“The only flaw is that we’re getting to be so famous,” Bob added. “It’s ruining the place. I wish the authorities would pass a law prohibiting all these buses and trippers and outsiders. Nothing kills a place as much as the outsiders.” “I feel the same way,” said Lucy. “I’m afraid I’m really snobbish about all those visitors. What can they get out of it?” Jane was saying, “But I’m just going to hold out with what I have until I get back East. You can’t tell what people are going to be wearing this fall until you look around. It doesn’t matter so much here, but....” “Do you see Blake anywhere, Bob?” said Mary. “Don’t worry, he’ll turn up at the car. He doesn’t seem to be with Madden just now.” The crowd was growing sparse. Over the hill beyond the houses cars were leaving in streams, each one silhouetted against the green sky before it crossed the mound and disappeared. As the day faded the land grew wider, more desolate. Under the threatening rain-heavy sky it looked parched and ferocious. Irritated squawks of automobile horns mingled with the thrumming singing voices in the plaza. Lucy looked down at the people who were hurrying to the cars. “There’s Isobel. How very badly she dresses. Have you heard what they’re saying about her engagement? Gwen was telling me....” “Mother says I can go in August if I insist,” said Phyllis. “I’m not sure I want to go at all: it’s a very dull season, I believe.” “Oh, you _lucky_.” Now there were such a few people left that Blake was in sight, leaning against a ladder at the far corner of the plaza and gazing ahead of him in a bemused way. The dancers were filing out, going in a listless straggling line to the kiva beyond a row of irregularly outlined houses on the other side. The sun was setting behind the clouds and in a few minutes the prayer for rain would be answered. A fresh damp wind was blowing down upon the village. Green branches and dry rattles carried by the koshare. They walked slowly, now that their work was done, towards the kiva. Beyond the houses they came into sight again, climbing the hard white steps to the roof, pausing against that green sky as they started down the ladder into the round little house. Red shirts and blue shirts followed with the drums, and a low singing went with them. “But as Gwen says,” Lucy finished, “there are times when Isobel is so vague that God knows what really did happen. _She’ll_ never tell the real story.” Mary stood up and put her glasses back into her bag. “I’ll never forget it,” she said. “A most beautiful picture. Absolutely inspiring.” CHAPTER SIX