At last there comes a change over the country ahead of you—a transfiguration to broad sweeps of pink and pallid yellow, with here and there a streak of white or of green, and on the far horizon a wall of purple. The Painted Desert is before you, and upon the very tip of a long promontory streaked horizontally with brown and red and yellow, and laid upon the desert like a gigantic arm thrust out, you see the castellated sky-line formed by the pueblos of the First Hopi Mesa. The geography of the Hopi country is like this: Three long, narrow mesas extending fingerlike into the Painted Desert, the tips about 10 miles each from the next. On the First Mesa (which is the easternmost) are three villages in an almost continuous row—Hano (called also Tewa), which you plump breathlessly into at the top of the one steep trail which is your means of access to all; then Sichúmovi, and lastly, at the mesa’s extremity with all the desert in front, is Walpi, a most picturesque pile rising in terraces to 4 stories and suggesting some mediaeval fortress. The Second Mesa is forked at its tip, with Mishóngnovi and Shipaúlovi set superbly along one tine, and Shimópovi[56] on the other. On the Third Mesa stands old Oraibi, largest and until recently most populous of all. Some years ago, however, it suffered a secession of fully half its population, who are now established a few miles away on the same mesa forming the independent pueblos of Hótavila and Bácavi.[57] The situation of these little towns is magnificent beyond words, overlooking the Painted Desert, ever changing, ever wonderful, ever challenging the spiritual in you, and stretching to where the San Francisco Peaks, the Mogollones and the White Mountains notch the dim horizon line. The elevation (6000 feet above the sea) and the purity and dryness of the air, combine to make the climate particularly healthful and enjoyable. Winter brings frosts and some snow, alternating with brilliant sunshine. Summer, the season that interests the average visitor, is as a rule delightful—the afternoon thunder showers of July and August being only a refreshment and a source of added picturesqueness in the form of superb cloud effects, spectacular lightning, and splendid rainbows. Mid-day is warm enough for old men to loiter in the sun in a costume that is pared down to a breech clout and little children joyously wear nothing at all; yet both need covering in the shade. As for the summer nights, they are always deliciously cool and for outdoor sleeping are ideal. The flat-roofed, eaveless houses are usually of flat stones laid in mud mortar, and though terraced, do not usually exceed two or three stories in height. The arrangement is in streets and plazas, the _kivas_ or ceremonial chambers (corresponding to the _estufas_ of the Rio Grande pueblos) being underground and reached by a descending ladder, whose upper part—two rungless poles—stick picturesquely up in the air. There is a growing tendency to build the