The Little Indian Weaver Page 3

  CHAPTER III

  AT THE TRADING POST

  Billy's mother and father had come to Arizona for a special reason.Billy's father was a writer, and he had come for information on theNavajo Indians for a new book he was writing. Every day he would go tothe Indian villages, sit among the big chiefs and medicine men (who arethe wise ones among the Indians and are supposed to work charms whichcure the sick) and he would jot down in his notebook many things whichthey told him.

  Billy went with his father the first few days, but he didn't care muchfor the way they sat around and did nothing but talk. Billy was a veryactive boy and he soon grew tired of listening to the droning voices ofthe Indian men, and the scratching of Father's pencil. At last he toldFather how it was, and Father laughed.

  "I thought you were going to write, too, Billy," he said. "You'll neverfind out about the Indians if you don't take the trouble to listen--andthen you'll never win that composition contest you've been dreamingabout."

  It was true that Billy, since he had left New York, had dreamed ofnothing else but the composition contest. Many of his friends at homewere already struggling with their compositions, for the prize wasworth striving for--a wonderful radio set, the very latest model.

  "I TRADE MY BLANKET FOR PAPOOSE DOLL!"]

  And how the others had envied him, for he was to go to Arizona andlive among the Indians where he would be sure to learn so much ofinterest and send in a true account of the lives of American Indians.The contest was open to any composition dealing with children of anyparticular race or country, and was to reveal their habits and customs.

  "Oh! You'll win it easily, Bill," his chum had said. "Indians are suchinteresting people, and you'll find out all about them if you stick toyour dad."

  And Billy had been fired with ambition, when he had left, and when hehad first arrived. But the novelty of the idea was gradually wearingoff and he seemed to like far more to gallop over the country on hispony, Peanuts, than to glean knowledge. Especially since his meetingwith Bah did he look forward each morning to his ride. And each day hetried to find the Indian girl and went many times to the cornfield. Butshe was never there and, try as he might, Billy could not find hervillage.

  Father did not wait for Billy to answer him, but said: "Well, old man,I can see the radio set gradually taking wings and broadcasting itself!You'll never win it this way, you know--and you'd have a good chance,too, if you'd come along and listen to some of the old fellows I'mchumming with each day."

  "Oh, I'll come along tomorrow, Dad," said Billy carelessly. "Today I'mgoing to the Trading Post and see the Indian stuff there."

  "Well, do as you like, Son," said his father, "but don't be annoyed ifyou don't win the contest."

  "I'll write something yet, Dad, you'll see."

  Peanuts and Billy found themselves at the Trading Post in the heat ofthe day. Billy tied the pony in the shade and went into the store. Itwas filled with a mixed assortment of objects. On one side of the roomwere groceries, pots and pans, cigarettes, in fact a little bit ofeverything necessary for housekeeping. On the other side were theIndian curios--silver and matrix jewelry, beautifully fashioned withblue stones set in, handsome Navajo blankets hanging on the wall,pottery of all kinds, and beads, beads, beads.

  Billy wandered about the store and he thought of his mother, and howshe would like something to take home as a souvenir. The beads lookedhopeful, as he could carry them, while a pottery jar or blanket wouldbe big and heavy. Taking from his pocket his two dollars and some fewcents, he selected the string of beads which looked most likely.

  One string in particular very much pleased him. It was delicately made,but looked simple enough to be within reach of his two dollars. Theshop-keeper was chewing tobacco in the corner. He was a white man madebrown by the Arizona sun and wind.

  "How much is this string?" asked Billy, holding it up for the man tosee.

  "That one's fifty dollars!"

  "Fifty what?" asked Billy, dazed.

  "Fifty dollars, Son," repeated the man, "and that's one of thecheapest."

  "Gee whiz," sighed Billy. "I'm out with my two an' a quarter!"

  "Yes," smiled the man. "No one knows how much work the Injuns put intothat stuff. It's all handmade, and their tools ain't so good either, soit takes 'em a long time. But they sure know how to make 'em."

  "You bet they do," said Billy--and just then his eye fell on a doll, apapoose it was, with a blanket and a string of beads. He thought ofCornelia and smiled to himself. How Bah would open her eyes if shecould see this one!

  As he was thinking about her, he suddenly decided to try once more tofind her. Maybe this storekeeper knew where the village was. Heasked--the storekeeper knew of several not far away.

  "The Indians come in every day with things to trade. It's funny howthey like plain stuff like beans and salt and will trade beautifuljewelry and blankets for just plain sacks of food. But we try andtreat 'em fair. It would be easy though to cheat 'em. They don't knowhow valuable their stuff is."

  "But you don't!" said Billy.

  "No, we don't. Indians are honest, and white men should treat 'emhonestly!"

  "That's right," said Billy, thinking of the only Indian he ever knew,and deciding to be off in search of her home.

  As he stepped out of the door he saw a small figure trudging alongtowards the Trading Post with what looked like a small blanket thrownover her arm. As she came closer he recognized Bah and ran to meether.

  "Gee, I'm glad to see you, Bah," he cried. "Do you know I've beenlooking for you ever since the day we made Cornelia. Do you remember?"

  Bah was smiling happily, but upon mention of that name her face fell.

  "Why, what's the matter, Bah? Wasn't she a good doll?"

  "Cornelia ate up!" said Bah, slowly.

  "Ate up what?" asked Billy.

  "Sheep--big one--"

  "Gee, what an appetite she must have had!" laughed Billy. But seeingthat his friend was taking the conversation seriously he stoppedlaughing and asked: "What do you mean?"

  "Big sheep come--very hungry. Eat up Cornelia!"

  "Aw, that is too bad!" said Billy.

  But now it was Bah's turn to smile. She held out her blanket and said:"You see Bah's blanket. Bah come to trade blanket for doll in TradingPost. So pretty doll, Ma Shima said!"

  Billy remembered the papoose doll and was delighted to think that itwould really belong to his friend.

  "That's great," he said. "May I go along with you while you trade? Inever saw anyone trade and I'd like to watch you."

  "Me never trade before," said the Indian girl softly, and it seemed toBilly that her voice trembled.

  "Poor little kid," he said to himself. "She's scared stiff!"

  He went into the store with Bah and watched her as she walked up to theman in the corner and handed him the blanket. Then she pointed to thedoll--but she said nothing. The man took the blanket and examined it.He knew immediately what she wanted.

  He understood Indians. And as he looked at the blanket a smile passedover his face, and Billy noticed for the first time that the blanketwas far from perfect.

  There was a hole in it, and some of the threads were sticking out. Oh,it was not a very well made blanket when one compared it with the worksof art hanging on the wall.

  As the man smiled to himself Billy's anger rose. Wasn't she only alittle girl? How could they expect her to weave as well as the womendid? It was wonderful that she could do that well! Why, he didn't knowa girl at home who could even start to weave a blanket like that. Hefelt his fists clenching together as he watched the man's face. At lastthe man spoke. He spoke only two words as he handed Bah her blanket.

  "No trade."

  The Indian girl looked at him for a moment, and Billy saw two smalllakes in her eyes. She did not wait for them to overflow, but ran outof the store, holding her little blanket tight.

  Billy came to himself after she had flown through the door, and made astart as though to follow her. But he stopped and
turned.

  "PRETTY PAPOOSE DOLL."]

  "How much is that doll, mister?" he asked abruptly.

  "That doll's two an' a half, Son."

  "Well, I'll give you two twenty-five for her, an' that's all," said avoice that Billy could hardly believe was his own, so big and manly didit sound.

  The man looked at him for a moment and then evidently seeing somethinghe liked in the boy's eyes, said:

  "All right, sonny. It's yours. And you can bet that Indian kid willnever forget you!"

  Without another word the boy paid his money, took the doll which theman wrapped for him, and departed.

  Outside the Post, when Billy mounted his pony, his thought was,naturally, to go to Bah and deliver the doll. The distress which he hadseen in the eyes of his little friend made him realize just what adisappointment she had had.

  But, alas, Billy knew no more of Bah's whereabouts than he had knownbefore seeing her at the Trading Post. The man had said that there werethree or four small Indian villages nearby, but the question was inwhich one did Bah live? He jumped down again from his pony and ran intothe store: "Say, Mister, do you know where that little girl lives?" heasked.

  "No," came the answer. "I never saw her before. The old folks seldombring their kids when they come to trade. Anyway not into the Post.They leave 'em outside most times to watch the burro."

  So a period of searching began for Billy. That day he visited one ofthe villages. He looked at each hogan for Bah, and asked the Indians hemet, but she did not live there. They all shook their heads and gruntedwhen he asked:

  "Bah, little girl, live here?"

  It was very discouraging because he couldn't tell whether they had evenunderstood him. It grew late and he had to hurry home for fear ofworrying his parents.

  The next day he started out early, determined to try the othervillages, and he left a puzzled father, who remarked to his wife as theboy disappeared on a fast gallop:

  BILLY RIDING THROUGH THE INDIAN VILLAGE]

  "Bill isn't taking the interest in the Indians I had hoped he would."

  But Mother smiled wisely.

  "He's getting brown and strong, though," she answered, "and that'sbetter."