"Help me down to the Land of the Fireflies," he said. So Little Tree sent its roots down, down, down, until they extended quite to the bottom, and Coyote descended. There he played with the little Firefly boys, romping about, running back and forth, pretending to be thinking of nothing but their amusement, for the Fireflies guarded their fire carefully and would let no one touch it. On the tip of his tail Coyote had tied a tuft of cedar bark. Suddenly he dashed through the great fire which always burned in the centre of the village, and was off before the Firefly people knew what he had done. When they discovered that he had stolen some of their fire, they set out in pursuit; but Coyote was very swift of foot, and reached the wall of the pit far ahead of them. "Little Tree, help me out!" he called. Little Tree drew its roots up, up, up, while Coyote held on and was drawn safely out of the hole. Then he ran quickly about among the people, lighting the piles of wood they had prepared, until every family was supplied with fire. THE NAVAHO [Illustration: A Drink in the Desert - Navaho] A Drink in the Desert - Navaho _From Copyright Photograph 1904 by E.S. Curtis_ HOME LIFE, ARTS, AND BELIEFS [Illustration: Under the Cottonwoods - Navaho] Under the Cottonwoods - Navaho _From Copyright Photograph 1904 by E.S. Curtis_ The Navaho are a pastoral, semi-nomadic people whose activities centre in their flocks and small farms. Their reservation of more than fourteen thousand square miles is the desert plateau region of northern Arizona and New Mexico. Its mesas and low mountains are sparsely covered with piñon and cedar, and on the higher levels are small but beautiful forests of pine. Back and forth in all parts of this vast region the Navaho drive their flocks. At the season when the slight rainfall produces even scant pasturage on the desert plains the flocks are pastured there; but as the grass becomes seared by the summer sun and exhausted from pasturing, the flocks are taken into the mountains, where the shade of the pines lends grateful coolness. Again, as the deep snows of winter come, the sheep and goats are driven down to the wooded mesas, where there is little snow and an abundance of fuel, of which there is none on the plains. And so, year in, year out, the flocks slowly drift back and forth from plain to mesa and from mesa to mountain.