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may come to prefer our mode of life and wish to withdraw from the tribe to establish a home and business in our environment. The desirability of civilization will be more apparent to the Indian if civilization is not thrust upon him. And he will value that for which he has to strive. Our attitude toward him in this relation should be identical with that toward any foreigner. When he proves himself worthy of citizenship, it should be granted him.

But the mass of Pueblos are certain to desire to continue in the life and traditions of their ancestors. It is their one way of happiness the necessity of their place in evolution, their unique means of retaining a hold upon life, and the only certain means of preserving their moral integrity. The claim has been made that "no primitive race of men, attempting to govern themselves by methods which, however well adapted to an advance civilization, are alien to their own traditions, has made a success of the enterprise." This touches the case of the Pueblos with prophetic acumen.

I think, when we consider their case from all angles, we will not only believe in their right to self-determination, but we will also discover a greater value to ourselves in keeping hands

off.

Nowhere in the whole world does there now remain a more picturesque and interesting people. They are a living wonder of nature, an animate monument to ages long since dead.

The ethnologic treasures of the natives of the American plains have melted from our grasp in a few decades. Only here in the desert Southwest still exists a field rich with the material of living research. The horizon of ethnology and kindred sciences is not here the setting, but the dawning, like the clear brilliance of the desert sunrise. Anthropology and sociology are certain to come in also for valuable shares. Here is a people living in a stage of development many thousands of years antecedent to our own. Can it be that the remote forebears of our highly individualistic and materialistic civilization were communists like these semi-civilized Pueblo Indians? It is certain that these people and their institutions are worthy of study. Even ethically, in that they set a certain simple happiness far ahead of the business of getting, they harbor a secret of value to the world. To us there could be no more interesting and instructive field of observation than that afforded by these conservative Pueblo advancing upon the future naturally and unmolested.

But these considerations of advantage to us from the point of view of the curiosity seeker and the scientist are, or should be, incidental. Paramount is the right of the Pueblo Indians to their own way of life-a right which they are unable to assert by force-but a right, in this great era of justice and emancipation, which we can generously assert for them and guarantee to them.

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By HERBERT BASHFORD

IRAM GREEN, seated on a cedar block

Hbeside his cabin door and bathed in the

airy gold of a September morning, surveyed the surrounding landscape with a look of supreme content on his usually expressionless countenance. With long legs crossed and lean hands clasped over his knee, his appearance was far from prepossessing. He had a short reddish beard that dripped with the tobacco-juice escaping from the corners of his small mouth, hair of a similar hue hanging in uneven locks over his forehead and completely covering his ears, a lean neck whose color attested its owner's aversion for the bath, and blue, sleepy

eyes.

"Mornin', Green!" cried a pleasant-faced, broad-chested ranchman, coming from around the cabin.

"Mornin' yerself, Wilkins! Jest a-thinkin' about ye," answered Hiram.

"Folks all well?"

"Tol'able, jest tol'able. Maw's been havin' a tech o' newralgy, 'n' my rheumatiz hez been botherin' of me some; but Melindy's peart 'n' sassy. Olly, Ted, Jake, Jim, Webster, Lizzie, 'n' Jonas is out pickin' salmon-berries; I told 'em they might 's well be doin' that ez nothin'. All we hev to eat now is berries 'n beans-pore provinder, I tell ye. Don't seem to be no cabin-buildin' ter dew, er nothin', so ez a feller kin pick up a dollar."

"Thet's so, thet's so," observed Wilkins, seating himself on the end of a charred hemlock log lying near; "there'd be more a-doin' if we could git a survey in here. We've all hed blame hard luck, 'specially you folks."

Here the speaker hesitated, cleared his throat. and pounded a chip into the dirt with the heel of his brogan.

"Th' boys up the river all chipped in yistiddy," he continued, " 'n' p'inted me a committee o' one ter see you folks 'n' find out what grub ye was a-lackin' of. I got six dollars 'n' thirtythree cents in my pocket, thet they raised fer ye. Jest say what ye need, 'n' it 'll be got."

"Th'-th- boys is powerful kind," replied Mr. Green, gazing across the muddy waters of the swift swirling Queets and to the log house on the opposite bank, with the sign "Hilton's Supply Store" painted on its front. "I don't know how ter thank 'em, but I'll help any o' 'em in gittin' out their shakes or chinkin' up

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the list. Finally, to her husband's evident satisfaction, she told Mr. Wilkins to strike off the coffee and write tobacco instead, as "paw couldn't git along 'thought his terbacker nohow.' This was done, and the two men immediately crossed the river in a rather dilapidated canoe, to the store, where the goods were bought, Wilkins secretly informing the boyishlooking proprietor-John Hilton-that it was not pity for Hiram that prompted the boys' generosity, but because they felt sorry for his wife and "the kids."

After the things purchased were safely deposited in the rude cabin, where the numerous young folk had just gathered, bearing pails filled with great pink berries, the good-hearted Wilkins departed; and Hiram sat down in his accustomed place, to rest from his recent exertions and bask in the autumnal sunshine, while his wife carried in the wood she had been chopping.

"I sartin'ly must be favored o' Providence," said Mr. Green, meditatively, as he gnawed desperately a huge plug of tobacco; "things seem to come my way, even if I don't git a cabin ter build."

Ever since his arrival, six months before, he had apparently been waiting patiently for a chance to construct a log dwelling for some of the settlers; but, although many good opportunities presented themselves, his health at these times was sure to prevent him from performing manual labor, which caused his wife to feel disheartened and alarmed over "paw's fast failin' constitution."

It was more than hinted by the residents of the region that push and energy were qualities foreign to Mr. Green's nature, and that shiftlessness in its worst form troubled him greatly. Despite the fact that his fellow "squatters" were in no wise considerate of his feelings in their remarks concerning him, his mental tranquility ever remained unruffled. "I don't keer what nobody sez 'bout me," he frequently said to his wife; "they kain't hurt my repertashun none." His idea of life was one of unalloyed serenity; and if grim poverty did often stare him in the face, he calmly blinked his eyes, calmly stroked his dripping beard, and was seemingly lost in profound meditation.

This undisturbed placidity and firm belief that "all things come to him who waits" was truly remarkable; and, to the restless, ambitious man of the world, such perfect repose of body and mind as he exhibited would appear almost incomprehensible. It was therefore from this

striking characteristic he was dubbed "the laziest man in the settlement."

Perhaps you may wonder how a man of Mr. Green's peculiar temperament could muster up sufficient courage to enter the wilderness as a pioneer; but, through the advice and persistent efforts of his brother-in-law, a land-locator, he had been persuaded to take his flock and join the band of claim-seekers bound for the beautiful Queets River valley in Northwestern Washington. The boat which carried them, left Tacoma in the stormy month of March. Owing to the fierce winds, they experienced considerable difficulty in reaching their destination-the mouth of the Queets-into which they discovered their craft could not enter, thereby compelling them to lie outside in the restless Pacific, the passengers and freight being taken ashore in large canoes manned by stalwart Indians.

During all these hardships and hours of anxiety, no one on board the "Lucy Lowe" heard a word of complaint from Hiram. When the storm raged the hardest, when the climbing, dark-breasted seas smote the vessel's side until she trembled as with fear, and a voice shouted "We've struck a rock!" when cries of terror made hysterical women swoon, and all was a scene of the wildest confusion, Mr. Green sat demurely in the cabin, rolling a quid of unusual size from cheek to cheek, and humming through his nose the tune of "Home, Sweet Home."

The brother-in-law had chosen for him a fine piece of bottom land, lying some five miles up the river, and had built a comfortable cabin thereon, into which the family moved without delay. As the country was unsurveyed, and it was uncertain where the lines would come, Hiram thought it prudent to make no improvements on his claim, whatever; insisting that, if he did so, his labor might be lost to him. Meanwhile, his more ambitious neighbors had planted gardens and were rapidly clearing their future farms of giant timber. Later on he acknowledged his folly in this respect, frequently sending the children to borrow a "leetle gardentruck." always charging the youngster to say that "paw was a-goin' ter hev a garden hisself next year, pervidin' his health's good." Thus, in quiet and peace, he passed the days within the shadow of the snow-crested Olympics and where the low, dull murmur of the ocean stole through the boundless forests of spruce and hemlock.

"Where ye goin', boys?"

Mr. Green, as he made this inquiry, was settling himself comfortably on the cedar block. having just finished eating the first substantial

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the fire yesterday and got near burned to death. Want to go along?"

"Waal, I dunno but what I might," replied Hiram, rising leisurely and shambling down the bank to the water's edge, as the occupants of the canoe paddled toward him. “Jest et th' bigges' dinner I've et in four year. S'ful I can hardly navergate. Seems quar how a Siwash kid 'ud come ter git burnt?"

"They were dryin' some elk-meat over a fire near the shanty," explained Tompkins, "and she was playing around it and got her dress on fire-so Sea-lion Jim told me.'

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"Pore leetle thing." observed Mr. Green, seating himself in the bottom of the graceful craft.

Although he had travelled the river many times in canoes, he had never become quite accustomed to the strange sensation these thrilling rides produced. The canoe is easily overturned, requiring skill to manage, yet it is the only thing in the form of a boat that can successfully navigate the rivers of this region, owing to its lightness and the shallow water at intervals.

Swiftly they glided along between thickly wooded shores where the clustering elderberries glowed like living coals among the green. The yellow autumn leaves fell into the swirling current below. Around beautiful bends they rode with such silence that Hiram scarcely realized they were moving, now with frightful velocity shooting the rapids where jagged rocks churned the raging waters into foam that was tossed and blown about like the snowy manes of horses in a fierce, mad race, then sweeping into deep, still pools, where lay the floating debris of many a mile, and at last landing before an old, weather-beaten shanty with a hole in the roof, from which smoke was slowly curling.

On entering this antiquated structure, Mr. Green beheld a small fire burning on the earthen floor. Near by sat a sad-faced squaw, with straight, black hair falling over her shoulders. She wore a greasy calico dress. The sickening odor peculiar to all Indian habitations of the northwest pervaded the place. On a rudely constructed bed, covered with mats woven of swamp-grass, lay a little girl of perhaps five summers who looked at the visitors with a world of suffering in her great, black eyes. She had an uncommonly pretty face for an Indian child -winning and gentle. A string of blue beads. encircled her neck.

The woman dolefully shook her head, then, sadly lifting the blanket from the child's body, pointed to the fearfully burned side and shoul der. It was a pitiful sight. The flesh was literally cooked.

Hiram shuddered. A lump rose in his throat. How he pitied the little creature lying there patiently, silently enduring unspeakable agony. He thought how he would feel to see one of his own in the same condition, and he could do nothing to relieve the awful misery.

"Pore kid," he said, tenderly smoothing the raven hair with his hand; "wish I could do somethin' fer ye."

"Appa," the child said, faintly; "appa." "Apple," the squaw murmured; "tenas tickey apple." "She

says the little one wants an apple," said Tompkins, sorrowfully.

"Nawitka," replied the mother, "apple klosh muckamuck sick tenas," which meant that fruit would be good food for the child.

"We can git her one up ter th' store," put in Mr. Green-forgetting, in his compassion, that he did not possess the small sum of one cent.

"Yes, we'll git her some and send them down," said Tompkins.

At this juncture, Pete Sampson entered. He told the men that he had been down to the "Hotel Dick," a hostelry at the mouth of the river, kept by a half-breed and his dusky "kloochman," within he had gone in search

of an apple for his little girl, but was forced to return without one. He explained to them that she had eaten nothing since the accident, and only craved an apple, for which she had been begging all day. Then Pete sat down on the bunk beside her and buried his face in his hands, as the men silently withdrew into the bright sunshine.

Hiram's heart was touched as it had not been for years. As his companions forced the canoe up the river by means of long hemleck poles, he sat thinking of what he had seen, haunted by those dark, imploring eyes that had gazed at him so piteously. He could see them now as vividly as when they watched his every movement from the rude bunk of mats in that dreary house. He fixed his attention on a woodpecker clinging to the rotten trunk of a leaning alder, he scanned the variegated shores, he let his gaze rest on the heavily timbered ridges and the cold, flaring peaks of the Olympics clearly etched

"Is she feeling better?" asked Tompkins, of against the violet sky, he looked in all conceivthe mother, in Chinook.

able directions and at all objects, hoping to blot

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