You have helped us with our horses, cattle, and sheep more than any other chief we have had. You have helped us greatly in sickness, and I am sorry that you are going to leave us. I hope to see you before you go, but perhaps I will not get a chance to see you. I am glad you gave me a work to do, and I have patched up a number of quarrels, have brought the people together and made their troubles right. I am sure I will not forget you. No matter where you go, I will remember you. The people love you. Because I think I will not get to see you before you go, I wanted to say these things to you. You have always been kind to me. My wish for you is that you have strength and gladness. Judge Hooker My relief, a special officer who would await the appointment of my successor, asked me to supervise that August Snake Dance. So a day or two before leaving my post I was once more policing the Walpi ledge among the rattlesnakes. Then I left the “provinces of the Mohoce or Mohoqui,” and the Indian Agency I had either built or reconstructed. It was not the barren, cheerless place I had receipted for. It had been my home in those long, silent, desert years, and I had come to know every rock, every bush, every tree, or so it seemed; and where once I had thought to effect escape in a feeling of rare relief, that was not exactly my emotion. I looked back and saw the Agency as a little town asleep in the ancient, mellowed cañon, dreaming under turquoise skies. Some last Indian waved a farewell. Then the car turned one of the desert “corners,” and while I was not going beyond the Enchanted Empire,—for the mystic country of the Pueblos is only another wonderful province,—yet I had left its heart, and its simplest, kindest people. A long time after that, I heard this story: One of the interpreters, who for years had been my voice, moped around the Agency for days, gloomy, half sullen. He had been a merry fellow. “What’s wrong with you, Quat-che—sick?” asked an employee. The Indian looked surprised, and seemed to think for a reason. “I am unhappy,” he said, finally. “Sometimes I listen—and I miss the boss’s footsteps.” NOTES [1] The Hopi joined their kinsmen in the Pueblo rebellion of 1680, and four Franciscan friars were killed at their missions in the Tusayan provinces: at Aguatobi (Awatobi), mission of San Bernardino, the Reverend Padre Fray Joseph de Figueroa, a native of Mexico; at Xongopavi (Chimopovi), mission of San Bartolome, the Reverend Padre Fray Joseph de Truxillo; at Oraibi, mission of San Francisco, the Reverend Padre Fray Joseph de Espeleta, a native of Estela in the Kingdom of Navarre, and the Reverend Padre Fray Agustin de Santa Maria, a native of Pasquaro. The pueblos of Machongnovi and Walpi were visitas. [2] Pronounced Shay.