night, after a long, hard pull of thirty miles, we camped and slept in the open air; and the second night did the same, going to sleep rolled up in blankets, and having but little water with which to quench our thirst after the long and dusty ride. Our first hours of comfort were had at Ganado, a leading post and ranch house located on the Navajo Reservation. The several buildings occupy an elevated bit of ground rising from a shallow, winding stream, and command an extended view of a broad valley surrounded by high mountains, and filled with isolated rocks of various colors, shapes, and sizes. For an hour or more before reaching the post, the road led down the quick slope of a minor ridge of sage-grown hills, upon the sides of which were flocks of sheep and herds of goats belonging to the Navajos. At intervals, as we rode slowly along, we came upon parties of Indians, mounted on shaggy little ponies, who greeted us with broad smiles, and trotted along by our side. The August sun by this time was beating furiously upon us, and the heat caused beads of perspiration to roll down the faces of the Indians. At the ranch house, however, was a refreshing shade, in the enjoyment of which we passed a couple of hours, before pushing onward again to the Moqui Reservation, which joins that of the Navajo. The latter tribe is the largest in the Southwest. They own large herds, and are selfsupporting. Their huts are scattered over the vast area of the reservation, and are always isolated, no two of them being in the same place. They are roughly made, and consist of one large room, in which the entire family lives. The men are inveterate smokers and traders. At the post where we rested there were a score or more bucks gathered about the office, buying whatever happened to please them, and enjoying life as much as women do when on a shopping expedition. They were all well mounted, and, having sold their wool, were flush with ready money. While the men traded, the women sat outside the store, and tended the babies that had been brought along. That of the men consists of a cotton shirt On the evening preceding the day when we were to reach Moqui, we arrived at Kearns's Cañon, and found shelter for the night at the residence of Mr. Kearns, who has built a small house for himself in the picturesque cañon, while busy exploring the various ruins and Indian mounds near by. Up with the sun the next day, and driving out of the cañon into the open, undulating country, far beyond which could be seen the pale blue heights of the San Francisco range, we saw at last, a dozen miles away, the commanding mesas on which rest the villages of the Moquis. In time we reached the base of the rocky mound, and made our camp in the shadow of a grove of peach trees, which the Indians had cultivated around one of their springs of water. Gathered about us were the children of the village, who had come down the mesa's side to view the new The Navajo dress is quaintly picturesque. arrivals and beg tobacco; while near at hand began the narrow trail that led upward to where the town stood, peering down upon us from its proud height. Leaving our team in charge of an Indian, we began the toilsome ascent, the undertaking taxing our muscles to the utmost, and the sun sending its hot rays upon us with terrific fury. As we proceeded, the view. grew in grandeur and extent. For miles the country, now far below us, stretched away to hazy distances. Here rose bluish peaks of forest-covered mountains, more than a hundred miles away; there flocks of sheep, tiny specks upon the ground, were feeding on the yellow grasses. In one direction were the mountains of Utah, so far away as to be barely visible; in others were pinnacles of red-hued rock, leaping abruptly from the vast levels round about them. And when at last we gained the summit and entered the village, we seemed to have come upon another world. Quaintly dressed figures strode past us; oddly built houses surrounded us; the air was full of a fragrance indicative of great age somewhere; and naked children stared at us from various corners. As the day advanced, signs of unusual excitement were present everywhere. Women were seen fastening up their long hair in peculiar forms; men appeared with hideously painted faces; maidens were met with dressed in bright red blankets, and with their faces thickly powdered. For the day was that on which was to be celebrated the famous snake-dance of the Moquis, a ceremony whose origin is lost in the shadows of antiquity, and the purport of which is one of the mysteries of the day. and in some way connected with their existence. The dance is thought by some to be a religious ceremony, and by others a form of exhibition, gotten up by an order resembling that of the Odd Fellows or Masons. Whether it is a prayer or an exhibition, however, is really known by the Indians alone. That the men are bitten is evident; that they do not suffer from the effect is also evident; and the fact is probably due to a secret knowledge of how to prepare the dancersfor their ordeal, so that they are safe from the sting of even the most venomous reptile.. It was to see the snake-dance that I made the long, hard journey. Whiling away the day at the village, we moved, just before sundown, to an open bit of ground lying between the walls of the nearest houses and the edge of the mesa. In the center of the little enclosure stood a pillar of rock, old and gray, and near by were low, flat housetops, on which were gathered a crowd of natives, gaily dressed, and filled with excitement, to watch the coming dance. The snakes during the day had been confined within an estufa, or council chambera well like cave with a narrow entrance-but were now placed in bags, and secreted within a bower made of cottonwood boughs, set up near the rock. As daylight began to fade, the scene grew still more picturesque, and the excitement more intense. At last, when every housetop was covered, and scores of oddly dressed people were grouped about the small enclosure, the dance began. Emerging from a near estufa a party of fif teen nearly naked, and fantastically painted savages, bearing rattles in their one hand No other dance by any other race of In- and a basket of sacred meal in the other, dians is the equal of this in weirdness. Tak- filed rapidly into view, and began a march ing place only once in two years, and in- around the square. Moving four times about dulged in by no other people, it is a relic of the stone, and rattling their rattles as they barbarism that excites the wonder of every moved, they formed in line before the bower beholder. The snakes used are caught dur- containing the snakes, and began a weird ing the four days preceding the fête, and do song and dance, keeping time to the strange not have even their fangs removed. The music by gently moving their bodies back reptiles are of different species, and are not and forth, and by raising the feet a few inchinjured during the time they are so carelessly es from the ground and replacing them in handled by the men. There is a belief the same spot. Each man wore a sort of among the Moquis that a snake is their friend, tunic, reaching from the waist nearly to the knee, and a string of antelope hoofs tied around his ankles. A few wore fox-skins, reaching nearly to the ground. During the dance, a second party of nearly sixty men appeared, dressed as their predecessors were, but with their faces and bodies more heavily painted, and bearing in their hands long wands made of eagle feathers. These marched in single file, with a peculiar halting step and with bowed heads, around the stone pillar. They were the snake men. Ranging themselves after a time in long line, and facing the members of the first party, they all began to chant and dance to the accompaniment of rattles, and of a sound like the hissing of snakes, made by moving the eagle feather wands rapidly through the air. As the song continued the dancers grew more and more excited, and began the more violently to move their naked and now perspiring bodies. At last an aged man stepped before the snake bower and uttered a petition, at the end of which the members of the second band made a simultaneous rush for the snakes concealed within, and soon emerged, each bearing in his mouth and held firmly between his teeth, a hissing, twisting, biting snake. With these they marched once more round and round the circle, while maidens sprinkled them with meal, and the people indulged in shouts of approval. It was a sight to make one's blood run cold—a disgusting, revolting spectacle, in which man lowered himself to the level of a reptile. At times a snake would coil himself around his captor's neck, and have to be uncoiled by main force; again it would fasten cruel fangs into the dancer's cheek, and would not let go until twisted from its hold. For several minutes the wild gambols continued, until there was a mixture of excit ed men, and frightened, fighting snakes; while above the din made by the performers and spectators rose the high-pitched chant of those who continued their peculiar dance. And then, at a signal, each man cast his snake into a common pile, until a heap of writhing forms was made. Another signal, and the dancers reached into the hideous mass, and pulled therefrom each a snake, with which they ran rapidly down the steep trail of the mesa. Away they went, and we, gathered on the house-tops, soon saw them far below where we stood, scattering their burdens on the ground and setting them free from their captivity. The ceremony was now ended, and already daylight had faded away. As we rode off across the valley the moon came out, and by its light we saw, looming up against the western sky, the huge, high cliff on which live the people who play with snakes and live in oddly fashioned homes. For another two years the Moqui snakes will crawl about the country undisturbed; and then they will once again be caught and held between the teeth of their savage captors. Edwards Roberts. ASCENT OF MOUNT TACOMA. THE Cascade range of mountains in Washington Territory is, without doubt, the wildest and most inacessible region within the boundaries of the United States. Clothed with forests, whose fallen tree trunks lock together to form a continuous stockade, almost impenetrable to man or beast, furrowed by deep cañons and roaring torrents, it rises peak on peak from the valleys of the Columbia and Puget Sound to the line of perpetu al snow, above which tower the culminating points of Mount Saint Helens, Mount Adams, Mount Rainier and Mount Baker. Highest, grandest, and most inaccessible of all these is Mount Rainier, or Tacoma, the home of the only living glaciers of which the American citizen can boast, if there be left out of account a few insignificant ice fields on one of the peaks of the Sierra Nevada of Califor nia, scarcely worthy the name of glacier, the summits of a number of western peaks, among them Mounts Whitney, Shasta, Lyell, Dana, Hood, Pike's Peak, Lassen's Butte, and, last though not least, a mountain in the Sierra Nevada named by John Muir and myself the "California Matterhorn," I had experienced in none of them except the latter such a real sample of looking destruction in the face as the Swiss climbers seem to number among their everyday experiences. If all accounts were true, Mount Tacoma could afford the only parallel on this than one ascent having ever been madethat of General Hazzard Stevens, in 1870. Previous to that ascent, Gen. A. V. Kautz, then a subaltern officer in the army, made the attempt, and doubtless reached a point near the summit; but as he himself modestly says, he reached only "what may be called the top," though "there were points higher yet." This was in 1857. A most interesting and quaintly humorous account of his attempt was recently given in lecture form by the gallant genera!, who, as a lieutenant, braved the yellowjacket wasps and mosqui- ble ascent fourteen years ago. My efforts toes in the then unexplored approaches to the mountain, and frightened his Indian guide by defying the Great Spirit, Ta-ho-ma, by an invasion of his stormy home. Following the ascent of Stevens and his brave companion, P. B. Van Trump, an essay was made by Mr. Emmons, of Clarence King's geological survey; but his description of Crater Peak is dismissed as being inadequate, he having discovered but one crater where there are two, and it is therefore surmised that he may have stopped short of the topmost peak. At all events, whether General Kautz or Mr. Emmons succeeded in reaching the top or not, it is quite certain that Mount Tacoma is not within the beaten route of tourist travel; for with the three exceptions mentioned no other white men, so far as known, had ever made the attempt to ascend it, until the writer and his staunch comrades planted their flag upon its icy crest, August 17, 1884. Arriving at Portland, Oregon, in July, I learned by accident, and quite to my surprise, that a trail had been opened from Wilkeson station to the glaciers at the base of the mountain on the north side, and that the ascent to the summit could be made in one day. Wilkeson is the terminus of a narrow gauge railroad from Puget Sound to some coal mines, and thither I repaired without delay. I found that an excellent road had been opened through the forest some fifteen miles, ending abruptly at the foot of the grand glacier, miles in width, that pours down the northern face of the mountain. A glance was sufficient to demonstrate the impossibility of ascending the mountain on the northern and western sides, and that my information had been incorrect. I felt well repaid for the trip, however, as it brought me face to face with the most.stupendous field of ice that my imagination could have conceived, and spread out before my eyes the whole mountain from base to summit. Retracing my route by rail to Yelm Prairie, I resumed a search begun a year or two before to find Mr. Van Trump, who had accompanied General Stevens, in his memora were rewarded with success, and together we persuaded James Longmire, the hardy pioneer who had piloted the former party through the woods to the base of the mountain, to accompany us on another ascent. He agreed to do so if we could wait a fortnight, until he could gather his harvest—a condition which was gladly accepted. I spent the interval very pleasantly at the Canadian metropolis of Victoria, albeit with some impatience, and gladly welcomed the letter that announced that the harvesting was over, and all was ready for the ascent. Returning at once to Yelm Prairie, we soon completed our arrangements. Our party was increased by the addition of a fourth member-Mr. W. C. Ewing, of Ohio-and on the 10th of August we saddled our horses, packed blankets, provisions, and cooking utensils on the back of a faithful beast, and plunged into the forest. The trip was regarded by all the neighborhood as foolhardy, if not absolutely impossible. We were told that there was no vestige of a trail, and it was generally predicted that we should be obliged to return before reaching the foot of the mountain. Mrs. Longmire was quite pathetic in her appeals to her husband to abandon the trip, and clung to him, saying, "Jim, you jest shaan't go." But Jim's mind was made up to go, and with true Western determination he could be deterred by nothing after the resolve was once formed. Just before starting, we were told that a party of old woodsmen, among them Mr. Packwood, who located the old Cowlitz trail, which we proposed to try to follow, had returned a few days before, after one day's attempt to penetrate the forest, and had reported it impassable. With these numerous discouragements, we were quite prepared for the five days of toil and struggle that followed before reaching the mountain's base. Crossing the Nisqually within an hour after leaving Yelm Prairie, we took advantage of a fair wagon road for twenty-five miles, gradually ascending to an altitude of eighteen hundred feet, and terminating abruptly |