I relate our adventure, not to flaunt our brazen conduct--the valley registered one hundred odd in the twilight, and you would have done as we did,--but to illustrate the rightness of certain Indian instincts, not confined to these few Havasupai. It was the following day, when we explored the lower Cataract canyon, that we had our supreme experience in bathing, the bath of baths, before which Susanna’s, Marat’s, Anna Held’s, Montezuma’s, Hadrian’s, Messalina’s, Diana’s and other famous ablutions were as naught. Our ride took us into the lower village, past the prim board houses the government erects and the Indians refuse to inhabit, to the clusters of thatched mud and reed huts which they prefer. The chief of the tribe sat before his dwelling, his family about him to the third and fourth generation, including his new Wallapi wife. We bought baskets from him, prompting him to call “Hanegou” after us. “What does ‘Hanegou’ mean?” asked Toby. “It means ‘fine,’ ‘all right,’ ‘how do you do’ or ‘good-by’,” answered the guide. It seemed a convenient sort of word, as it has several lesser meanings as well. As we rode along I amused myself by inventing a conversation in Havasupai, quite a long imaginary conversation between two Havasu bucks. It is remarkable how quickly I can pick up a language. 1st. Havasu. “Hanegou?” (How do you do?) 2d. Havasu. “Hanegou.” (How do _you_ do?) 1st. Hav. “Hanegou.” (Fine.) 2d. Hav. “How are crops?” (In Havasupai, of course). 1st. Hav. “Hanegou.” (All right.) 2d. Hav. “Hanegou!” (Fine!) 1st. Hav. “Hanegou.” (Well, good-by.) 2d. Hav. “Hanegou!” (Good-by, yourself!) Then the two would pass on, each no doubt thinking of the other, “What a card that fellow is--always getting off some new wheeze!” Before the chief’s Hanegous had died away, we were riding through an enchanting glade, half forest, half orchard. Golden, luscious apricots hung so low that we picked handfuls as we rode under the trees. Then the tangle of half-tropical growth grew thicker, till the whole red-walled valley was a mass of feathery verdure. It opened suddenly upon the river at a broad quiet ford, through which the horses splashed eagerly. “Look back,” said the guide. Over our shoulders we saw a sight that alone would have repaid us for our two days’ ride. Framed by the green jungle, a delicate exquisite white waterfall high above us fell into a series of rocky basins, with the water from these making smaller shadows and rapids until it reached the ford. They were the Navajo Falls, which in a country less prodigal of wonders would have a reputation all to themselves.