The Indians of the Painted Desert Region: Hopis, Navahoes, Wallapais, Havasupais — John Shaqi
The Indians of the Painted Desert Region: Hopis, Navahoes, Wallapais, HavasupaisJames, George Wharton
Religion
The Indians of the Painted Desert Region: Hopis, Navahoes, Wallapais, Havasupais
James, George Wharton
Indians of North America -- Southwest, New
unpacking and the packing of the wagon at each camp, morning, noon, and
night. I have done all the cooking and much of the dish-washing, and
yet you have the impudence and mendacity to say I have been selfish.
Very well! I'll take myself at your estimate. In future I'll take my
seat inside the ambulance; you shall do your share of helping the
driver. You shall do your share of the packing; and if you eat another
mouthful, so long as you remain in my camp, you shall cook it yourself.
I have spoken! And when I thus speak I speak as the laws of the Medes
and Persians, which alter not, nor change!"
[Illustration: THE COLORADO RIVER AT BASS FERRY, THE VAMPIRE OF THE
PAINTED DESERT.]
"Well, ---- says you are selfish!" burst out the somewhat cowed man.
"Then I put him on the same plane as I put you; and if ever either of
you dares to make that charge again, I will--"
Well, never mind what I, in my, what I still believe to be, just anger
threatened. I turned away, went and secured an Indian's house, and that
night we removed there.
But I wish I had the space to recount how those two unfortunates and
misfortunates cooked their own meals and mine and Bass's. It is a
subject fit for a Dickens or a Kipling. No minor pen can do justice to
it. How they came and asked with quiet humility, "What are we going
to have for supper?" and how I replied, "Raw potatoes, so far as I am
concerned!" Neither knew whether a frying-pan was for skimming cream
from a can of condensed milk or for making charlotte russes. Neither
could boil water without scorching it. But surreptitiously (with my
secret connivance) Bass gave the tyros gentle hints and finally "licked
them" into fourth-rate cooks, so that I reaped the reward of their
labors in selfishly and shamelessly taking some of the concoctions they
had slaved over.
I know this plain, unvarnished tale reveals me a "bad man from Bodie,"
but I started out to give a truthful account of the Painted Desert and
its storms, and this "tempest in a frying-pan" in camp cannot well be
ignored by a veracious chronicler.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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