THE MESA TRAIL 



ing sheep have had to do with driving the 

 tender plants to the shelter of the prickle- 

 bushes. It might have begun earlier, in 

 the time Seyavi of the campoodie tells of, 

 when antelope ran on the mesa like sheep 

 for numbers, but scarcely any foot-high 

 herb rears itself except from the midst of 

 some stout twigged shrub ; larkspur in the 

 coleogyne, and for every spinosa the pur- 

 pling coils of phacelia. In the shrub shel- 

 ter, in the season, flock the little stemless 

 things whose blossom time is as short as a 

 marriage song. The larkspurs make the 

 best showing, being tall and sweet, sway- 

 ing a little above the shrubbery, scattering 

 pollen dust which Navajo brides gather to 

 fill their marriage baskets. This were an 

 easier task than to find two of them of a 

 shade. Larkspurs in the botany are blue, 

 but if you were to slip rein to the stub of 

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