He
was of no use as a hunter, for he had not the hawk-like sight of an
Indian or the Indian instinct for following a trail. He could dig out
the wild roots they ate, which grew among canes and under water, but
this was laborious and painful work, which made his hands bleed. With
tools, or even metal with which to make them, he might have made himself
the most useful member of the tribe, but as it was, he was even poorer
than the wretched people among whom he lived, for they knew how to make
the most of what was in the country, and he had no such training.
The lonely Spaniard studied their language and customs diligently. He
found that they made knives and arrows of shell, and clothing of woven
fibers of grass and leaves, and deerskin. They went from one part of the
country to another according to the food supply. In prickly pear time
they went into the cactus region to gather the fruit, on which they
mainly lived during the season. When pinon nuts were ripe they went into
the mountains and gathered these, threshing them out of the cones to be
eaten fresh, roasted, or ground into flour for cakes baked on flat
stones. They had no dishes except baskets and gourd-rinds, and their
houses were tent-poles covered with hides. When a squaw wished to roast
a piece of meat she thrust a sharp stick through it.
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