VISITING THE INDIANS
Occasionally I meet with people who would like to visit real Indians
in their real homes,--not the dressed-up Indians in a made home, like
those of the Midway Plaisance of the World’s Fair or of a “Wild West”
show, and they ask me how they can do so. To the ordinary traveler
of to-day, who requires all the comforts of a Pullman and a dining
car, and who is not willing to forego them for the hardships of a
camping-out trip, my advice is don’t, although the hardships are
more so in name than in fact. If one likes old clothes, fresh air,
the great outdoors, lots of sunshine, desert roads, and meals _al
fresco_,--sleeping at night under the stars,--this is just the country
for such things. Given a good team, a careful driver who can cook
“frontier style,” and an agreeable traveling companion, and you will
have a new thrill--no matter what the weather is. Five dollars a day
each person will cover average cost of outfit; meals extra.
Yet there are some Indians who may be seen without leaving the luxuries
of our modern civilization. Two great railway systems in our Southwest
pass through the regions where live the Indians to whom I have referred
in the foregoing pages. These are popularly known as the “Santa Fe” and
the “Southern Pacific.”
In crossing the continent from Chicago to the Pacific Coast on the
Santa Fe route, one strikes the “Indian country,” to which I refer,
about half a day before reaching Albuquerque, New Mexico. Here is
what might be termed “the heart of the Pueblo Indian country.” The
word “pueblo” is Spanish for “town,” so the name merely means the
stay-at-home town Indians as distinguished from the nomad or wandering
tribes of the great plateaus.
At Albuquerque one may see, in Fred Harvey’s collection in the
Mission-style depot, a rare and precious gathering of Indian baskets,
blankets, silverware, etc., that is one of the finest in the West. It
ranks with the highest, and was largely gathered and placed under the
personal direction of Dr. George A. Dorsey, the eminent ethnologist of
the Field Columbian Museum. Nearly all the pueblos may be reached with
this city as a radiating center, though Taos and the Indian villages
of the northern Rio Grande valley are more accessible from Santa Fe.
Isleta and Laguna are passed a few miles further west. A three hours’
drive from Laguna, by way of the Enchanted Mesa, brings you to the sky
city of Acoma. Zuni is a day’s stage ride south of Gallup, New Mexico.
At Winslow, or Canyon Diablo, Arizona, one may leave the railway for
the 70 or 90 mile ride across the Painted Desert to the region of
the Hopis, the snake-dancing Indians to whom I have often referred.
At Williams, a little further west, on the branch line to the Grand
Canyon, one may visit the Havasupais, and at Kingman, the Wallapais.
At Needles, on the Colorado River, the boundary line between Arizona
and California, one may see the Mohaves, and on the river, reached by
boat from Needles, some forty miles below, are the Chemehuevis. In
California, on the San Diego branch of the Santa Fe, one may reach
various villages of Mission Indians; Pala, Rincon, and several others
from Oceanside; and San Ysabel, Mesa Grande, Los Coyotes, etc., from
San Diego by team to Warner’s Ranch. Saboba is reached on the San
Jacinto branch, and Temecula on the Temecula branch.
The Santa Fe passenger department publishes a beautifully illustrated
and well written book on the Indians of the Southwest, and it is well
worth sending fifty cents to their general offices in Chicago for a
copy.
The Southern Pacific also passes through a country where many Indians
reside. The Apaches are reached from several of their Arizona stations,
and the Pimas and Maricopas from Phœnix. At Aztec a stage takes one
to Palomas, where an interesting band of Apaches are to be seen. The
Indian reservation for the Yumas is just across the railway bridge at
Zuma, and from Mecca, near the Salton Sea, one may reach the desert
Indian villages of Martinez, Agua Dulce, Santa Rosa, etc. Palm Springs
is the station for the Palm Springs Indians, five miles away, and at
Porterville, north of Los Angeles, one starts for the drive to the
Yokuts and other basket-making Indians.
This brief chapter makes no pretense to full treatment. It is merely a
suggestion of help to those who wish to follow the Indian to his real
home.