The American Botanist 



VOL. XXV. 



August 1919 



No. 3 



Ooer the fields where the brown quails whistle, 

 Over the ferns where the rahhits lie, 



Floats the tremulous down oj a thistle, 

 Or is it the soul of a butterfly? 



— Higginsov. 



A TRIP TO NAVAJO MOUNTAIN 



By WiLLARD N. CivUTE 



/Contrary to popular belief, the Grand Canyon of Ari- 

 ^^zona is not the only canyon of note in that part of the world. 

 Nearly the whole northern border of the State, as well as the 

 southern border of Utah', is a vast net-work of canyons, second 

 only to the Grand Canyon in importance and in the opinion of 

 many, of much greater scenic beauty. The region is one of 

 little rainfall and is underlaid by porous sandstones which aid 

 the escape of what little moisture reaches the earth. In conse- 

 quence, desert conditions generally prevail. Here and there, 

 however, slightly better areas of soil provide the hardy Navajo 

 with food for his flocks and herds and he spends much of his 

 time roaming from one feeding ground to another, bound by 

 few laws save his own inclinations. 



The Indian shares the desert with the centipede, scorpion, 

 rattlesnake, and lizard, but there are no other human inhabit- 

 ants. Over a region nearly three times the size of Massachu- 

 setts, the only white man to be found is the occasional Indian 

 trader, who sets up his store, often the only house within a 

 fifty mile radius, near one of the infrequent springs and sup- 

 plies the aborigines with the few necessities of life that their 

 mode of existence demands, in exchange for wool, hides, and 

 the famous Navajo blankets. 



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