The Coconino sun., 1925-10-09


the trading post counter beside me, a
study in silent contentment. His
straight black hair, bound in a care
full knot behind with white string, was
crowned with a crimson cotton band.
A turquoise and coral necklace circled
his dark throat, turquoise eardrops
hung from his ears and his trim Ma
vajo moccasins were buttoned with
shining quarter dollars. Beside him,
as silent and reposeful leaned his
young squaw. More silver coins
adorned her small moccasins, heavy
silver bracelets covered her wrists, sill
yer buttons peeped through the
stranGs of beads that fell over her
purple velvet jacket.
In the trading post, nothing stirred
but the drifting coils of cigarette
smoke and the great flies looming in
from the sun-drenched emptiness of
the desert. Cities, and the deadly
earnestness of the turgid life of cities,
seemed infinitely far away.
Gradually the silence and the un-
wavering stare of black, piercing eyes
grew oppressive. | turned to an amaz-
ing collection of silver belts, bracelets,
hair ropes, brides and similar articles
jumbled in a corner, and from a nail
lifted down necklace. 1t was Of four
strands, of small, round, white she'll
beads, interspersed with turquoise, and
bore as tag an ancient paper bag
splashed with writing and mathe-
matics.
Immediately, Grey Hat Charlie and
his squaw registered interest. In five
minutes | was forgotten; the necklace
was tossed from hand to hand, drop
ped, picked up, hung back on its nail,
taken down. At intervals, the trader,
with a wealth of slow gesture, talked
steadily in Navajo. Now and again,
Charles squaw helped his decision
with side flash of her great black
eyes. / held a poker face and tried
not. to impede the wheels of progress.
Thirty minutes later the trader tore
off the tag, tossed the beads across
the counter to giggling, beaming
squaw and set up two bottles of pop.
"Well, Buck l said, whats it all
about ?"
For moment the big trader hesi-
tated. why" he said finally, 'it's
simple enough. You've just had a
good slant at a pawnbroker doing
business a la Painted desert"
Pawnbroking in the Painted desert
country! The idea was startling. My
face must have reflected bewilderment
and incredulity.
"It's plain enough what you're
thinking" Buck went on without
prompting. Crowded city back
street, bit off-color dingy
pawnshops with barred windows and
three golden balls over the door !.
busted men and women slippin' in with
a bold front and lump in their
throats, and a gimlet-eyed Shylock
behind the counter takin' his pound of
flesh.
"While here" and his eyes fingered
a moment on the golden square of the
doorway, .it,s just sand and rock and
distance stray white man
maybe once a week the rail-
road hundred miles off and the next
house fifteen loneliness and
blue sky and horseback Nav
vies lopin' in out of nowhere on
droop-headed ponies, like they owned
the universe"
"That's it exactly" l managed to
get in $50 Why
"Just the same," the unfinished
challenge was snapped up, "Pm a
whole lot of a hard boiled, 18-karat
pawnbroker-and so is every other
trader on the reservation. All the con-
ditions may be upside down-but
about the most interestin' sort of
pawnbrokin' in the world plays a big
part in the complicated muddle we
call Indian tradin' Take what you've
just seen. It's bein' repeated 80 times
a day, with frills and variations, all
over the Navajo country
"Three months ago Mr.. Many
Whiskers' craved groceries to a value
of thirty-odd dollars. Like lot of
Navajos, rich or poor, he hadn't any
cash. So he pawned that necklace to
cover the bill, promisin' to redeem it
in 30 days Then he took sick and
raised the limit to 60 and finally 90
days Now the 90R days is up, he
hasn't paid out and his necklace is a
dead pawn I've just traded it to
Charlie for nine head of prospective
spring lambs. IT,, as and when de-
llvered to me, and by me to Flagstaff,
near 100 miles by road, the lambs
ought to bring about S45. Maybe III
break even on the deal. Maybe not.
But" he added, apparently as an
afterthought, eat least III be shut of
another Navajo pledge. That's some
thing, when you've got a couple of
thousand dollars tied up in such gim-
cracks!"
That first glimpse behind the
scenes led to many others in many
other lonely little posts, until | knew
that my trader friend was right. Here
in the silence and shimmering dis
tance of the great Navajo reservations
of northeastern Arizona, where some
500 traders, teachers, missionaries
and agency employees live scattered