October, 1939
T H E K I N G ' S B U S I N E S S
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Junior King' s Business By MARTHA S. HOOKER
UNDER THE PINON TREE B y F rances N oble P hair * eral times today. What does it mean?” asked the young man. “It is the name of a Navajo house— those round, low huts built of logs and plastered with mud, which we passed this morning. The grown folks are friendly enough, but the children, especially the girls, are frightened to death of white folks and won’t let you' get near them, but they’re sure cute— Hello! What’s that?” Both men looked in amazement as a very young Navajo girl came around the hill, following the sheep and walked steadily toward them. As she came closer they could see that her close-fitting long-sleeved red velvet waist was decorated with, many silver buttons; a beautiful necklace of silver and blue stones hung from her neck, and her wide ruffled skirt blew around her ankles as she walked oyer the uneven ground, showing the brown- skin moccasins fastened with a silver button. She made a lovely picture, but what held the attention of both men was the intensely earnest, appealing ex pression of her great brown eyes. She was so close now that they could see the quick rise and fall of her velvet blouse as though her breath was coming in frightened gasps. Her voice shook when she spoke. Scarcely able to believe their ears, the men heard her say in English, “If you please, I want to write a letter. I have no paper, no pencil, no postage
The warm color mounted to her cheeks; her voice faltered; her eyes drooped. She did not want to beg. At once, the older man exclaimed, “That’s all right, sister; W^’d be mighty glad to help you out.” And he drew a notebook out of his pocket and a stub of a pencil and handed them to the girl, who took them with a gentle ges ture of thanks. She seated herself on a big stone and wrote slowly and care fully a short message on the page be fore her. Handing it bask, she drew from her finger a lovely silver ring set with a big blue stone, the desert turquoise that the Indians prize so highly. “Please'take this for the post age,” she said. The man waved her aside. “No, no, Sister, but tell us, where did you learn your good English?” He looked in amazement. Already she was several yards away. With a quick motion of earnest thanks, she was gone. The two men looked at each other. "I’ve ridden these hills for many a day and I never saw anything like that,” said the older man, scratch ing his head thoughtfully. Looking at the page, he read the round, childish
PART I D OES God answer prayer? Can He send help to me, hidden away in this great, lonely coun try?” Standing motionless under the old pinon tree, Desbah asked the questions, catching her breath sharply after each sentence as she gazed with unseeing eyes over the great stretch of desert land before her. Then suddenly she dropped, a bright-colored heap, shaking with sobs, on the brown earth at the foot of the old tree. “O God, save me! Let me get word to my friends! Don’t let my family make me . . . ” For a few moments sobs and prayers were so mingled that no one but the Father of all comfort could un derstand Desbah’s words, but He did hear, and comfort began to flow into her trouble heart. She soon rose to her feet, brushed away her tears, and stood looking out at the great stretch of wilderness coun try. A deep peace had come into her heart. God would answer—how, she knew not, but He would send her help. But what was that? Her keen brown eyes had detected a motion far down the valley. Horsemen! They were coming slowly up the hillside—and they were white men. The heart under the bright velvet Navajo waist beat like a frightened bird! She had prayed. God was an swering even now, and she must do the thing she most dreaded. * * * * The two men, who had been riding over the desert hills since daybreak, stopped their tired horses. The hot sun beat down on the low bushes, fill ing the air with the odor of desert sage. “If this isn’t the most forsaken coun try! There isn’t a living soul as far as your eye can see!” exclaimed the younger man. ' The older one smiled. “See,” he said, pointing to the left, and the young man looked with surprise as a little flock of sheep and goats wandered slowly around the side of a low hill. “That means there is some one herding them; probably a Navajo youngster shy as a deer; and also a hogan not far away,” “ ‘Hogan’; you’ve said that word sev- *Formet missionary to the Navajo In dians. All rights reserved. Illustra tion by Ransom D. Marvin.
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