and is, in fact, a lodge room, where the members of the several secret orders meet and engage in their solemn ceremonials. It is a sacred place, a holy of holies, which none but members of a lodge may enter, and is carefully guarded.

The snakes used in the dance are all wild, and captured out on the open plain. Four days prior to the dance the snake men, dressed in scanty attire and equipped with their snake-capturing paraphernalia, march out in squads and scour the surrounding country in search of snakes. One day each is spent in searching the ground towards the four points of the compass, in the order of north, west, south and east, returning at the close of each day with their catch to the Kiva, where the snakes are kept and prepared for the dance. The snakes caught are of several varieties, but much the largest number are rattlesnakes. Respect is shown for serpents of every variety and none are ever intentionally harmed, but the rattlesnake is considered the most sacred and is proportionately esteemed. Its forked tongue represents lightning, its rattle thunder and its spots rain-clouds. The number of snakes they find is surprising, as they catch from one to two hundred during the four days' hunt on ground that might be carefully searched by white men for months without finding a single reptile.

The snake men are very expert in catching and handling serpents, and are seldom bitten. If one is bitten it is nothing serious, as they have a secret medicine which they use that is both prophylactic and curative, and makes them immune to the poison so that no harm ever results from a bite. The medicine is taken internally and also applied locally. Efforts have been made to discover its composition but without success. If a snake is located which shows fight by the act of coiling it is tickled with a snake-whip made of eagle's feathers, which soon soothes its anger and causes it to uncoil and try to run away. It is then quickly and safely caught up and dropped from the hand into a bag carried for that purpose.

Visitors who attend the dance are under no restrictions, but are free to come and go as they please, either sightseeing or in search of curios. If the visitor has a supply of candy, matches and smoking-tobacco to give away he finds frequent opportunities to bestow his gifts. The children ask for "canty," the women want "matchi," and the men are pleased with a "smoke."

On the morning of the dance both the men and women give their hair an extra washing by using a mixture of water and crushed soap-root. The white fibers of the soap-root get mixed with the hair, which gives it a tinge of iron gray. The children also get a bath which, because of the great scarcity of water, is not of daily occurrence.

To the Moquis the snake dance is a serious and solemn affair, but to the visitors it is apt to be an occasion for fun and frolic. Owing to a misunderstanding of its true meaning, and because of misconduct in the past on similar occasions, notice is posted on the Kiva asking visitors to abstain from loud laughing and talking. In other words it is a polite request made by the rude red man of his polished (?) white brother to please behave himself.

The dance begins late in the afternoon and lasts less than one hour, but while it is in progress the action is intense. The snakes are carried in a bag or jar from the Kiva to the Kisa, built of cotton-wood boughs on one side of the plaza, where the snakes are banded out to the dancers. After much marching and countermarching about the plaza, chanting weird songs and shaking rattles, the column of snake priests, dressed in a fantastic garb of paint, fur and feathers, halts in front of the Kisa and breaks up into groups of three.

The carrier takes a snake from the Kisa puts it in his mouth, and carries it there while dancing. Some of the more ambitious young men will carry two or more of the smaller snakes at the same time. The hugger throws his left arm over the shoulder of the carrier and with his right hand fans the snake with his feather whip. The gatherer follows after and picks up the snakes as they fall to the ground.

After the snakes have all been danced they are thrown into a heap and sprinkled with sacred corn meal by the young women. The scattering of the meal is accompanied by a shower of spittle from the spectators, who are stationed on, convenient roofs and ladders viewing the ceremony. Fleet runners now catch up the snakes in handfuls and dash off in an exciting race over the mesa and down rocky trails to the plains below where the snakes are returned unharmed to their native haunts.

While the men are away disposing of the reptiles the women carry out large ollas, or jars, filled with a black liquid, which is the snake medicine that is used in the final act of purification by washing. When the men return to the mesa they remove their regalias and proceed to drink of the snake medicine which acts as an emetic. With the remainder of the concoction, and assisted by the women, they wash their bodies free from paint. After the men are all washed and puked they re-enter the Kiva, where the long fast is broken by a feast and the formal ceremonies of the snake dance are ended.

The snake dance is annually witnessed by many visitors who gather from different sections of the country and even foreign lands. As there are no hotels to entertain guests every visitor must provide his own outfit for conveyance, eating and sleeping. Even water is scarce. Local springs barely furnish enough water to supply the native population; and when the number of people to be supplied is increased from one to two hundred by the visitors who attend the dance, the water question becomes a serious problem.

On the lower portion of the road which leads up from the spring to the gap at Walpi on the first mesa, the trail is over drifted sand which makes difficult walking. To remedy this defect in the trail, a path has been made of flat stones laid in the sand, which shows that the Moquis are quick to recognize and utilize an advantage that contributes to their convenience and comfort.

The Santa Fe Pacific is the nearest railroad, which runs about one hundred miles south of the Moqui villages. The tourist can secure transportation at reasonable rates of local liverymen either from Holbrook, Winslow, Canon Diablo or Flagstaff. The trip makes an enjoyable outing that is full of interest and instruction from start to finish.

Some years ago the government, through its agents, began to civilize and Christianize these Indians and established a school at Keam's Canon, nine miles east of the first mesa, for that purpose. When the school was opened the requisition for a specified number of children from each pueblo was not filled until secured by force. As free citizens of the United States, being such by the treaty made with Mexico in 1848 and, indeed, already so under a system of self-government superior to our own and established long before Columbus discovered America, they naturally resented any interference in their affairs but, being in the minority and overpowered, had to submit.

When the object of the school was explained to them, they consented to receive secular instructions but objected to any religious teaching. They asked to have schools opened in the pueblos on the plan of our public schools where the children could attend during the day and return home at night, and their home life be not broken up, but their prayer was denied.

The reservation school was opened for the purpose of instructing the Moqui children in civilization, but the results obtained have not been entirely satisfactory. The methods employed for enforcing discipline have been unnecessarily severe and have given dissatisfaction. As recently as the year 1903 the children of this inoffensive and harmless people were forcibly taken from their homes and put into the schools. The time selected for doing the dastardly deed was during the night in midwinter when the weather was cold and the ground covered with snow. Under the orders of the superintendent the reservation police made the raid without warning or warrant of any kind. While the people slept, the police entered their houses, dragged the little children from their comfortable beds and drove them naked out into the snow and cold, where they were rounded up and herded like cattle.

The indignity and outrage of this and other similar acts have embittered the Moquis until they have lost what little respect they ever had for Christianity and civilization. The policy of the government is to make them do whatever they do not want to do, to break up the family and scatter its members. The treatment has created two factions among the Moquis known as the "hostiles" who are only hostile in opposing oppression and any change in their religious faith and customs; and the "friendlies" who are willing to obey the boss placed over them and comply with his demands.

Religion is the dearest treasure of mankind, and when assailed always finds ready defenders. Possessed by this innate feeling of right and rankling with the injustice of the past, is it surprising that they should spurn any proffered help? They remember what they have suffered in the past and do not care to repeat the experiment. To this day the Moquis hold the mission epoch in contempt and nothing could induce them to accept voluntarily any proposition that savored ought of the old regime. Every vestige of that period has been obliterated from the pueblos that nothing tangible should remain to remind them of their undeserved humiliation.

They are a highly religious people worshiping after their own creed, and are sincere and conscientious in their devotions. Almost everything they do has some religious significance and every day its religious observance. Their religion satisfies them and harms no one, then why not leave them in peace? We believe that we can benefit them, which is doubtless true, but might they not also teach us some useful lessons? It would sometimes be more to our credit if we were less anxious to teach others, and more willing to learn ourselves.

Next to their religion they love their homes most. The rocks upon which they live, are they not dear from associations? Is it not the land of their birth and the home of their fathers during many generations? They cling with stubborn tenacity to their barren mesas and nothing thus far has succeeded in driving them away; neither war, pestilence nor famine. Repeated attempts have been made to induce them to leave, but without success.

Tom Polaki, the principal man of Tewa, was the first man to respond to the call to come down. He left the mesa several years ago, and went to the plain below to live. Having captured the bell wether it was presumed that the balance of the flock would soon follow, but the contrary proved to be true. At the foot of the bluff near a spring on the road that leads up to the gap Tom built a modern house and tried to imitate the white man. But the change did not suit him, and after living in his modern house for a number of years, he finally sold it and returned to his old home on the mesa. A few others at different times have tried the same experiment with no better success. The man would stay for a short time in the house provided for him, but never made it a permanent home for his family.

That the Moquis are changing is best illustrated by reference to one of their marriage customs. It is the custom when a youth contemplates matrimony to make a marriage blanket. He grows the cotton, spins the yarn and weaves the cloth, which requires a year or more of time to finish. Since the children have gone to school it is not deemed necessary for a young man to go to so much trouble and expense as to make a marriage blanket, but instead, he borrows one from a friend in the village, and after the ceremony is over returns it to the owner. Even now it is not easy to find such a blanket, and very soon they will be priceless as no more such garments will be made.

The only reasonable explanation why any people should select a location like that of the Moquis is on the hypothesis of choice. There is much of the animal in human nature that is influenced by instinct, and man, like the brute, often unconsciously selects what is most congenial to his nature. Thus instinct teaches the eagle to nest on the highest crag and the mountain sheep to browse in pastures which only the hardiest hunter dare approach. For no better reason, apparently, do the Moquis occupy their barren mesas; they simply prefer to live there above any other place.

Safety has been urged as a motive for their conduct but it alone is not a sufficient reason for solving the problem. Their position is safe enough from attack but in the event of a siege their safety would only be temporary. With their scant water supply at a distance and unprotected they could not hold out long in a siege, but would soon be compelled either to fight, fly or famish.

Again, if safety was their only reason for staying, they could have left long ago and had nothing to fear, as they have been for many years at peace with their ancient enemy the predatory Navajo. But rather than go they have chosen to remain in their old home where they have always lived, and will continue to live so long as they are left free to choose.

The modern iconoclast in his unreasonable devotion to realism has, perhaps, stripped them of much old time romance, but even with all of that gone, enough of fact remains to make them a remarkable people. Instead of seeking to change them this last bit of harmless aboriginal life should be spared and preserved, if possible, in all of its native purity and simplicity.

[1] The American Race, by D. G. Brinton, 1891.

[2] The Gilded Man, by A. F. Bandelier, 1893.



CHAPTER XIV

A FINE CLIMATE

The climate of Arizona as described in the local vernacular is "sure fine." The combination of elements which make the climate is unusual and cannot be duplicated elsewhere upon the American continent. The air is remarkably pure and dry. Siccity, indeed, is its distinguishing feature. That the climate is due to geographical and meteorological conditions cannot be doubted, but the effects are unexplainable by any ordinary rules.

The region involved not only embraces Arizona, but also includes portions of California and Mexico and is commonly known as the Colorado Desert. Yuma, at the junction of the Gila and Colorado rivers, is approximately its geographical center. The general aspect of the country is low and flat and in the Salton sink the dry land dips several hundred feet below the level of the ocean. Only by extreme siccity is such land possible when more water rises in evaporation than falls by precipitation. There are but few such places in the world, the deepest one being the Dead Sea, which is about thirteen hundred feet lower than the ocean.

The Colorado Basin is the dry bed of an ancient sea whose shore line is yet visible in many places upon the sides of the mountains which surround it. Its floor is composed of clay with deposits of sand and salt. Strong winds sometimes sweep over it that shift and pile up the sand in great dunes. The entire region is utterly bare and desolate, yet by the use of water diverted from the Colorado river it is being reclaimed to agriculture.

The rainfall is very scant the average annual precipitation at Yuma being less than three inches. The climate is not dry from any lack of surface water, as it has the Gila and Colorado rivers, the Gulf of California and the broad Pacific Ocean to draw from. But the singular fact remains that the country is extremely dry and that it does not rain as in other lands.

Neither is the rainfall deficient from any lack of evaporation. Upon the contrary the evaporation is excessive and according to the estimate of Major Powell amounts fully to one hundred inches of water per annum. If the vapors arising from this enormous evaporation should all be condensed into clouds and converted into rain it would create a rainy season that would last throughout the year.

The humidity caused by an abundant rainfall in any low, hot country is usually enough to unfit it for human habitation. The combined effect of heat and moisture upon a fertile soil causes an excess of both growing and decaying vegetation that fills the atmosphere with noxious vapors and disease producing germs. The sultry air is so oppressive that it is more than physical endurance can bear. The particles of vapor which float in the atmosphere absorb and hold the heat until it becomes like a steaming hot blanket that is death to unacclimated life. All of this is changed where siccity prevails. The rapid evaporation quickly dispels the vapors and the dry heat desiccates the disease creating germs and makes them innocuous.

The effect of heat upon the body is measured by the difference in the actual and sensible temperatures, as recorded by the dry and wet bulb thermometers. When both stand nearly together as they are apt to do in a humid atmosphere, the heat becomes insufferable. In the dry climate of Arizona such a condition cannot occur. The difference in the two instruments is always great, often as much as forty degrees. For this reason, a temperature of 118 degrees F. at Yuma is less oppressive than 98 degrees F. is in New York. A low relative humidity gives comfort and freedom from sunstroke even when the thermometer registers the shade temperature in three figures.

A dry, warm climate is a stimulant to the cutaneous function. The skin is an important excreting organ that is furnished with a large number of sweat glands which are for the dual purpose of furnishing moisture for cooling the body by evaporation and the elimination of worn out and waste material from the organism. As an organ it is not easily injured by over work, but readily lends its function in an emergency in any effort to relieve other tired or diseased organs of the body. By vicarious action the skin is capable of performing much extra labor without injury to itself and can be harnessed temporarily for the relief of some vital part which has become crippled until its function can be restored.

A diseased kidney depends particularly upon the skin for succor more than any other organ. When the kidneys from any cause fail to act the skin comes to their rescue and throws off impurities which nature intended should go by the renal route. For this reason diabetes and albuminuria, the most stubborn of all kidney diseases, are usually benefited by a dry, warm climate. The benefit derived is due to an increase of the insensible transpiration rather than to profuse perspiration. The air of Arizona is so dry and evaporation so rapid that an increase in perspiration is scarcely noticeable except when it is confined by impervious clothing. The disagreeable feeling of wet clothes which accompanies profuse perspiration in a damp climate is changed to an agreeable sensation of coolness in a dry one.

The atmosphere of Arizona is not only dry but also very electrical, so much so, indeed, that at times it becomes almost painful. Whenever the experiment is tried, sparks can be produced by friction or the handling of metal, hair or wool. It affects animals as well as man, and literally causes "the hair to stand on end." The writer has on various occasions seen a string of horses standing close together at a watering-trough, drinking, so full of electricity that their manes and tails were spread out and floated in the air, and the long hairs drawn by magnetic attraction from one animal to the other all down the line in a spontaneous effort to complete a circuit. There are times when the free electricity in the air is so abundant that every object becomes charged with the fluid, and it cannot escape fast enough or find "a way out" by any adequate conductor. The effects of such an excess of electricity is decidedly unpleasant on the nerves, and causes annoying irritability and nervousness.

The hot sun sometimes blisters the skin and burns the complexion to a rich, nut-brown color, but the air always feels soft and balmy, and usually blows only in gentle zephyrs. The air has a pungent fragrance which is peculiar to the desert, that is the mingled product of a variety of resinous plants. The weather is uniformly pleasant, and the elements are rarely violently disturbed.

In the older settled sections of our country, whenever there is any sudden or extreme change in the weather of either heat or cold, wet or dry, it is always followed by an increase of sickness and death. The aged and invalid, who are sensitive and weak, suffer mostly, as they feel every change in the weather. There is, perhaps, no place on earth that can boast of a perfect climate, but the country that can show the fewest and mildest extremes approaches nearest to the ideal. The southwest is exceptionally favored in its climatic conditions, and is beneficial to the majority of chronic invalids.

Atmospheric pressure is greatest near the earth's surface, and exerts a controlling influence over the vital functions. Atmospheric pressure is to the body what the governor is to the steam engine, or the pendulum to the clock. It regulates vital action, insures safety and lessens the wear and tear of machinery. Under its soothing influence the number of respirations per minute are diminished, the heart beats decreased in frequency, and the tired brain and nerves rested. It is often better than medicine, and will sometimes give relief when all other means fail.

Arizona has a diversity of altitudes, and therefore furnishes a variety of climates. The elevations range from about sea level at Yuma to nearly thirteen thousand feet upon the San Francisco mountains. By making suitable changes in altitude to fit the season it is possible to enjoy perpetual spring.

Because Arizona is far south geographically it is only natural to suppose that it is all very hot, which is a mistake. In the low valleys of southern Arizona the summers are hot, but it is a dry heat which is not oppressive, and the winters are delightfully pleasant. In northern Arizona the winters are cold and the summers cool. There is no finer summer climate in the world than is found on the high plateaus and pine-topped mountains of northern Arizona. Prescott, Williams and Flagstaff have a charming summer climate, while at Yuma, Phoenix and Tucson the winter weather is simply perfect.

A mountain residence is not desirable for thin, nervous people or such as are afflicted with any organic disease. A high altitude is too stimulating for this class of patients and tends to increase nervousness and aggravates organic disease. Such persons should seek a coast climate and a low altitude, which is sedative, rather than risk the high and dry interior. Any coast climate is better than the mountains for nervous people, but the Pacific Coast is preferable to any other because of its freedom from electrical storms and every other form of disagreeable meteorological disturbance that tries the nerves. The nervousness that is produced by a high altitude does not, as a rule, develop suddenly, but grows gradually upon the patient. Those of a sensitive nature feel it most and women more than men. After making a change from a low to a high altitude sleep may be sound for a time, but it soon becomes fitful and unrefreshing.

It has been discovered that altitude increases the amount of hemoglobulin and thus enriches the blood and is particularly beneficial to pale, thin people. It also sharpens the appetite and promotes digestion and assimilation.

Persons suffering from rheumatism, neuralgia, advanced pulmonary consumption, organic heart disease and all disorders of the brain and nerves should avoid a high altitude. Patients that are afflicted with any of the above-mentioned diseases are more comfortable in a low altitude and should choose between the coast of California and the low, dry lands of the lower Gila and Colorado rivers, according to the season of the year and the quality of climate desired.

The diseases which are especially benefited by the climate of Arizona are consumption, bronchitis, catarrh and hay fever. Anyone going in search of health who has improved by the change should remain where the improvement took place lest by returning home and being again subjected to the former climatic conditions which caused the disease the improvement be lost and the old disease re-established with increased severity.

Most sick people who are in need of a change live in a humid atmosphere where the winters are extremely cold and the summers uncomfortably hot, and to be benefited by a change must seek a climate in which the opposite conditions prevail. The climate of the southwest furnishes just what such invalids require. The sick who need cold or damp weather, if there be any such, can be accommodated almost anywhere, but those who want a warm, dry climate must go where it can be found. Not every invalid who goes in search of health finds a cure, as many who start on such a journey are already past help when they leave home. When a case is hopeless the patient should not undertake such a trip, but remain quietly at home and die in peace among friends.

As already intimated the climate of the Colorado basin is ideal in winter, but becomes very hot in summer. Its low altitude, rainless days, cloudless skies and balmy air form a combination that is unsurpassed and is enjoyed by all either sick or well. The heat of summer does not create sickness, but becomes monotonous and tiresome from its steady and long continuance. Many residents of the Territory who tire of the heat and can afford the trip take a vacation during the summer months and either go north to the Grand Canon and the mountains or to the Pacific Coast. Every summer witnesses a hegira of sun baked people fleeing from the hot desert to the mountains or ocean shore in search of coolness and comfort.

Life in the tropics, perhaps, inclines to indolence and languor, particularly if the atmosphere is humid, but in a dry climate like that of Arizona the heat, although sometimes great, is never oppressive or debilitating. It has its lazy people like any other country and for the same reason that there are always some who were born tired and never outgrow the tired feeling, but Arizona climate is more bracing than enervating.

The adobe house of the Mexican is a peculiar institution of the southwest. It may be interesting on account of its past history, but it is certainly not pretty. It is nothing more than a box of dried mud with its roof, walls and floor all made of dirt. It is never free from a disagreeable earthy smell which, if mingled with the added odors of stale smoke and filth, as is often the case, makes the air simply vile. The house can never be kept tidy because of the dirt which falls from the adobe, unless the walls and ceilings are plastered and whitewashed, which is sometimes done in the better class of houses. If the house is well built it is comfortable enough in pleasant weather, but as often as it rains the dirt roof springs a leak and splashes water and mud over everything. If by chance the house stands on low ground and is surrounded by water, as sometimes happens, after a heavy rain the walls become soaked and dissolved into mud when the house collapses. The adobe house may have been suited to the wants of a primitive people, but in the present age of improvement, it is scarcely worth saving except it be as a relic of a vanishing race.

In order to escape in a measure the discomforts of the midday heat the natives either seek the shade in the open air where the breeze blows, or, what is more common, close up tight the adobe house in the morning and remain indoors until the intense heat from the scorching sun penetrates the thick walls, which causes the inmates to move out. In the cool of the evening they visit and transact business and when the hour comes for retiring go to bed on cots made up out of doors where they sleep until morning, while the house is left open to cool off during the night. This process is repeated every day during the hot summer months and is endured without complaint.

The natives, also, take advantage of the dry air to operate a novel method of refrigeration. The cloth covered army canteen soaked in water and the handy water jug of the eastern harvest field wrapped in a wet blanket are familiar examples of an ineffectual attempt at refrigeration by evaporation. But natural refrigeration find its best illustration in the arid regions of the southwest by the use of an olla, which is a vessel made of porous pottery, a stout canvas bag or a closely woven Indian basket. A suitable vessel is selected, filled with water and suspended somewhere in midair in the shade. If it is hung in a current of air it is all the better, as any movement of the atmosphere facilitates evaporation. A slow seepage of water filters through the open pores of the vessel which immediately evaporates in the dry air and lowers the temperature. The water in the olla soon becomes cold and if properly protected will remain cool during the entire day.

The dry air also acts as a valuable preservative. During the winter, when the weather is cool but not freezing, if fresh meat is hung out in the open air, it will keep sweet a long time. A dry crust soon forms upon its surface which hermetically seals the meat from the air and keeps it perfectly sweet. In the summer it is necessary to dry the meat more quickly to keep it from spoiling. It is then made into "jerky" by cutting it into long, thin strips and hanging them up in the sun to dry. After it is thoroughly dried, it is tied up in bags and used as needed, either by eating it dry from the pocket when out on a tramp, or, if in camp, serving it in a hot stew.

Even the carcass of a dead animal that is left exposed upon the ground to decompose does not moulder away by the usual process of decay, but what is left of the body after the hungry buzzards and coyotes have finished their feast, dries up into a mummy that lasts for years.

Climate everywhere unquestionably influences life in its evolution, but it is not always easy to determine all of its effects in detail. In Arizona, which is but a comparatively small corner of our country, live several races of men that are as different from each other as nature could make them, yet all live in the same climate.

The Pueblo Indian is in a manner civilized, peaceable and industrious. He is brave in self-defense, but never seeks war nor bloodshed. Quite different is his near neighbor, the bloodthirsty Apache, who seems to delight only in robbing and killing people. Cunning and revenge are pronounced traits of his character and the Government has found him difficult to conquer or control. The Mexican leads a shiftless, thriftless life and seems satisfied merely to exist. He has, unfortunately, inherited more of the baser than the better qualities of his ancestors, and, to all appearance, is destined to further degenerate. The American is the last comer and has already pushed civilization and commerce into the remotest corners and, as usual, dominates the land.

As diverse as are these several races in many respects, each one of them furnishes splendid specimens of physical manhood. The Indian has always been noted for his fine physique, and is large bodied, well muscled and full chested. One advantage which the southwest has over other countries is that the climate is mild and favorable to an outdoor life, which is conducive to health and physical development.

No single race of men flourish equally well everywhere, but each one is affected by its own surroundings; and, what is true of a race, is also true of an individual. The pioneer in any country is always an interesting character, but he differs in peculiarities according to his environment of mountain, plain or forest. Occupation also exerts an influence and in time develops distinct types like the trapper, miner, soldier and cowboy, that only the graphic pencil of a Remington can accurately portray. The eccentricities of character which are sometimes met in men who dwell on the frontier are not always due alone to disposition, but are largely the product of the wild life which they live, that inclines them to be restless, reckless and even desperate.

There is no better field for observing and studying the effects of environment upon human life than is furnished by the arid region of the southwest.

THE END