M A G A Z •: - Desert Magazine of the Southwest

ment everywhere. Figures rose up out of
blankets in the darkness. The circle cleared
again and a tall slender Indian girl in
the beautiful Navajo costume began making
a round of the circle, holding aloft a
sacred wand. This was the long awaited
signal for the beginning of the dance.
A girl led a man into the circle and
they locked elbows, facing in opposite
directions and went round and round with
short, padding steps. A new and smaller
chorus had formed around a young man
beating a tom-tom. This was the dance
orchestra. More couples found courage to
join the dancers and soon the whole part
of the circle away from the fire, was moving.
As the firelight rose and fell, the
dancers were visible to those sitting quietly
in the shadows.
Only the unmarried women may take
part in the dance, and some of the girls
did not appear to be over 10 years of age.
All men are eligible—but it is the young
ladies who choose their dancing partners.
Because they are shy, the girls are likely
to pick strangers—and that includes the
white men who may be present. Perhaps
there is another reason for the popularity
of white men at these dances—they are
generally better supplied with dimes. At
the end of the dance the man pays.
Elizabeth and Helen, daughters of Red
Feather, were at the squaw dance for the
first time in their ten years of life. The
twins were dressed almost alike, and even
had the light been less wavering and dim,
the men at the edge of the circle would
have found it hard to decide which was
Helen and which Elizabeth. They were little
mites of girls and their long velveteen
skirts, with eight yards of material in each
fell down over their ankles, showing only
the tips of their high laced shoes.
They each wore the traditional blouse
of velveteen. A string of fine turquoise
hung around each neck and the coal black
hair, usually blowing about was fastened
in the long tight knot, tied with a ribbon.
A shawl completed the costume.
The girls had taken their places, and
when the wand bearer had completed her
round, a small hand grasped the coat
sleeve of a white man seated in the circle.
The little Navajo girl gave a gentle tug
and he rose and was led into the circle.
There, the magic of the dance laid hold
of him and he lost his identity and became
as much a member of the Indian group as
the braves around him.
After a long period of dances, for there
were no regular intermissions, the white
man who was still firmly in the grip of
Elizabeth, urged her into the open circle
made by the dancers. There, after he took
a coin from his pocket and put it in her
hand, she let him go. So it was with other
dancers. Sometimes it was the girl who
wanted the dance to end, and sometimes
the man.
This was all ladies' choice and every
dance cost the man something.
MAY, 1941
•
Wide Hat, Navajo medicine man who knows the ancient healing rituals, and is
called upon to disperse the evil spirits that bring pain and ill jortune.
The mother of Helen and Elizabeth,
herself barred from dancing, spent her
time in rounding up eligible men for the
twins to dance with. She used a large
flashlight and ferreted out all of the dark
corners. If the supply of men seemed to be
running low, there was no ban against
asking the same man a second time and
thereafter exacting double tribute.
There was no talking among the dancers.
The step changed, now there was one
double circle moving in the same direction.
The uneven ground caused no worry.
When there was a small hillock, they merely
danced over it. The chorus stopped for
breath now and then, or the dancers thinned
out, but there was no stopping. There
would be none until dawn.
When the stars faded away and a pale
light began to flood the canyon, the last
of the dance: s melted away and the chorus
forgot to begin a new chant. The tom-tom
was stilled and quiet reigned over the
sandy floor of Canyon de Chelly.
The faint tinkle of a bell could be heard
from the top of the canyon walls. Anyone
who was then awake would have seen a
small herd of goats peering over the edge,
upon the sleeping encampment. Then a
small and very ragged boy joined them for
a moment before he shooed them along on
their way. As he pursued them, he raised
his childish treble in imitation of the elder's
song. A strange sound. There is no
other like it. It floated over the canyon
and struck the opposite wall. There, it was
tossed back again and again until it died
away among the crevices and was lost.