222 BUREAU OF AMERICAN ETHNOLOGY [Bdll. 196 



As the vehicles reach their destination, the occupants tumble out to 

 crowd their way into the craft shops to purchase souvenirs, only a 

 limited number of which are made in Cherokee. By noon the motels 

 exhibit "no vacancy" signs; the campgrounds in the adjacent park are 

 closed to any more campers; and the drama "Unto These HiUs" is sold 

 out. At the end of the day some harassed parents and tired children 

 make the slow return trip over the mountains to AsheviUe, N.C., or 

 Knoxville, Tenn. Those who do not leave and who do not have accom- 

 modations sleep in their cars or on a blanket by the side of the road 

 where the unwary walker may stumble over them. The doors of the 

 shops are closed, but the neon lights continue to burn and the owners of 

 the businesses congratulate themselves on another good weekend. 



The visitors have eaten in the restaurants or picnicked in the 

 crowded wooded sites. Some have ridden on the miniature railroad 

 which whistles its way around a quarter-of-a-mile track; others have 

 gone on a chairlift to the top of a small mountain ridge overlooking 

 the village. A few have filed through a trailer said to contain the 

 largest snake in the world, and in the midst of the tumult most of 

 them have seen Indians. 



In front of the commercial enterprises stand stalwart Indian braves 

 dressed in the fringed trousers and war bonnets of the Plains Indians. 

 They are there to promote the business in front of which they stand. 

 For a quarter they will pose for pictures, shake hands with an over- 

 whelmed small boy, and send an even smaller child into paroxysms of 

 fright. Other Indians sit quietly in front of the bus station or on 

 benches in front of the older buildings murmuring softly in Cherokee. 

 Farther down the road, on the bridge over the Oconaluftee River, 

 Indian men, boys, and girls sit on the wall or slouch against it, watch- 

 ing the endless stream of trafl&c. The tourists see many others whom 

 they do not realize are Indians. Light-haired, light-eyed people who 

 own some of the trading posts ; girls who serve the tables ; and others 

 who wander up and down the road on this busiest weekend in all the 

 year are also Indians. 



After the autumn foliage is gone and the mountains stand stark and 

 gray, only an occasional traveler comes through. When the rime on 

 the peaks is visible from the valley, the gaps through the mountains 

 are slippery and travel is hazardous. The shops close, the costiuned 

 Indian disappears, and only two eating places remain open to serve 

 the bus passengers, salesmen, and the personnel of the Government 

 offices. A few motels stay open, offering winter rates. The tenor of 

 life at Cherokee changes dramatically, although the people are still 

 to be seen on the main roads making their quiet way from the Agency 

 offices, the hospital, or the grocery store. Except on one of the rare 

 but pleasant warm winter days, the bridge is deserted. The buses unload 



