I Married a Ranger | Page 9

Ranger Winess teased her a
little about the incident, and a slight coolness arose. Just to show how
little she cared for his company, Virginia left our party and strolled up
to the Rim to observe the effect of moonlight on the mist that filled it.
Our game of Put-and-Take was running along merrily when we heard a
shriek, then another. We rushed out, and there was Dollar Mark Bull
chasing Virginia around and around among the big pine trees while she

yelled like a calliope. Seeing the door open she knocked a few of us
over in her hurry to get inside. Then she bravely slammed the door and
stood against it! Fortunately, Dollar Mark retreated and no lives were
lost.
The rangers departed, we soothed Virginia, now determined not to
remain permanently, and settled down for the night. Everything quiet
and peaceful, thank goodness!
Alas! The most piercing shrieks I ever heard brought me upright in bed
with every hair standing on end. It was morning. I looked at Virginia's
bed. I could see her quite distinctly, parts of her at least. Her head was
buried, ostrich-wise, in the blankets, while her feet beat a wild tattoo in
the air. Stell woke up and joined the chorus. The cause of it all was a
bewildered Navajo buck who stood mutely in the doorway, staring at
the havoc he had created. At arm's length he tendered a pair of
moccasins for sale. It was the first Reservation Indian in native dress,
or rather undress, the girls had seen, and they truly expected to be
scalped.
It never occurs to an Indian to knock at a door, nor does the question of
propriety enter into his calculations when he has an object in view.
I told him to leave, and he went out. An hour later, however, when we
went to breakfast, he was squatted outside my door waiting for us to
appear. He had silver bracelets and rings beaten out of Mexican coins
and studded with native turquoise and desert rubies. We each bought
something. I bought because I liked his wares, and the other girls
purchased as a sort of thank-offering for mercies received.
The bracelets were set with the brilliant rubies found by the Indians in
the desert. It is said that ants excavating far beneath the surface bring
these semi-precious stones to the top. Others contend that they are not
found underneath the ground but are brought by the ants from
somewhere near the nest because their glitter attracts the ant. True or
false, the story results in every anthill being carefully searched.
Virginia's visit was drawing to a close, and White Mountain and I

decided to announce our engagement while she was still with us. We
gave a dinner at El Tovar, with the rangers and our closest friends
present. At the same party another ranger announced his engagement
and so the dinner was a hilarious affair.
One of the oldest rangers there, and one notoriously shy with women,
made me the object of a general laugh. He raised his glass solemnly
and said: "Well, here's wishin' you joy, but I jest want to say this: ef
you'd a played yo' cyards a little bit different, you wouldn't 'a had to
take White Mountain."
Before the dinner was over a call came from the public camp ground
for aid. Our party broke up, and we girls went to the assistance of a
fourteen-year-old mother whose baby was ill. Bad food and ignorance
had been too much for the little nameless fellow, and he died about
midnight. There was a terrible electric storm raging, and rain poured
down through the old tent where the baby died.
Ranger Winess carried the little body down to our house and we took
the mother and followed. We put him in a dresser drawer and set to
work to make clothes to bury him in. Ranger Fisk and Ranger Winess
made the tiny casket, and we rummaged through our trunks for
materials. A sheer dimity frock of mine that had figured in happier
scenes made the shroud, and Virginia gave a silken scarf to line the
coffin. Ranger Winess tacked muslin over the rough boards so it would
look nicer to the young mother. There were enough of my flowers left
by Dollar Mark to make a wreath, and that afternoon a piteous
procession wended its way to the cemetery. And such a cemetery! Near
the edge of the Canyon, a mile or so from Headquarters it lay, a bleak
neglected spot in a sagebrush flat with nothing to mark the
cattle-tramped graves, of which there were four. At the edge of the
clearing, under a little pine, was the open grave, and while the coffin
was lowered the men sang. I