"The Showut Poche-dakas are deeply religious," she declared suddenly. "Long years ago they inhabited the coast country, but were gradually pushed back up here. Down there, though, they came under the influence of the old Spanish padres; and today their religion is a mixture of Catholicism and ancient tribal teachings. They are sincere and devout. I have as much reverence for a bareheaded Indian girl on her knees to the Sun God as I have for a hooded nun counting her beads. They believe in a supreme being; that's enough for me. You'll be interested at the fiesta tomorrow night. I rode up there the other day. Everything is in readiness. The _ramadas_ are all built, and the dance floor is up, and Indians are drifting in from other reservations a hundred miles away." "Will you ride up with me tomorrow afternoon?" he asked. "Yes, I think so--that is, since I heard what Old Man Selden had to say about you the day after he called. I'll tell you about that later. Yes, all the whites attend the _fiestas_. The California Indian is crude and not very picturesque, compared with other Indians, but the _fiestas_ are fascinating. Especially the dances. They defy interpretation; but they're interesting, even if they don't show a great deal of imagination. By the way, I bought you a present at Halfmoon Flat the other day." She unbuttoned the flap on a pocket of her _chaparejos_, and handed him a small parcel wrapped in sky-blue paper. "Am I to open it now or wait till Christmas?" he asked. "Now," she said. The paper contained a half-dozen small bottles of liquid courtplaster. "Oh, I'm perfectly sane!" she laughed in her ringing tones as he turned a blank face to her. "Tomorrow," she went on, "you are to smear yourself with that liquid courtplaster, from the soles of your feet to your knees. When one coat dries, apply another; and continue doing so until the supply is exhausted." She threw back her head and her whole-souled laughter awoke the echoes. "It's merely a crazy idea of mine," she explained. "I had a bottle of the stuff and was reading the printed directions that came with it. It seems to be good for anything, from gluing the straps of a décolletté ballgown to a woman's shoulders to the protection of stenographer's fingers and harvesters' hands at husking time. It's almost invisible when it has dried on one's skin; and I thought it might be of benefit to you in the fire dance." "Say," he said, "you're in up to your neck, while I've barely got my feet wet. Come across!" "Well, I'm not positive," she told him, "but I'm strongly of the opinion that you're going to dance the fire dance at the Fiesta de Santa Maria de Refugio tomorrow night." "I? I dance the fire dance? Oh, no, Miss--you have the wrong number. I don't dance the fire dance at all." "I think you will tomorrow night, and I thought that liquid courtplaster might help protect your feet and legs. I put some on my second finger and let it dry, then put my finger on the cookstove."