Title: Kwasa the cliff dweller
Author: Grimes, Katharine Atherton
Language: English
As this book started as an ASCII text book there are no pictures available.


*** Start of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "Kwasa the cliff dweller" ***


Transcriber’s Notes:

Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_), and text
enclosed by equal signs is in bold (=bold=).

Additional Transcriber’s Notes are at the end.

       *       *       *       *       *

_Instructor Literature Series--No. 257_

Kwasa the Cliff Dweller

[Illustration]

_By Katherine Atherton Grimes_

F. A. OWEN PUBLISHING COMPANY, DANSVILLE, N. Y.

       *       *       *       *       *

INSTRUCTOR LITERATURE SERIES



Kwasa the Cliff Dweller


  BY
  _Katherine Atherton Grimes_

  ILLUSTRATED BY L. J. WILSON

  [Illustration]

  F. A. OWEN PUBLISHING COMPANY,
  DANSVILLE, N. Y.

  _Copyright, 1916, by F. A. Owen Publishing Co._

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: “It was one that few boys would care to
attempt”--_Chapter 2_]

       *       *       *       *       *

Kwasa the Cliff Dweller



CHAPTER I The Game on the Terrace


“It did,” said Kwasa.

“It didn’t,” said Wiki.

“But I say there were three reds up,” insisted Kwasa.

“And I say one of the dice came up white,” argued Wiki.

“Well,” returned Kwasa good-humoredly, “we will not quarrel about a
game. I will throw again.”

Catching up the three small sticks of cane, painted red on the hollowed
inner side and white on the upper part, Kwasa tossed them deftly into
the air. They came down all together, landing on the stone pavement
with the white sides up.

Kwasa gave a cluck of triumph.

“Three whites; better yet.” Reaching across the stone slab covered
with a pattern of circles and lines which served as a game board, he
carefully moved a white pebble from the mark where it stood to one two
spaces nearer the center of the slab.

Wiki seized the dice eagerly. “Well done! Now it is my turn.”

Into the air spun the three sticks again, but as they came down Wiki
saw with disappointment that one showed the white side while the other
two had fallen with the red uppermost.

“No play,” cried Kwasa.

“But I have one more throw,” said Wiki, and this time three reds
gleamed against the gray rock floor.

“One space, anyway,” said Wiki, and this time a red pebble on the
farther side of the slab was set one space nearer the center.

Kwasa laughed.

“When I have beaten you I will show you how to hold the dice,” he
boasted playfully. “Old Honau showed me the trick. He can bring down
the white every time.”

“I am thirsty,” said Wiki, laying down the dice and jumping up.

“So am I,” said Kwasa, “but it is too far down to the spring. Let us go
to the reservoir.”

The lads ran lightly across the long, narrow court and climbed a niche
staircase hewn in the rock wall at the back of the cliff. A dozen steps
brought them to the top of the wall, from which they looked down into a
huge hollow in the rock, which appeared to be partly natural and partly
the result of human labor. It was nearly full of water, which fed
slowly into it from a small stream trickling down from the higher side
of the bluff.

On top of the wall stood a graceful olla, or vase-shaped jar of
pottery, strikingly ornamented with red and black. About the neck was a
short, twisted rope of yucca fiber, long enough to let the jar down to
the water. The boys dropped it down and brought it up full, holding it
carefully that it might not strike the side of the wall.

“Bah,” said Wiki, tasting it, “it is too warm to drink, now that the
sun is on it. I would rather have gone to the spring.”

“Come, then,” cried Kwasa, jumping down from the wall. “If we go to the
spring perhaps we may see something of the hunters. It is time they
were returning, my grandmother says.”

Kwasa told the truth when he said it was a long way to the spring. For
the great rock-built house, or rather cluster of houses, in whose inner
court the boys had been playing, was placed three hundred feet from the
bottom of a canyon in a huge cavern which Nature had left in the face
of the precipitous cliff. Along the outer edge of the cavern, following
the outline of the opening, was a high wall of masonry pierced with
numerous openings that served as doors and windows. So exactly had the
builders matched the color of the rocky cliff face, and so skilfully
was the great structure placed in its lofty niche, that a traveler in
the canyon below could hardly have told it was there at all.

This outer wall was in some places four stories high. Back of it
the building was terraced down to the floor of the cave, each story
projecting beyond the one above it so that its roof made a sort of
porch for the upper rooms. Rude ladders were everywhere, leading from
each story to the next, for the people who lived in this peculiar
dwelling liked to go up and down from the outside. Each story was
divided into many rooms, most of them rather small, but several near
the center of the structure being of good size. In some of these were
stone fireplaces for cooking, and one, larger than any of the others,
was set apart for ceremonial use.

Back of the great house, or rather village, for it was the home of
many families, was a long and narrow court running well back under
the sheltering slope of the cavern roof. Here the children could play
and the women could weave and grind and make pottery and mats in
well-guarded safety, for back of them and overhead rose the mighty arch
of the cavern, and between them and the cliff’s edge stood the solid
sandstone structure.

Where the cave roof slanted down to meet the floor there were other
rooms, built close in under the rock. These were storerooms where food
was kept. In them were great piles of beans and corn, rolls of piki or
paper bread which the women were forever baking over the fireplaces,
and immense quantities of buffalo meat, dried and pounded fine and
laid away between layers of tallow. In one of these rooms was kept
the colored corn and beans used in the sacred rites which were held
at certain times in the ceremonial hall, or in the queer, underground
chamber in the center of the court.

Above the cavern the cliff rose sheer and unbroken for hundreds of
feet, but below it the rocky wall fell more unevenly to the valley
far below. The vivid brown and yellow and red of the upper expanse
was varied only here and there by clumps of cedar or pinon or scrub
oak, with scattering bunches of yucca and cactus between, but on the
lower slope the vegetation was somewhat more dense. All had the same
reddish-brown tinge, for it had been a long time since the rains of the
last spring had washed away the wind-blown dust which whirled down in
clouds from the bare and forbidding surfaces above.

Across the canyon rose another bluff, but this was unbroken from top
to bottom by ledge or cavern. To the southwest the canyon swept away
majestically, broadening in the distance to a stretch of comparatively
level land through which, in the rainy season, a small river ran. At
the head of the canyon, some distance to the northeast, was a large
spring of sweet, cold water, which, supplemented by the reservoir at
the back of the cavern, furnished an ample supply for the village.

Down the steep stairway leading from the village to the valley Kwasa
and Wiki went quickly. A stranger would have had a hard time finding
the half-hidden niches cut in the face of the cliff, but the boys,
sure-footed as mountain goats, were soon in the valley, running eagerly
toward the spring.

“Hush,” warned Kwasa, suddenly crouching behind a tuft of brown yucca.

Looking where he pointed, Wiki saw the slender figure of a young man
bending over the spring. He drank eagerly, then taking his cupped
hands, poured the cool water over his dusty limbs as if seeking relief
in its freshness. His face, the boys saw as he turned it toward them,
was weary and seared with the hot, reddish-brown dust, but young and
pleasant, and he did not appear to be much older than themselves.

“He is none of our people,” whispered Wiki.

“No, but I like him,” exclaimed the impulsive Kwasa.

“How do you know?” asked Wiki sharply. “He may be a spy of the Utes for
all we know.”

“No,” said Kwasa, “for if he were--”

“Here are the hunters,” cried Wiki joyfully, forgetting all caution and
jumping up as a band of men turned into the canyon from the lower side.

“They are well laden,” observed Kwasa. “The men of the Snakes never
hunt in vain.”

The young man at the spring, hearing their voices, suddenly
straightened himself and looked eagerly about. Seeing the boys
running toward the hunting band, he followed slowly, his hand resting
cautiously upon his spear shaft, but his frank, brown face expressing
nothing but friendliness.



CHAPTER II The Warning


The long line of hunters, laden with the game secured by a week’s
vigorous chase, was at the niche stairway before the boys reached them.
Impatient to be in the court when they should arrive, to partake in
the welcoming ceremony, the boys could not wait until the last of the
procession had filed up the dizzy rock steps. Long before, in their
explorations about the canyon, they had discovered another way to reach
the cavern, steeper and more perilous, but entirely passable for boys
whose lives had been spent in scaling cliffs and finding footholds in
all sorts of precarious places.

Running around a projecting spur and diving through a thicket of scrub
oaks, Kwasa and Wiki were at the second stairway in a moment. It was
one that few boys of to-day would care to attempt. It ran almost
straight up the side of the cliff, and in many places they had to pull
themselves from ledge to ledge by straggling tufts of wiry grass or by
the tough, well-rooted clumps of grease-wood brush. At one spot, to
bridge a particularly smooth and difficult part of the ascent, a pole
with sticks bound upon it at intervals to make a sort of rude ladder
had been swung down from a rocky ledge above.

Up this dangerous ascent Kwasa led the way nimbly, Wiki following close
behind him. The young stranger, after looking doubtfully for a moment
from the hunting band to the boys, finally plunged through the thicket
and took the steeper path, reaching the top only a moment after Kwasa
and Wiki had landed with a final active spring upon the safe ledge at
the rim of the cavern.

“I must speak to your chief quickly,” he said gravely, as Kwasa, who
in the excitement had forgotten all about the stranger at the spring,
looked at him in surprise.

“But,” began Kwasa, “this is no time--”

“All times are alike when danger threatens,” said the youth
impatiently. “Tell me with whom I should speak.”

Kwasa pointed to a little group of men who stood a little apart from
the rest, waiting to greet the hunters as they came up, one by one,
over the edge of the cliff.

“Mosu is a priest,” he said, indicating a tall old man with a band of
flat red and black beads bound about his forehead. “Honau is very wise,
too, and then there is Bimba--”

But the young stranger had hurried away and was accosting Mosu, the
tall priest, respectfully. Before he had spoken many words the whole
group was listening intently, and in a few minutes the court was hushed
and all came crowding about to see what this unusual interruption might
mean.

Presently the lad stopped speaking and Mosu held up his hand for
attention.

“This young man is Sado. He comes from the Seven Cities to bring us
tidings to which it were well to listen, for the Utes are again on the
warpath, and the Buffalo and Fox clans have sent out runners to warn
all to the southward. They reached Walpi yesterday, and from there
this messenger brings us word, that we, too, may be in readiness for an
attack.”

“But surely we are safe--”

“They can not reach our village--”

“We could hold the cliff against a thousand, even--”

A babel of voices broke out anxiously. Mosu held up his hand again.

“All you say is true,” he said. “When our fathers came here from
the Great Mesa, driven out by the savages from the far north, they
sought a place where they might rest secure from attack. And here they
found it.” He waved his hand toward the great walls of rock rising
protectingly all about them.

“But we must eat, and planting time is near. Those who stay in the
village are indeed secure, but what of the men who must plant the seeds
and care for the grain in the far fields? We must say farewell to Waka
(the sun) with full storehouses, and with heaped fuel for the cold days
of winter. And if the thieving Utes swarm down upon our fields and
carry off our corn and beans and squashes, what then? Then there is the
danger while we plant and harvest. The Watcher in the High Tower must
indeed be keen of eye to guard every path that leads to the fields. It
is of these things we must think. And in the meantime,” he broke off
abruptly, “this lad is weary and hungry. See that he has refreshment
and rest. We must not send him back to the Seven Cities to tell of our
ingratitude for a friendly deed.”

But Sado shook his head.

“There are many others to warn,” he said earnestly. “I must not stay,
though the thought of rest is tempting. But first I will eat--”

“Has the Snake Clan no runners?” interrupted Mosu proudly.

Old Honau stepped out from the group.

“I am not fleet of foot as when I was young,” he began, “but rather
than suffer this brave lad to go farther without rest, I myself will
take the warning to the farthest clan.”

But a dozen lads were already pressing forward, Kwasa and Wiki among
them. Motioning Honau kindly aside, four of the tallest and strongest
were quickly chosen, and Mosu, drawing them to one side, had Sado
repeat carefully the message he had brought.

“The Rainbow people are yonder,” he said, pointing southwestward down
the open canyon. “And the Bear Clan is not far from them. It is a three
days’ journey--”

“They must take plenty of meat and piki,” called one of the women,
hurrying forward. “We will fill the food-bags well. It is a long way,
but, praise to Waka, the new springs are filling and they cannot suffer
from thirst.”

Immediately there was a great bustle in the court. Women ran here
and there, bringing new sandals of tough fiber for the feet of the
messengers, and thick woolen blankets for the cool nights in the
canyons. The skin food-bags were quickly filled and strapped over the
slender young shoulders, and Kwasa, as leader, was given a heavy new
spear in addition to the bows and arrows which they all carried.

At last all was ready, and the lads stood forth to be sprinkled with
the sacred meal from the handsome red and black bowl in Mosu’s hands.

“The Old Ones be with you,” muttered the priest, as he strewed the meal
in a circle about them, and upon the boys’ bowed heads.

“Come back quickly,” called many anxious voices as, one by one, the
lads dropped down the niche stairway. Kwasa, the last one to descend,
stooped as he left the court and picked up the three red and white dice
with which he and Wiki had been playing so short a time before.

“For luck,” he laughed, as he dropped them into the deerskin pouch that
hung at his belt.

“Luck is in the hands of the Old Ones, not in painted sticks,” muttered
Tcua, the old grandmother of Kwasa, watching the lads with anxious eyes
as they filed down the canyon and out of sight. “May they bring back my
son’s son safely--a good lad--a good lad.”

And then she went down to grind corn for piki, for waiting in idleness
is hard.



CHAPTER III In the Season of Planting


“The door of the Sun-House is open!”

From mouth to mouth flew the word, brought at sunrise from the High
Tower far up the cliff where Bimba, the Watcher, kept anxious count of
the days till the planting season should begin.

As if by magic the court was filled with busy men, women and children.
Waka had come back once more to bring them plenty. It had not been in
vain that every morning and evening they had thrown sacred meal toward
the rising and the setting Sun, beseeching him to return quickly from
his long journey to the south. And now the glad news had come that he
had at last touched the peak far away to the east that marked his final
favor, and they might get the seeds ready.

Nor was that their only cause of rejoicing. For Kwasa and his
companions had returned the night before, worn and weary from their
long, swift race to the far-off neighbors at the southwest, but
triumphant and proud. They brought word that the Rainbow people and
their near kinsmen, the Bear Clan, were ready at a moment’s notice
to join them against the dreaded common foe, whether Ute or Apache.
Moreover, in the nine days since Sado had left them word had come that
in a terrible battle between the Utes and the Pueblo people of the
Seven Cities the foe had been repulsed with great slaughter, and had
fled, broken and disabled, to their northern mountain fastnesses to
nurse their wounds. For the time the danger of attack was over.

So, though the older men of the village still felt some anxiety,
the planting was at last to be begun under much more favorable
circumstances than they had feared. The women chatted gayly as they
brought out the precious seeds to be sorted, sharpened new planting
sticks, and baked great sheets of piki to pack in the big food-baskets
that were to go with the planters to the distant fields. The children
tumbled about on the terraces or played games in the angles of the gray
walls, even they noticing the relief in the air which had been so full
of dire rumors.

But Kwasa and Wiki, with their two companions, were more excited than
any of the rest. For their service as messengers they were to be
“adopted,” or consecrated, into the rank of men, and henceforth would
take a dignified place in the Clan, though they were some years younger
than usual for such an honor. For the first time they were to witness
the invocation of the mysterious deities of the cloud and the sun,
which took place in the kiva, the sacred underground chamber whose
hatchway opened into the court. Mosu, who as head priest was the person
of supreme authority on such occasions, had even promised them that
they might act as novices at the annual ceremony of the Blessing of the
Seeds.

When the boys were not following Mosu about they lingered in fascinated
anticipation about the sloping entrance to the kiva, through which
protruded the long ends of the ladder leading to the depths below.
They had many times descended through the trap-door on the surface to
the great, dusky chamber of the kiva, but never had they been allowed
to witness any of the sacred rites, except such as were held in the
court and were open to women and children. And now that they were to be
admitted as men to the significant symbolism of the ancient service,
they felt awed and excited by turns.

Kwasa’s grandmother, old Tcua, had long ago told him the mystic
tradition of the Creation, whose sacred story was perpetuated by the
solemn ceremonies in the dimly lighted chamber. And now, in awed tones,
Kwasa repeated it to Wiki and the others as they sat huddled in an
angle of the lower terrace near the opening to the kiva.

“There were no people then--there were only animals. They lived far
under the ground in dark caves. But the Old Ones heard them moaning and
crying in the dark. They heard the fox, and the bear, and the duck, and
the wolf, all crying, crying in the dark. And they were sorry.”

Old as the tale was, the boys listened with breathless interest.

“So the Old Ones dropped a seed through sipapuh[1] and immediately up
sprang a wonderful stalk of corn. It grew up, and up, and up, until at
last its head rose into the sunlight of the Upper World. Then, one at a
time, the fox, and the wolf, and the duck, and all the other animals
and birds, came up the great stalk and stood in the light of Waka, the
Sun. And they were no longer animals, but men and women. We must never
forget this, or the Old Ones will forget us, and we would once more be
animals, back in the middle of the earth, crying and moaning for the
light.”

“But what of the snakes?” whispered Wiki. “My father says there are
more than a hundred in the kisi.” He nodded toward a brush-covered
shelter near the kiva.

“Hush,” replied Kwasa, looking furtively about. “They are the
prayer-bearers, and carry to the Old Ones the prayers of the Snake Clan
for rain, that the crop may thrive. But we must not speak of that now;
it is not well to talk too much of the gods so near the place where
they dwell.”


FOOTNOTE:

[1] A cavity in the floor of the kiva represented the lower world.
Over this was placed a stone slab with a round hole in the middle,
which was called sipapuh, and represented the outlet through which the
ancestral beings emerged.



CHAPTER IV The Rites in the Kiva


For an hour Kwasa had been sitting stiffly on the stone ledge that ran
around the outer wall of the kiva, trying to get used to the smothering
mask Mosu had put over his head. This mask was a gorgeously painted
affair representing the head of a duck. Feathers of green and black
were fastened to the crest, and a huge bill of yellow cane projected
from the mouthpiece. In it Kwasa became for the time a Katcina, or one
of the supernatural beings which mediate between gods and men. As a
Katcina he represented one of the ancestral forms which had emerged
from the Lower World upon the day of Creation.

A tunic of cotton cloth reached to his knees. It was brown, and upon
it were painted zigzag white lines representing lightning. Over one
shoulder was a yellow scarf upon which the same design was repeated,
and on his feet were beautifully beaded moccasins, over which his
grandmother had bent for weeks, that they might be ready when the time
should come for her favorite’s adoption into the ranks of the men.
Around his neck, securely tied in a little buckskin bag, hung a charm,
an exquisite turquoise, blue as the spring skies and half as large as a
swallow’s egg. Old Tcua had fastened this on with trembling fingers as
Kwasa left her to descend to the kiva, saying as she did so:

“It is for luck. My father had it from an Antelope priest far to the
south. It is yours from this day.”

But Tcua did not know that Kwasa had another charm which to his boyish
imagination was more potent than the turquoise. Fastened in a fold of
his belt were three red and white sticks of cane, and as the lad sat
waiting on the ledge in the kiva he said to himself:

“I am glad I kept the dice: they have brought me much of good.”

He felt something thrust into his hand, and looking at it as closely
as he could through the eye-slits in his mask, he saw it was a
prayer-plume, or a short stick to which were fastened four feathers,
white for the north, red for the east, yellow for the west and green
for the south. This he knew he was to carry in the solemn ceremonies to
follow, as an invocation to the deities who dwell at the four quarters
of the earth.

“Come,” said the masked figure that had brought the prayer-plume, “the
gods wait for us.”

At the word, Kwasa slipped down from his seat and took his place in a
long line of youths and men which was being formed at one end of the
kiva. He saw Wiki, also carrying a prayer-plume, and wearing a beaver’s
mask. In the weird, flickering light from the fire at one end of the
chamber he could not distinguish many that he knew, and this, together
with the strangeness of the sacred mysteries in which he was about to
play a part, awed and half frightened him.

As the line formed the participants stamped softly upon the ground with
their moccasined feet, not advancing, but marking time to a wild and
monotonous chant which was accentuated by the rattling of small gourds
in the hands of the priests and their throaty “hi-yi-yi” as they moved
with cat-like tread about the sipapuh in the middle of the kiva.

At last the line began to move forward. Mosu took his place at the
head and led it around the outer edge of the kiva, close to the ledge.
Round and round they marched, each time drawing a little closer to the
sipapuh. At last they formed a compact row about the sacred opening,
and in this way encircled it four times more, each in passing stamping
his foot on the stone slab as a hint to the listening gods that their
attention was asked. At last, at a sign from Mosu, the line halted.

And now came the supreme moment. The participant who was to be most
highly honored was to be chosen to hold the sacred bowl above the
sipapuh while from the mouth of the great snake effigy which was
suspended from above should drop the Kawa-blessed seeds for planting.
Everyone in the circle fixed his eyes upon Mosu, each secretly hoping
that some deed of his own might be thought worthy such honored
recognition.

Kwasa held his breath with the rest, wondering which one of all
the line should be adjudged the most worthy. And for a moment the
tumultuous beating of his heart made him faint and dizzy as Mosu,
beckoning to him and speaking his name, put the great red and black
bowl in his hands.

[Illustration: “Trembling till he could hardly stand, Kwasa extended
his arms until the bowl was directly above the opening.”]

Trembling till he could hardly stand, Kwasa, at a sign from the priest,
extended his arms until the bowl was directly above the opening in
the slab and under the swinging head of the hollow effigy above. Then
through the tube came the seeds, first the yellow and white corn,
then the beans, the squash and melons, greenish cotton seeds and
rich-smelling brown grains of wheat. At last, when the bowl was nearly
full, there was poured down the colored corn for the sacred meal,
rounding and covering the rest.

Then Mosu motioned Kwasa to stand to one side, while Wiki was called
forward and given a similar bowl. Delighted at his friend’s good
fortune, Kwasa hardly heard the muttered congratulations that greeted
him as he stepped back into the circle. But stealthily fingering his
belt he patted the three red and white canes, telling himself that his
own luck and Wiki’s had been unchangeably entwined since the day they
had tossed the dice in the court.

But he had not time for more than a fleeting thought even for such
momentous things, for something else was happening above the sipapuh.
This time the attendant at the hatchway of the kiva poured through the
snake effigy into the sacred bowl a small stream of water, signifying
that thus would the snake deities of the clouds bless the planted seeds.

At another sign from Mosu, Wiki stepped back into the circle, and Kwasa
came forward to distribute to each person a handful of the Kawa-blessed
seeds. Then, taking a short stick tipped with stiff turkey feathers,
Mosu sprinkled the water from Wiki’s bowl to the six cardinal points,
north, east, south, west, the zenith and the nadir.

And the ceremony of the Blessing of Seeds was over.

Kwasa was glad to get out of the stifling air of the kiva and follow
the rest up the ladder into the court above, where the final great
rain-prayer rite was to be performed. In this he had no part, though he
still retained his mask and personated the pawik (duck) katcina in the
great circle that made the background for the principal actors.

Into this circle marched the long line of Snake and Antelope priests,
participants in this supreme drama of the year. Very awe-inspiring
they looked, their bodies rubbed with red paint, their blackened chins
rimmed with a broad line of white and their bare arms glittering with
barbaric ornaments. To a sort of hissing chant they marched about an
improvised sipapuh which had been located in the broadest part of the
court, shaking their rattles and stamping their feet upon the slab as
they passed. Four times they made the circuit, as in the ceremony in
the kiva, then suddenly breaking into groups of three they rushed to
the bush-covered kisi near the end of the circle. A group stopped for
a moment before this shrine, and in a moment proceeded, the foremost
priest, one of the Snake Clan, carrying in his mouth a squirming
snake. The Antelope priest who followed him, in an apparent frenzy of
excitement, waved a feathered prayer-stick to and fro to attract the
reptile’s attention, but the snake only coiled the more tightly about
the head and shoulders of the carrier. One after another each group
paused at the kisi and secured one of the wriggling reptiles.

Round and round they marched, and then, at a sign from Mosu, an
attendant suddenly darted forward and outlined a circle on the floor
with sacred meal. Into this the snakes were dropped, to be sprinkled
with meal as they fell. A wild scramble ensued, and in a few minutes
the snakes were recaptured by the third priests of the groups, who
darted across the court and down the niche stairway to replace the
reptiles in their native dens. From there they would carry the prayers
for rain to the deities of the clouds, the lightning and the thunder,
who would thus be brought to bless the crops and insure abundance for
the coming year.

“And now we are done with games,” said Wiki softly, as he and Kwasa
descended the ladder into the kiva to remove their masks and deposit
their prayer-plumes before the sanded altar at the end of the chamber.

“Yes,” returned Kwasa soberly, “but I shall keep the dice. They have
brought us good luck.”



CHAPTER V In the Far Fields


Spring in the canyons! How good the warm, moist air felt after the
rains, and how bright and fresh the young grass looked along the little
river so far below the cliff village. The rusty red of the pinons and
oaks, and of the dull little cedars, too, had been turned to deep, rich
green, and the yucca tufts which clambered bravely almost to the top of
the gorge were sending up new lances of vivid color. Life was in the
air, and it stirred even the oldest people of the cliff village to a
keen interest in the year’s greatest event.

There was a great stir in the court. On every terrace, too, were girls
and women at work, tying the sharp new ironwood planting sticks into
bundles and shelling the sacred colored corn which was to be planted in
a specially prepared corner of the field. Great baskets and bags were
filled with food: piki, and pounded acorns baked in sheets with meal,
and strips of hard, dry meat. There were cakes of buffalo meat, too,
pounded fine, and bags of dried peaches, and beans for eating as well
as planting. For from now on until the crop was ready for harvest men
must stay in the far-away fields to guard as well as work.

For the first time Kwasa and Wiki were to go with the men. They
strutted about the plaza importantly, one minute imitating the stately
manners of Honau and the other men, the next strongly tempted to join
in the games of leap-frog and hunt-the-deer that were being carried on
in the crannies of the great building. Strong as the temptation was,
however, they would not have yielded to it for the world, lest in the
eyes of the other lads they should lose some of their newly acquired
dignity.

The great field lay far away to the south of the village, beyond
where the canyon opened out into the wider valley. For many years the
same ground had been cultivated by the Clan, and on every side were
evidences of the painstaking and careful work that had made possible
the abundance of grain the Cliff people had enjoyed from year to year.
On a gentle slope beyond the field was a scattering orchard of peach
trees, each carefully placed in some particularly fertile spot. From
a great rock reservoir on the hill above, a ditch ran down to the
fields, separating as it reached the edge into many small passways for
water, which could thus be turned upon the growing crop should the
gods, whose aid had been so earnestly invoked, neglect to send rain
enough. Along the lower edge of the field ran a long, low clay wall or
ledge, designed to keep the water thus led into the planted land from
wasting by running too far down the slope.

How good the brown earth smelled as the sharp planting sticks turned
up the moist soil to make fine, soft beds for the precious seeds.
Where the soil was heavy and came up in clods, old Honau, the master
of the planting, showed Kwasa and Wiki how to follow behind the seed
scatterers and smash the lumps with stone mauls tied to the ends of
long sticks. They were instructed, too, how to clean the winter’s wash
of mud out of the waterways, and how to repair the lower wall where it
had washed away.

[Illustration: Cliff men going down to work in the fields. The watch
tower is seen in the background.]

A round tower built of sandstone blocks stood on a jutting point of
rock far above the fertile valley. Adjoining it was a low, oblong
room fitted with two small openings. This was both guard and shelter.
From the tower a watcher kept constant lookout, for the men were far
from home and unprotected by natural walls, as they were in the cliff
village, and a sudden rush of enemies from any of the many intersecting
canyons might result in a terrible loss of life. The watcher was not
Bimba, however, who could not be spared from the watch tower above the
village, where long usage had made him familiar with every crack and
crevice of the hills and valleys within the sweep of his sharp eyes,
until not even a rabbit could cross an open spot undiscovered. Now that
the men were gone it was more important than ever to have a trusted and
experienced watcher to guard the women and children. So the guardian
in the tower above the great field was not Bimba, but Haida, who, next
after the veteran himself, had the sharpest eyes in the clan.

No alarm came, however, to mar the joy of the planting time. Day after
day the men worked on, cleaning away every weed and bush as they went,
and seeing that every one of the treasured seeds had its proper chance
to grow and thrive. For upon the crop must depend the lives of all
the next winter. Though they went on occasional long hunts, the Cliff
men were not, like their neighbors and enemies, the Utes and Apaches,
dependent upon game for the greater part of their living. Corn was
the main food of the people of the cliffs, and whether parched to be
eaten whole, or ground in three-parted stone metates to be made into
the great thin sheets of piki, or paper bread, it formed the staff of
life for them. Hence the great importance of every seed-grain, for the
winters in the canyons were long and there were many mouths to feed.

There were long days of work, and weary nights when the men lay down
in the stone shelter adjoining the watch tower with aching muscles but
hopeful hearts; but at last every seed was in. The irrigating channels
were straight and clean, and the reservoir, as they had ascertained,
was two-thirds full of water. Even so soon the favor of the gods seemed
sure, for twice since the planting had begun good rains had fallen,
leaving the earth dark and mellow and rich with promise.

There must be one more thing done, however, before they could return
to the village for the short stay possible between the planting and
the working of the crop. Two days before a messenger had been sent to
tell Mosu that the planting was nearly done, and hardly was the last
row finished when they saw him coming. In his hands he carried a bowl
of sacred meal, and upon his forehead was the mystic raincloud symbol,
colored, like the feathers in the prayer-plume an attendant carried
behind him, with red, green, yellow, and white pigments. His tunic of
beautifully-dressed deerskin was also decorated with the symbols of the
cloud and the sun, while the snake-like lightning symbols were painted
in white upon his powerful brown arms. A second attendant bore a great
bundle of prayer-plumes, and a third a bowl of water and a short, stiff
brush of turkey feathers.

Solemnly the planters met Mosu as he came toward them. Falling into
line behind him they marched solemnly around the field, and back to
the center where a hole had been dug and a stone slab placed over
it in imitation of the sipapuh in the kiva. Here they formed into a
hollow square, each side facing a point of the compass. The attendant
distributed the prayer-plumes, which each man held high in his left
hand as Mosu scattered the sacred meal to north, east, south and
west, the zenith and the nadir. Then into the bowl of water he dipped
the turkey-feather brush, sprinkling the earth toward the cardinal
points. Marching about the improvised sipapuh each man stamped upon
it in passing. Then, stooping reverently, they laid the prayer-plumes
underneath the slab that covered the excavation, and the ceremony was
over.

“I wonder where Sado is,” said Wiki suddenly, as the boys passed the
spring at the head of the canyon on their way home.

“I hope we may see him again some time,” returned Kwasa. “Do you
suppose he has danced in the kiva yet?”

“Sometimes I wish we had not been ‘adopted,’” said Wiki almost
regretfully, “for I would like to throw the dice again.”

“Well, why not?” laughed Kwasa. “The men play at that game, and I have
never shown you old Honau’s trick. Besides, here are the dice. Let us
hurry home.”



CHAPTER VI The Luck of the Dice


The summer passed pleasantly in the village of the Cliff. When the men
went to the field to work the women often accompanied them, helping in
the cultivation of the crop and gathering the wild berries and edible
plants that grew in profusion in the fertile valley. In baskets swung
from their heads by woven and padded bands they carried the ripened
peaches up the steep stairs, spreading them out along the stone ledges
to dry.

There was other work, too, that must be done while the weather was
warm and pleasant. New earthenware bowls must be made while they could
be baked in the summer sun. Garments of soft, exquisitely wrought
feather-cloth, and of fur strips wound on heavy cords and woven into
fabric, must be made ready for cold weather. There were new rooms to be
built, too, for the rapidly increasing population of the village made
the old quarters too crowded for winter comfort. So the men brought
great gray and brown rocks from the slopes of the canyon, carrying them
suspended from head bands as the women carried their baskets. These
were carefully chipped and dressed with the great stone mauls, and set
evenly and squarely into place, held there by layers of mortar which
no one except old Honau knew how to mix. Then the women made a thin,
plaster-like cement from colored earths and spread it on with their
hands, smoothing it down with many careful pats which left the prints
of slender brown fingers in many places on the wet wall. Sometimes the
rooms were brightened by wavy red and yellow lines running bandwise
just below the ceiling; sometimes they were decorated with sacred
symbols such as might bring a peculiar blessing to the household
living in them. But always, whatever the inside might be, the outside
was cunningly wrought to look like the forbidding walls of the cliff,
gray, and dull yellow and brown, with here and there mottled patches of
subdued red, so that an enemy might have hard work to spy them out in
passing through the canyon below.

It was nearly harvest time, and the corn was already ripening. Day
after day the watcher in the field tower, keen-eyed Haida, had reported
everything well, until the last lurking fears of even the old men were
almost forgotten. The storerooms were being repaired and made ready for
the new crop, and the men were working on a larger granary, or storage
cist, some distance below the level of the cavern, where the heavy
baskets of corn might be emptied without carrying them up the last
steep third of the ascent.

Then, early one morning, a wild-eyed messenger from the field tower
came hurtling up the niche stairs in the gray light to report evil
tidings. A band of savages, of what race he could not say, had ridden
their fleet ponies down through the canyons that night, carrying off
and trampling down a considerable part of the precious crop. And
what was worse, they had raided the very tower itself and had left
Haida, whose practised eyes had failed to see them in the moon-blinded
lower trail, silent on his face with an arrow between his shoulders.
The messenger himself had escaped only by dropping quickly into the
farthest shadow of the adjoining shelter-room and lying motionless
against the darkest wall until the last sound of the ponies’ drumming
feet had died away in the distance.

Mosu quieted the panic-stricken people who crowded about him in the
early light as well as he could. One thing was sure, if the people of
the Cliff were not to starve when the cold days came, the rest of the
crop must be saved. Wisely seeing in vigorous action the best remedy
for fear, he hastily organized men and women into bands for taking care
of what was left of the grain, giving to the women the actual work of
gathering that the men might be left free to protect them.

So, leaving the old men and smaller boys to look after the village, and
with many cautions to Bimba to keep speedy messengers always ready to
carry news of danger, the harvest bands went silently down the steep
stairs and passed swiftly through the canyons to the great field.
Once there, no time was lost in stripping the ears from the stalks
and piling them into the wide-mouthed baskets which the women carried
on their backs, and in cutting down the stalks with keen-edged flint
knives to be carried home in bundles on the shoulders of the big boys.
The wheat-heads were hastily snatched from their stems, to be shelled
out by busy fingers in the leisure hours of winter. They worked in
nervous haste, casting fearful glances up and down the canyon at every
turn. From the tower the new watchman who had taken dead Haida’s place
strained his eyes anxiously into vague distances, intent upon guarding,
even to his own death, those lives so dependent upon his vigilance.

Swiftly as they worked, and quickly as the many trips to and from the
village were made, it was many days before all the crop was safe and
the people could breathe more easily in their well-guarded cavern home.
But the old air of careless gayety was gone, and in its place was a
constant atmosphere of apprehension. No one knew when the bold savages,
encouraged by their success in the valley, might not undertake even so
difficult a task as the storming of the cliff fastness. Rumors, too,
were constantly afloat of murderous attacks on smaller outlying cliff
dwellings, and once a small party that had been down the canyon to look
for wild gourds came upon the body of a Cliffman, apparently from one
of those distant houses, lying stiff with a Ute arrow in his breast.

In a consultation of the old men it was at last decided that the best
thing to be done was to send messengers to the Rainbow and Bear Clans
on the south, which were probably so far free from attack, and to the
Seven Cities on the North, asking them to be ready to send aid should
the threatened danger fall. Mosu, standing stern and tall in the middle
of the court, told the people of this decision and asked for messengers.

“The Walpi road is a dangerous one,” he said, “to be undertaken by no
one who is afraid to lose his life. He must go alone, for one is as
safe as ten, and we have no lives to risk without great reason. I would
not willingly send any forth to such chance of death, but if one will
offer himself--”

Before he could finish the sentence fifty men and youths had stepped
forward. Mosu looked at them with proud sadness.

“Your lives are precious to us,” he said, his eyes kindling, “and there
are many among you who cannot be spared. Let those who have wives and
children step back, for them we cannot lose.”

Reluctantly more than half of those who had come forth drew back again.
There remained only the young men, straight, supple, earnest-eyed lads
who were the very flower of the village. In their brown faces was no
sign of fear. Mosu scanned them, one by one, his lips set in a thin
line, his eyes tenderly kind.

“It is danger we offer you,” he said slowly, “but it is also the
greatest honor we can give. Choose among yourselves who shall be sent,
for you know your own worth.”

Kwasa stepped forward eagerly.

“Let us toss the dice,” he begged, “and hang our fortunes on the first
who shall throw the whites.”

Mosu thought a moment. The idea appealed to him in two ways; for one
thing, it removed from anyone the responsibility of sending a comrade
forth to possible death, and for another he knew the gambling spirit
was strong in every Cliffman’s breast and the decision of the dice
would never be disputed.

“Who has dice?” asked Mosu, turning to the onlookers.

Kwasa undid a fold of his belt and gave the priest the three sticks of
cane he had carried so long.

Mosu handed them to the boy who stood nearest. He tossed them
nervously, amid a breathless silence. As they came down showing two
reds and one white, a woman on the lower terrace gave a sobbing cry.
Turning toward her, his lip quivering with disappointment, the lad saw
his mother, and bounded across the court to where she sat.

“The gods be praised--they have not taken my son from me,” she said,
throwing her arms about his neck.

“But I would have served them well,” he cried, trying hard to keep back
unmanly tears.

One after another the youths came forward to try their fortunes with
the dice. But no one threw the whites together. Wiki, trembling with
eagerness, found them at his feet with all the red sides up, and gave
place to Kwasa, who came next.

Carefully placing the sticks in his fingers, and with a quick glance at
old Honau, who stood watching with much interest, Kwasa spun the dice
high in the air. And when they came down every one knew that the danger
and the honor had fallen to Kwasa by the favor of the gods. Tcua, his
old grandmother, scorning the weakness that fought its way to her moist
eyes, called him proudly to her side and touched the turquoise at his
throat.

“You will come back safe--it is a charm,” she said confidently.

But once more Kwasa hid the cane strips carefully in his belt.

“Yes, I will come back safe--for I have a charm,” he said, smiling.

So Kwasa took the long trail toward the Seven Cities alone and in the
dark, for so it was thought best, since he knew the first part of the
way well and would need daylight more after coming to the unknown
country. And because he had thrown the chance of next value, Wiki was
given the place of lesser honor, because of lesser danger, that of
messenger to the Clans of the Rainbow and the Bear.



CHAPTER VII On the Walpi Trail


If Kwasa had not felt so proud of the honor that had been shown him,
he might have feared to go down the long, dark canyons alone. But,
boylike, his thoughts were not so much on the danger of his task as
they were upon the rewards he might hope for when it was done, for he
knew the people of the Cliffs would pay royal honors where they were
due. And he never thought of failure, for surely one so high in favor
with the gods could not fail, however great the task.

So Kwasa picked his way with a light heart along the first well-known
part of the journey. He wanted to be far from home by daybreak, and
ready to undertake the unknown paths where he would need all his
sharpness of sight to keep the right direction. He had received many
and definite instructions from the old men, who knew the Walpi road
well, and he felt confident of his ability to reach the Seven Cities
without loss of time.

The sun came up, hot and strong, just as he emerged from the shadows of
the last wooded canyon and stepped forth upon the wide-spaced plateau
that stretched away toward Walpi. There was no chance for cover now,
he realized, a little startled at the thought, for he had not before
considered this difference between a trail on the plateau and one
through the canyons. If he had not been afraid both of delay and of
losing the trail if he should attempt to follow it by night he would
have liked to lie down in a hidden nook and wait for dusk again rather
than to run the risk of a race across such open and dangerous country
by day. But he knew no time should be lost, so, eating his breakfast
from his food-bag as he went along, he swung forward with the long,
easy strides of one who is accustomed to travel much by foot.

It was the middle of the forenoon when a fitful gust of wind brought
a strange, regular, pounding sound to his ears. He could not think
what it was. Again it came, louder than before, a sharp, ringing
“clickety-clicket,” that brought him to a standstill. Then, too late
for flight or any chance of concealment, he recognized the sound as
one that he had never heard more than once or twice in his life--the
beating of hard-ridden ponies’ hoofs.

In another minute he saw them coming, a cloud of dark, terrible riders
in fantastic head-dress, with their almost naked bodies horribly
striped and scarred. At a glance he knew them, though his only idea
of them had been formed from the tales he had heard the men tell, and
in the same moment gave himself up for lost. For they were the hated
enemies whose awful deeds made the blood run cold at the barest thought
of them--the Utes of the northeastern mountains.

[Illustration: Kwasa knew they had seen him.]

Kwasa knew they had seen him, so, giving up the hope of hiding which
had flitted momentarily through his mind, he determined to stand his
ground and sell his life as dearly as he could. He ran a few steps
from the trail and placed his back against a jutting ledge of rock, at
the same time drawing his bow and setting one of his sharpest arrows.
Hardly had he time to make even this scanty preparation when they were
upon him, a yelling, death-dealing whirlwind of fiendish faces and
quick-footed, fiery-eyed ponies.

With an agonized thought of home, of the trust in which he now must
fail, and of the terrible danger which was sweeping down upon the Cliff
people, he drew his arrow back to the head. Excited as he was, he took
steady aim, and a painted warrior slid limply from his pony’s neck and
rolled over in the dust. As he hastily fitted another arrow he felt a
stinging pain in his throat, his hand lost its strength, the sky reeled
about him and turned dark--and then he knew no more.

When he came to himself again he lay where he had fallen on his face
in the red dust of the plateau. How sick and dizzy he felt! His first
thought was to wonder how he came there; the next to remember that the
Utes were headed straight for the canyons, on what awful errand he did
not dare to think. He knew the Cliff village could be held for some
time, but would not these fiendish foes at last be able to overcome the
peaceful, unwarlike men of the Cliffs, no matter what their advantages
might be? Help must be brought, and brought quickly. A glance at the
sun assured him that he had not long lain unconscious, even though
he knew he must have been left for dead. With a great effort he
pulled himself to his feet. How black the sunlight grew! And what
was that queer, choking thing that seemed to be gripping him by the
throat? Putting up his hand, he felt the shaft of an arrow which had
pierced his neck, running through until the point projected above his
shoulders. With a shudder he tried to pull it out, but the pain turned
him sick again. Then, too, even through the turmoil of his thoughts he
realized that to remove the arrow would mean a great and weakening loss
of blood. So, blinded and choking as he was, the brave lad stumbled
along as fast as he could, imploring the gods to give him strength to
reach Walpi and send aid to his people before he should die.

It seemed ages before he saw the dark outlines of the pueblo of Walpi
rising above the rounded crest of the mesa. But it was not so far from
where he fell after all, for he had been nearer than he believed when
the attack occurred. He could never quite remember how things happened
after that. He had a vague memory of Sado’s voice calling out in sharp
surprise, of telling his story quickly between the gasps of his failing
breath, and of a sudden great bustle in the court of the pueblo.
Only one thing he remembered distinctly, the sudden idea that flashed
through his mind at sight of Sado.

“The hidden path,” he gasped, “tell them to take the hidden path. It
will bring them up from the back. No one knows it except--except--” and
here in spite of himself his voice trailed off into silence and the
blindness that was worse than midnight came over his eyes again.

As in a dream he heard Sado’s excited reply:

“I know--I know--I will lead them. Have no fear, for we will save your
people yet!”

And then gentle hands laid him down, and he thought no more except that
it was very good to rest.

The terrible Battle of the Cliffs had been fought and done for many
weeks before Kwasa was strong enough to hear about it. For the arrow
in his throat had come very near indeed to causing his death, and only
the tender nursing of careful and practised hands could have brought
him back to life and strength again. There was one pair of slim, soft
hands that he always knew, even through his delirium, so gentle and
capable were they, and so soothingly did they place upon his poor,
torn throat the cooling poultices of pounded herbs. After he grew able
to think again he fell to wondering what the face would be like that
belonged with such dear, gentle fingers; but so weary and listless was
he that even after the thought came it was a long time before he opened
his eyes to see. But when he did look up into the beautiful young face
that bent so anxiously above him, he knew that one of two things would
surely happen--either he would stay at Walpi forever, or he would not
go back to the canyons alone.

And that day Kwasa heard the story of the Battle of the Cliffs. It
was Sado who told it, helping the words with vivid gestures of his
long, brown fingers. He told how bravely the men of the village had
held their own for many long and fearful hours, even against the
death-bearing poisoned arrows of their foes; and how, hard pressed as
they were and overwhelmed by numbers, as the Utes swarmed up the niche
stairway, the men who stood along the ledge sold their lives at a
heavy price. And then, just as the Utes were sounding their wild whoop
of final victory, and were pressing upward unchecked over the narrow
stair, so slippery with the horrible slime of blood, the fresh band of
fighters which Sado had led secretly up the hidden path sounded their
battle cry from the back of the long court into which they had come
unseen. At this the savages had wavered a moment in surprise, and then,
seeing the lithe brown bodies of the men of Walpi, whose prowess they
knew of old, had broken and fled, many of them losing their foothold
and falling down the face of the cliff to a horrible death on the rocks
below. And just then had come up from the south the bands from the
Rainbow and Bear Clans, summoned by Wiki, and before the sun had set
upon the narrow valley the grass was stained with a deeper red than
that of the red dust. Only two Ute horsemen were able to break through
the terrible ring of death that shut them in and get away on their
fleet ponies. And that, said Sado, was just as it should be, for with
the story of that disastrous fight as a warning it would be long before
the northern tribes would attempt to take revenge.

The day came at last when Kwasa was strong enough to go back to his
people. Glad as he was at the thought of seeing them all again, a
greater gladness lay at his heart--a joy even greater than all the
honor that his grateful people were waiting to give could bring. For
Ani, the gentle sister of Sado, who had nursed the stricken messenger
so faithfully and well, was easily persuaded that her services might
still be needed by her brave young patient. So she decided to go back
across the mesas and down the cool, dusky canyon paths with him, lest
evil should again befall him.

So it happened that when the rejoicing people of the Cliffs came down
the niche stairway to welcome their honored hero, they took also to
their grateful hearts the dark-eyed girl who had saved him from death
for them. And not the less did they love her because she was the sister
of Sado, who had brought them help in their hour of greatest need.

“But what of Wiki?” said Kwasa, when they would have overwhelmed him
with loving honors.

“He has had his share,” answered Wiki himself, pressing the hand of
his old playfellow affectionately. “Besides, my little deed needed no
honor, since it did not require a particularly stout heart to run an
errand where there was no danger. Yet Mosu has promised me no less a
gift than that I should lead the dance of the priests in his own place
at the next Blessing of Seeds. And he says he will make a priest of
me when the time comes. Besides--” he paused in some confusion, and
beckoned to a pretty brown maiden who stood not far away.

“Besides?” prompted Kwasa with a smile.

“Not all the maidens in the world dwell on the mesa of the Seven
Cities,” blurted out Wiki, taking the girl’s slender fingers in his own.

Kwasa laughed, then his face grew grave.

“Yet it was well for me that one maid dwelt there,” he said softly,
looking up into Ani’s sweet face with adoring eyes.

       *       *       *       *       *

INSTRUCTOR LITERATURE SERIES

7c--Supplementary Readers and Classics for all Grades--7c

☞ _This list is constantly being added to. If a substantial number of
books are to be ordered, or if other titles than those shown here are
desired, send for latest list._

FIRST GRADE

Fables and Myths

    *6 Fairy Stories of the Moon--_Maguire_
   *27 Eleven Fables from Æsop--_Reiter_
   *28 More Fables from Æsop--_Reiter_
   *29 Indian Myths--_Bush_
  *140 Nursery Tales--_Taylor_
  *288 Primer from Fableland--_Maguire_

Nature

   *1 Little Plant People--Part I--_Chase_
   *2 Little Plant People--Part II--_Chase_
  *30 Story of a Sunbeam--_Miller_
  *31 Kitty Mittens and Her Friends--_Chase_

History

  *32 Patriotic Stories--_Reiter_

Literature

  *104 Mother Goose Reader--_Faxon_
  *228 First Term Primer--_Maguire_
  *230 Rhyme and Jingle Reader for Beginners
  *245 Three Billy Goats Gruff and Other Stories

SECOND GRADE

Fables and Myths

  *33 Stories from Andersen--_Taylor_
  *34 Stories from Grimm--_Taylor_
  *36 Little Red Riding Hood--_Reiter_
  *37 Jack and the Beanstalk--_Reiter_
  *38 Adventures of a Brownie--_Reiter_

Nature and Industry

   *3 Little Workers (Animal Stories)--_Chase_
  *39 Little Wood Friends--_Mayne_
  *40 Wings and Stings--_Halifax_
  *41 Story of Wool--_Mayne_
  *42 Bird Stories from the Poets--_Jollie_

History and Biography

   *43 Story of the Mayflower--_McCabe_
   *45 Boyhood of Washington--_Reiter_
  *204 Boyhood of Lincoln--_Reiter_

Literature

   *72 Bow-Wow and Mew-Mew--_Craik_
  *152 Child’s Garden of Verses--_Stevenson_
  *206 Picture Study Stories for Little Children
  *220 Story of the Christ Child--_Hushower_
  *262 Four Little Cotton Tails--_Smith_
  *268 Four Little Cotton Tails in Winter--_Smith_
  *269 Four Little Cotton Tails at Play--_Smith_
  *270 Four Little Cotton Tails in Vacation--_Smith_
  *290 Fuzz in Japan--A Child Life Reader
  *300 Four Little Bushy Tails--_Smith_
  *301 Patriotic Bushy Tails--_Smith_
  *302 Tinkle Bell and Other Stories--_Smith_
  *303 The Rainbow Fairy--_Smith_
  *308 Story of Peter Rabbit--_Potter_

THIRD GRADE

Fables and Myths

   *46 Puss in Boots and Cinderella--_Reiter_
   *47 Greek Myths--_Klingensmith_
   *48 Nature Myths--_Metcalfe_
   *50 Reynard the Fox--_Best_
  *102 Thumbelina and Dream Stories--_Reiter_
  *146 Sleeping Beauty and Other Stories
   174 Sun Myths--_Reiter_
   175 Norse Legends, I--_Reiter_
   176 Norse Legends, II--_Reiter_
  *177 Legends of the Rhineland--_McCabe_
  *282 Siegfried and Other Rhine Legends
  *289 The Snow Man and Other Stories
  *292 East of the Sun and West of the Moon

Nature and Industry

   *49 Buds, Stems and Fruits--_Mayne_
   *51 Story of Flax--_Mayne_
   *52 Story of Glass--_Hanson_
   *53 Story of a Little Water Drop--_Mayne_
  *133 Aunt Martha’s Corner Cupboard--Part I. Story of Tea and the
       Teacup
  *135 Little People of the Hills--_Chase_
  *137 Aunt Martha’s Corner Cupboard--Part II. Story of Sugar, Coffee
       and Salt
  *138 Aunt Martha’s Corner Cupboard--Part III. Story of Rice, Currants
       and Honey
  *203 Little Plant People of the Waterways--_Chase_

History and Biography

    *4 Story of Washington--_Reiter_
    *7 Story of Longfellow--_McCabe_
   *21 Story of the Pilgrims--_Powers_
   *44 Famous Early Americans (Smith, Standish, Penn)--_Bush_
   *54 Story of Columbus--_McCabe_
    55 Story of Whittier--_McCabe_
    57 Story of Louisa M. Alcott--_Bush_
   *59 Story of the Boston Tea Party--_McCabe_
   *60 Children of the Northland--_Bush_
   *62 Children of the South Lands--I (Florida, Cuba, Puerto
       Rico)--_McFee_
   *63 Children of the South Lands--II (Africa, Hawaii, The
       Philippines)--_McFee_
   *64 Child Life in the Colonies--I (New Amsterdam)--_Baker_
   *65 Child Life in the Colonies--II (Pennsylvania)--_Baker_
   *66 Child Life in the Colonies--III (Virginia)
   *68 Stories of the Revolution--I (Ethan Allen and the Green Mountain
       Boys)--_McCabe_
   *69 Stories of the Revolution--II (Around Philadelphia)--_McCabe_
   *70 Stories of the Revolution--III (Marion, the Swamp Fox)--_McCabe_
  *132 Story of Franklin--_Faris_
  *164 The Little Brown Baby and Other Babies
  *165 Gemila, the Child of the Desert
  *166 Louise on the Rhine and in Her New Home
      (_Nos. 164, 165, 166 are the stories from “Seven
      Little Sisters” by Jane Andrews_)
  *167 Famous Artists--I--(Landseer and Bonheur)

Literature

   *35 Little Goody Two Shoes
    58 Selections from Alice and Phoebe Cary
   *67 The Story of Robinson Crusoe--_Bush_
   *71 Selections from Hiawatha (Five Grades)
  *227 Our Animal Friends: How to Treat Them
  *233 Poems Worth Knowing--Book I--Primary

FOURTH GRADE

Nature and Industry

   *75 Story of Coal--_McKane_
   *76 Story of Wheat--_Halifax_
   *77 Story of Cotton--_Brown_
  *134 Conquests of Little Plant People--_Chase_
  *136 Peeps into Bird Nooks--I--_McFee_
  *181 Stories of the Stars--_McFee_
  *205 Eyes and No Eyes and The Three Giants

History and Biography

    *5 Story of Lincoln--_Reiter_
   *56 Indian Children Tales--_Bush_
   *78 Stories of the Backwoods--_Reiter_
   *79 A Little New England Viking--_Baker_
   *81 Story of De Soto--_Hatfield_
   *82 Story of Daniel Boone--_Reiter_
   *83 Story of Printing--_McCabe_
   *84 Story of David Crockett--_Reiter_
   *85 Story of Patrick Henry--_Littlefield_
   *86 American Inventors--I (Whitney, Fulton)
   *87 American Inventors--II (Morse, Edison)
   *88 American Naval Heroes (Jones, Perry, Farragut)--_Bush_
   *89 Fremont and Kit Carson--_Judd_
   *91 Story of Eugene Field--_McCabe_
  *178 Story of Lexington and Bunker Hill--_Baker_
  *182 Story of Joan of Arc--_McFee_
  *207 Famous Artists--II--Reynolds and Murillo
  *243 Famous Artists--III--Millet
  *248 Makers of European History--_White_

Literature

   *90 Fifteen Selections from Longfellow--(Village Blacksmith,
       Children’s Hour, etc.)
   *95 Japanese Myths and Legends--_McFee_
  *103 Stories from the Old Testament--_McFee_
  *111 Water Babies (Abridged)--_Kingsley_
  *159 Little Lame Prince (Cond.)--_Mulock_
  *171 Tolmi of the Tree-Tops--_Grimes_
  *172 Labu the Little Lake Dweller--_Grimes_
  *173 Tara of the Tents--_Grimes_
  *195 Night before Christmas and Other Christmas Poems and Stories
       (Any Grade)
  *201 Alice’s First Adventures in Wonderland
  *202 Alice’s Further Adventures in Wonderland
  *256 Bolo the Cave Boy--_Grimes_
  *257 Kwasa the Cliff Dweller--_Grimes_
  *291 Voyage to Lilliput (Abridged)--_Swift_
  *293 Hansel and Grettel, and Pretty Goldilocks
  *304 Story Lessons in Everyday Manners--_Bailey_
  *312 Legends from Many Lands--_Bailey_
  *314 The Enchanted Bugle and Other Stories

FIFTH GRADE

Nature and Industry

   *92 Animal Life in the Sea--_Reiter_
   *93 Story of Silk--_Brown_
   *94 Story of Sugar--_Reiter_
   *96 What We Drink (Tea, Coffee and Cocoa)
  *139 Peeps into Bird Nooks--II
   210 Snowdrops and Crocuses
   263 The Sky Family--_Denton_
  *280 Making of the World--_Herndon_
  *281 Builders of the World--_Herndon_
  *283 Stories of Time--_Bush_
  *290 Story of King Corn--_Cooley_

History and Biography

   *16 Explorations of the Northwest
   *80 Story of the Cabots--_McBride_
   *97 Stories of the Norsemen--_Hanson_
   *98 Story of Nathan Hale--_McCabe_
   *99 Story of Jefferson--_McCabe_
   100 Story of Bryant--_McFee_
  *101 Story of Robert E. Lee--_McKane_
   105 Story of Canada--_McCabe_
  *106 Story of Mexico--_McCabe_
  *107 Story of Robert Louis Stevenson--_Bush_
   110 Story of Hawthorne--_McFee_
   112 Biographical Stories--_Hawthorne_
  *141 Story of Grant--_McKane_
  *144 Story of Steam--_McCabe_
  *145 Story of McKinley--_McBride_
   157 Story of Dickens--_Smith_
  *179 Story of the Flag--_Baker_
  *185 Story of the First Crusade--_Mead_
   190 Story of Father Hennepin--_McBride_
   191 Story of La Salle--_McBride_
  *217 Story of Florence Nightingale--_McFee_
  *218 Story of Peter Cooper--_McFee_
  *219 Little Stories of Discovery--_Halsey_
   232 Story of Shakespeare--_Grames_
  *265 Four Little Discoverers in Panama--_Bush_
   274 Stories from Grandfather’s Chair--_Hawthorne_
  *275 When Plymouth Colony Was Young
  *287 Life in Colonial Days--_Tillinghast_

Literature

    *8 King of the Golden River--_Ruskin_
    *9 The Golden Touch--_Hawthorne_
   *61 Story of Sindbad the Sailor
  *108 History in Verse
  *113 Little Daffydowndilly and Other Stories
  *180 Story of Aladdin and of Ali Baba--_Lewis_
  *183 A Dog of Flanders--_De La Ramee_
  *184 The Nurnberg Stove--_De La Ramee_
  *186 Heroes from King Arthur--_Grames_
   194 Whittier’s Poems--Selected
  *199 Jackanapes--_Ewing_
  *200 The Child of Urbino--_De La Ramee_
   208 Heroes of Asgard--Selections--_Keary_
  *212 Stories of Robin Hood--_Bush_
  *234 Poems Worth Knowing--Book II--Inter.
  *244 What Happened at the Zoo--_Bailey_
  *250 At the Back of the North Wind, Selection from--_Macdonald_
  255 Chinese Fables and Stories--_Feltges_
  *309 Moni the Goat Boy--_Spyri_
  *313 In Nature’s Fairyland--_Bailey_

SIXTH GRADE

Nature and Industry

  *109 Gifts of the Forests (Rubber, Cinchona, Resins, etc.)--_McFee_
   249 Flowers and Birds of Illinois--_Patterson_
  *298 Story of Leather--_Peirce_
  *299 Story of Iron--_Ogden_

Agricultural

  *271 Animal Husbandry, I--Horses and Cattle
  *272 Animal Husbandry, II--Sheep and Swine

Geography

  *114 Great European Cities--I (London-Paris)
  *115 Great European Cities--II (Rome-Berlin)
  *168 Great European Cities--III
       (St. Petersburg-Constantinople)--_Bush_
  *246 What I Saw in Japan--_Griffis_
  *247 The Chinese and Their Country--_Paulson_
  *285 Story of Panama and the Canal--_Nida_

History and Biography

   *73 Four Great Musicians--_Bush_
   *74 Four More Great Musicians--_Bush_
  *116 Old English Heroes (Alfred, Richard the Lion-Hearted, The Black
       Prince)--_Bush_
  *117 Later English Heroes (Cromwell, Wellington, Gladstone)--_Bush_
  *160 Heroes of the Revolution--_Tristram_
  *163 Stories of Courage--_Bush_
   187 Lives of Webster and Clay--_Tristram_
  *188 Story of Napoleon--_Bush_
  *189 Stories of Heroism--_Bush_
  *197 Story of Lafayette--_Bush_
   198 Story of Roger Williams--_Leighton_
  *209 Lewis and Clark Expedition--_Herndon_
  *224 Story of William Tell--_Hallock_
  *253 Story of the Aeroplane--_Galbreath_
  *266 Story of Belgium--_Griffis_
  *267 Story of Wheels--_Bush_
  *286 Story of Slavery--_Booker T. Washington_
  *310 Story of Frances E. Willard--_Babcock_

Stories of the States

   508 Story of Florida--_Bauskett_
   509 Story of Georgia--_Derry_
   511 Story of Illinois--_Smith_
   512 Story of Indiana--_Clem_
   513 Story of Iowa--_McFee_
   515 Story of Kentucky--_Eubank_
   520 Story of Michigan--_Skinner_
   521 Story of Minnesota--_Skinner_
   523 Story of Missouri--_Pierce_
  *525 Story of Nebraska--_Mears_
  *528 Story of New Jersey--_Hutchinson_
   533 Story of Ohio--_Galbreath_
  *536 Story of Pennsylvania--_March_
  *540 Story of Tennessee--_Overall_
   542 Story of Utah--_Young_
   546 Story of West Virginia--_Shawkey_
   547 Story of Wisconsin--_Skinner_

Literature

   *10 The Snow Image--_Hawthorne_
   *11 Rip Van Winkle--_Irving_
   *12 Legend of Sleepy Hollow--_Irving_
   *22 Rab and His Friends--_Brown_
   *24 Three Golden Apples--_Hawthorne_[2]
   *25 The Miraculous Pitcher--_Hawthorne_[2]
   *26 The Minotaur--_Hawthorne_
  *118 A Tale of the White Hills and Other Stories--_Hawthorne_
  *119 Bryant’s Thanatopsis, and Other Poems
  *120 Ten Selections from Longfellow--(Paul Revere’s Ride, The
       Skeleton in Armor, etc.)
  *121 Selections from Holmes (The Wonderful One Hoss Shay, Old
       Ironsides, and Others)
  *122 The Pied Piper of Hamelin--_Browning_
   161 The Great Carbuncle, Mr. Higginbotham’s Catastrophe,
       Snowflakes--_Hawthorne_
   162 The Pygmies--_Hawthorne_
  *211 The Golden Fleece--_Hawthorne_
  *222 Kingsley’s Greek Heroes--I. The Story of Perseus
  *223 Kingsley’s Greek Heroes--II. The Story of Theseus
  *225 Tennyson’s Poems--Selected (Any grade)
   226 A Child’s Dream of a Star, and Other Stories
   229 Responsive Bible Readings--_Zeller_
  *258 The Pilgrim’s Progress (Abridged)--_Simons_
  *264 The Story of Don Quixote--_Bush_
   277 Thrift Stories--_Benj. Franklin and Others_
  *284 Story of Little Nell (Dickens)--_Smith_
   294 The Dragon’s Teeth--_Hawthorne_
  *295 The Gentle Boy--_Hawthorne_

SEVENTH GRADE

   *13 Courtship of Miles Standish--_Longfellow_
   *14 Evangeline--_Longfellow_[2]
   *15 Snowbound--_Whittier_[2]
   *20 The Great Stone Face--_Hawthorne_
   123 Selections from Wordsworth (Ode on Immortality, We are Seven,
       To the Cuckoo, and other poems)
   124 Selections from Shelley and Keats
   125 Selections from The Merchant of Venice
  *147 Story of King Arthur, as told by Tennyson
  *149 The Man Without a Country--_Hale_[2]
  *192 Story of Jean Valjean--_Grames_
  *193 Selections from the Sketch Book--_Irving_
   196 The Gray Champion--_Hawthorne_
   213 Poems of Thomas Moore--(Selected)
   214 More Selections from the Sketch Book
  *216 Lamb’s Tales from Shakespeare--Selected
  *231 The Oregon Trail (Condensed)--_Parkman_
  *235 Poems Worth Knowing--Book III--Grammar--_Faxon_
  *238 Lamb’s Adventures of Ulysses--Part I
  *239 Lamb’s Adventures of Ulysses--Part II
  *241 Story of the Iliad--_Church_ (Cond.)
  *242 Story of the Æneid--_Church_ (Cond.)
  *251 Story of Language and Literature--_Heilig_
  *252 The Battle of Waterloo--_Hugo_
  *254 Story of “The Talisman” (Scott)--_Weekes_
  *259 The Last of the Mohicans (Abridged)
  *260 Oliver Twist (abridged)--_Dickens_
  *261 Selected Tales of a Wayside Inn--_Longfellow_
  *296 Uncle Tom’s Cabin (Condensed)
  *297 Story of David Copperfield (Condensed)
  *307 The Chariot Race--_Wallace_
  *311 Story of Jerusalem--_Heilig_
  *315 The Story of Armenia--_Heilig_

Nature

  *278 Mars and Its Mysteries--_Wilson_
  *279 True Story of the Man in the Moon--_Wilson_

EIGHTH GRADE

   *17 Enoch Arden--_Tennyson_[2]
   *18 Vision of Sir Launfal--_Lowell_[2]
   *19 Cotter’s Saturday Night--_Burns_[2]
   *23 The Deserted Village--_Goldsmith_
  *126 Rime of the Ancient Mariner--_Coleridge_[2]
  *127 Gray’s Elegy and Other Poems
  *128 Speeches of Lincoln
  *129 Julius Cæsar--Selections--_Shakespeare_
   130 Henry the VIII--Selections--_Shakespeare_
   131 Macbeth--Selections--_Shakespeare_
  *142 Scott’s Lady of the Lake--Canto I[2]
  *154 Scott’s Lady of the Lake--Canto II[2]
   143 Building of the Ship and Other Poems--_Longfellow_
   148 Horatius, Ivry, The Armada--_Macaulay_
  *150 Bunker Hill Address--Selections from Adams and Jefferson
       Oration--_Webster_[2]
  *151 Gold Bug, The--_Poe_
   153 Prisoner of Chillon and Other Poems--_Byron_[2]
   155 Rhoecus and Other Poems--_Lowell_[2]
   156 Edgar Allan Poe--Biography and Selected Poems--_Link_
  *158 Washington’s Farewell Address
   169 Abram Joseph Ryan--Biography and Selected Poems--_Smith_
   170 Paul H. Hayne--Biography and Selected Poems--_Link_
   215 Life of Samuel Johnson--_Macaulay_[2]
  *221 Sir Roger de Coverley Papers--_Addison_[2]
  *236 Poems Worth Knowing--Book IV Adv.
   237 Lay of the Last Minstrel--Canto I--_Scott_[2]
   276 Landing of the Pilgrims (Orations)--_Webster_
  *305 Wee Willie Winkie--_Kipling_
  *306 Howe’s Masquerade--_Hawthorne_


FOOTNOTE:

[2] _These have biographical sketch of author, with introduction or
explanatory notes._

=Price 7 Cents Each. Postage, 1 cent per copy extra on orders of less
than twelve.= The titles indicated by (*) are supplied also in =Limp
Cloth Binding= at =12 cents per copy=.

       *       *       *       *       *

EXCELSIOR LITERATURE SERIES

  1 =Evangeline.= Biography, introduction, oral and written exercises
    and notes. =18c=

  3 =Courtship of Miles Standish.= Longfellow. With introduction and
    notes. =18c=

  5 =Vision of Sir Launfal.= Lowell. Biography, introduction, notes,
    outlines. =12c=

  7 =Enoch Arden.= Tennyson. Biography, introduction, notes, outlines,
    questions. =12c=

  9 =Great Stone Face.= Hawthorne. Biography, introduction, notes,
    outlines. =12c=

  11 =Browning’s Poems.= Selected poems with notes and outlines for
     study. =12c=

  13 =Wordsworth’s Poems.= Selected poems with introduction, notes and
     outlines. =12c=

  15 =Sohrab and Rustum.= Arnold. With introduction, notes and
     outlines. =12c=

  17 =Longfellow for Boys and Girls.= Study of Longfellow’s poetry for
     children. =12c=

  19 =A Christmas Carol.= Charles Dickens. Complete with notes. =18c=

  21 =Cricket on the Hearth.= Chas. Dickens. Complete with notes. =18c=

  23 =Familiar Legends.= McFee. =18c=

  25 =Some Water Birds.= McFee. Description and stories of, Fourth to
     Sixth grades. =12c=

  27 =Hiawatha.= Introduction and notes. =30c=

  29 =Milton’s Minor Poems.= Biography, introduction, notes, questions,
     critical comments and pronouncing vocabulary. =18c=

  31 =Idylls of the King.= (Coming of Arthur, Gareth and Lynette,
     Lancelot and Elaine, Passing of Arthur.) Biography, introduction,
     notes, questions, comments, pronouncing vocab. =24c=

  33 =Silas Marner.= Eliot. Biography, notes, questions, critical
     comments. 238 pages. =30c=

  35 =Lady of the Lake.= Scott. Biography, introduction, pronouncing
     vocabulary. =30c=

  37 =Literature of the Bible.= Heilig. =18c=

  39 =The Sketch Book.= (Selected) Irving. Biography, introduction and
     notes. =30c=

  41 =Julius Cæsar.= Edited by Thomas C. Blaisdell, Ph.D., LL.D. Notes
     and questions. =24c=

  43 =Macbeth.= Edited by Thomas C. Blaisdell. Notes and questions.
     =24c=

  45 =Merchant of Venice.= Edited by Thomas C. Blaisdell. Notes and
     questions. =24c=

  47 =As You Like It.= Edited by Thomas C. Blaisdell. Introduction,
     notes, questions. =24c=

  49 =Hamlet.= Edited by Thomas C. Blaisdell. Notes and questions. =24c=

  59 =Poe’s Tales.= (Selected) Biography, introduction and notes. =24c=

  61 =Message to Garcia and Other Inspirational Stories.= Introduction
     and notes. =12c=

  63 =Lincoln-Douglas Debates.= Edited by Edwin Erle Sparks, Pres. Pa.
     State College. =24c=

  65 =The Man Without a Country.= With introduction and notes by Horace
     G. Brown. =12c=

  67 =Democracy and the War.= Seventeen Addresses of President Wilson,
     with others. =24c=

  September--1920

       *       *       *       *       *

Transcriber’s Notes:

Illustrations have been moved to paragraph breaks near where they are
mentioned, except for the front illustration.

Punctuation has been made consistent.

Variations in spelling and hyphenation were retained as they appear in
the original publication, except that obvious typographical errors have
been corrected.

The book catalog that was split between the beginning and end of the
original book has been consolidated at the end.



*** End of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "Kwasa the cliff dweller" ***


Copyright 2023 LibraryBlog. All rights reserved.