The men folks had wandered on to the races a mile away, and Mollie, the
babe, and I followed. There was no business of closing up house when we
left. She just put the bright wool out of the reach of pack rats and we
were ready. I admired her forethought, for only the night before I had
lost a cake of soap, one garter, and most of my hairpins. Of course the
rat was honest, for he had left a dried cactus leaf, a pine cone, and
various assorted sticks and straws in place of what he took. That's why
this particularly vexing rodent is called a "trade rat." I used to hear
that it takes two to make a bargain. That knowledge has not penetrated
into pack-ratdom.

A few Hopi and Supai Indians were darting around on show ponies, spotted
and striped "Paints," as they call them. A Navajo lad came tearing down
upon us, riding a most beautiful sorrel mare. It seemed that he would
ride us down; but I never did run from an Indian, so I stood my ground.
With a blood-chilling war whoop he pulled the mare to her haunches and
laughed down at me. He was dressed as a white man would be and spoke
perfect English. He was just home from Sherman, he explained, and was
going to race his mare against the visitors. I took his picture on the
mare, and he told me where to send it to him after it was finished. "I
hope you win. I'm betting on you for Mollie," I told him and gave him
some money. He did win! Around the smooth hillside the ponies swept, and
when almost at the goal he leaned forward and whistled in the mare's
ear. She doubled up like a jackknife and when she unfolded she was a
nose ahead of them all. Every race ended the same way. He told me he won
two hundred silver dollars all told. I am wearing a bracelet now made
from one of them. Very seldom does one see a rattlesnake portrayed in
any Hopi or Navajo work, but I had my heart set on a rattlesnake
bracelet. Silversmith after silversmith turned me down flat, until at