THE CHEROKEE NATION 237 
Above them tower dark hemlocks. It is twilight in 
the gorge, although the sun shines brightly on the 
tree- tops. 
Once in a while you get a glimpse of noiseless forms 
flitting through the forest. But you are not afraid, 
for the Indians long ago laid aside their tomahawks 
and arrows, along with their feathers and war-paint. 
They are watching us out of curiosity, and their 
presence adds the one needed touch to the romance 
of the road. As we get lower down, a lonely, neat- 
looking house occasionally stands near the rushing 
river, tightly closed and looking as though unin- 
habited, though your driver assures you that black 
eyes are peering at you through the holes between 
the logs. But when you meet Big Witch carrying 
his fish spear and clad all in shop-made clothes, and 
two Indian women dressed in calico, each carrying 
what should be a pappoose, but is only a little brown 
baby in a pink frock just like any other baby, — 
when this happens, your romantic fancies take flight 
like a flock of startled birds. At the government 
school, well placed on a slope near the Oconolufty 
River, some two hundred young Indians are learn- 
ing the white man's way of life, boys and girls in 
about equal numbers. 
The Cherokee is not a noble red man in appear- 
ance, having the flat, broad type of face with wide- 
apart eyes, instead of the aquiline features of the 
wooden warrior that used to stand outside the to- 
bacco-shops. The Indians cultivate the land, raise a 
few horses and cattle, make soapstone pipes to sell 
