last Mollie and the boy told me they would see that I got what I wanted.
A month later a strange Indian came to my house, handed me a package
with a grunt, and disappeared. It was my bracelet. I always wear it to
remind me of my visit to Navajo Land.




[Illustration]

_Chapter VI: "THEY KILLED ME"_


White Mountain and I walked out to the cemetery one evening at sunset,
and I asked him to tell me about the four sleeping there. One trampled
grave, without a marker, was the resting-place of a forest ranger who
had died during the flu epidemic. At that time no body could be shipped
except in a metal casket, and since it had been impossible to secure one
he was buried far from his home and people. The mother wrote she would
come and visit the grave as soon as she had enough money, but death took
her too and she was spared seeing his neglected grave.

The Chief stood looking down at the third grave, which still held the
weather-beaten débris of funeral wreaths.

"Cap Hance is buried here," he said. "He was a dear friend of mine."

From his tone I scented a story, and as we strolled back to Headquarters
he told me something of the quaint old character. In the days that
followed, I heard his name often. Travelers who had not been at the