


AVAJO Indian Rugs are woven by hand of sheep’s wool in fascinating designs 
and colorings. They are the only hand wrought floor coverings made by a 
primitive people in the United States. 
The weaving is done by the women and young girls, the latter being taught some of the steps as 
early as four years old. The great fear of the old Chiefs is that as civilization encroaches upon the 
tribe, the art of weaving will gradually die out, and every effort is being made to perpetuate the 
penmpp able, artistry and crafthood that has made the Rugs of the Navajos superior in some ways | 
to Orientals. 
Navajos are alike on both sides; they do not curl; easy to clean; wear for more years than any 
other floor covering you can name; inexpensive. Just the attributes you are looking for in an ideal 
rug. The large majority of rugs come in a combination of gray, black, white and red, with either 
the red, white or gray predominating. For living-rooms and porches gray backgrounds are generally 
the best; for bedrooms, bathrooms and camping blankets, get white backgrounds; and for dens, 
cozy corners, couch covers, etc., the red backgrounds give that fine touch of color that warms the 
heart and lends a distinctive air to the scheme of decoration. 
The Prices Vary According to Size 
$20.00 
60.00 to 75.00 
If not satisfactory they may be returned in exchange for others, or money will be refunded 
promptly on request. You pay express charges both ways. 


THE NAVAJO ASSOCIATION. 
221 WEST 57th STREET, NEW YORK CITY 






COME! LET US WALK TOGETHER 
A collection of inspiring editorials that have brought comment from 
every part of America. Here in vivid panorama 
Courage meets discouragement 
Light meets darkness 
Hope meets fear. 
A remarkable book for every man and boy. 
Written by Gabriel Heatter, Editor of The Sporting Goods Saleman. 
Retail price, One Dollar. 

FOREST AND STREAM PUBLISHING COMPANY 
221 West 57th Street New York City 




In writing to Advertisers mention Forest and Stream. 


It will identify you. 
A half hour passed; an hour, an hour 
and a half. My wrist felt leaden, my 
back centenarian. But there was no 
rest for the weary—man or fish. Once 
the big fellow came to the surface and 
swam alongside for one hundred feet. 
Brundy looked at him a moment, then 
turned to me and said, “I may be fooled, 
but I don’t believe that fish has even let 
himself out,’ and the tarpon hearing, 
wandered easily away. Again I re- 
trieved him; he lay almost inert at our 
side. “He sure looks played out; I won- 
der if he’s done for,” said I. Brundy 
reached out for the strong wire leader. 
The fish came to life, bowing his body 
and straightening it in a lightning 
flash. Up went his tail, six feet above 
us, and had he tipped our way we would 
have had a boat full of fish all at once. 
But instead, down went his head and 
my reel didn’t rest till he was five hun- 
dred feet away. 
Meantime a little blinker of a cloud 
that, half an hour before, had barely 
dimmed the sun, now had spread over 
the upper east while the perfect calm 
of the morning had turned into a half 
gale. Boatmen and fishermen are 
mighty polite to the weather around 
Aransas since the storm of “’19.” 
Brundy was looking questioningly at 
the sky. Two old frequenters of the 
Port, H. G. Vance of Peoria (who by 
the way can make as pretty a tarpon 
rod as one cares to see), and F. J. 
Conkling, his friend, of Joliet (who can 
break said rods with equal ease), were 
betaking themselves to shelter. All the 
mackerel and tarpon boats were home- 
ward bound. The jetties were deserted. 
My fish made another run and I noticed 
that, though we had been following out 
gulfward for ten minutes and though 
my line was well out, Brundy had 
turned and was pulling a stiff oar to- 
ward the shore. 
“Too far out—sharks,” he said. And 
I recalled that yesterday when young 
Dick Sutton had been towed by his six- 
foot fish too far from shore into the 
clear water, he had suddenly seen the 
big flashing white belly of a shark 
which took his tarpon at one gulp and 
broke his line in an instant. Also I re- 
membered that Mr. Conkling, following 
his quarry far out, had suddenly felt an 
anguished pull and had brought in only 
an eighteen-inch silver head. 
I lined up our position and saw that, 
in spite of Brundy’s steady stroke, the 
pull of the fish and an adverse wind 
were gradually taking us out into the 
rough. The waves were bothering con- 
siderably. 
“This won’t do,” warned Brundy. The 
long minutes passed by and still the fish 
took line until he had at least seven 
hundred feet. Brundy stopped rowing 
and looked around the cloud-covered 
sky. 
“We'd better go in,” he cautioned. I 
Page 180 
