Arizona Legends and Lore

by Dorothy Daniels Anderson

  Louisa Wade Wetherill with Sam Chief and family (Courtesy of the Wetherill Family Collection)

  At first John came upon a place the Indians called Keet Seel, the native term for “broken pottery.” John’s brother had discovered these ruins some years previously, but had had no time to investigate further. This village of the lost Old Ones had rooms for 500 people. Hundreds and hundreds of years ago, this had been a thriving, artistically gifted community who had made beautiful pottery. Then the inhabitants simply disappeared. Sandals, clothing and household items were left as if there had been no other plan than to return shortly. John, with a scientist’s care, took photographs, made drawings and carefully preserved all he discovered. Louisa and the children joined him on these expeditions and marveled at the mysterious beauty of this home of the Ancient Ones.

  John could barely breathe when he first peered across a canyon and sighted Betatakin. This forgotten pueblo was set in a cave over 500 feet wide, 150 feet deep and 400 feet high. The Indians could tell him little about the Old Clan who had lived there. Why had they left? Were they worn out by a long struggle against the Water God who breathed hot fire which dried up lakes and streams and took away the rain? Had some strange disease forced them to seek other places to live? Were there no clues as to what had happened to those Old People who had come from this land which changes and yet somehow remains changeless?

  Louisa knew of the Navajo legend which told of great droughts which lasted many years and a decline in the vitality of the clan by too much isolation and intermarriage. Blindness and disease weakened them. For Slim Woman, the story and the ruin were a window into another time, another life.

  Every day brought to Louisa Wade Wetherill some new learning, some new discovery about the Navajos. She collected over 300 different herbs that they used. She meticulously described which were used for foods, for medicines and for sacred ceremonies. She listened and listened to their stories.

  Then one day she heard a story that was to bring this couple notoriety beyond anything they could have conceived. For some time, John had been intrigued with rock formations that formed small arches and bridges and which could be seen in some of the canyons.

  “John,” she said, “I have just heard from one of the Navajos a most fascinating story about a huge rock bridge. He says the stone bridge is as large and as tall as a rainbow.”

  John speculated as he listened to Louisa tell the story. Did the story have a basis of truth? Could there ever be a rock arch as large as a rainbow?

  “Once, a long time ago, there was a young chieftain out hunting alone in the canyons. A rain storm came so fast and furiously that the desert land could not soak up the water. The land began to flood with raging, turbulent water. The young chieftain knew that a person caught in such a flood would most surely drown.

  Quickly the young man began to climb to higher ground. But the waters continued to rise higher and higher. At last he was at the top of a knoll of land. All around him was swirling water. There was nowhere else for him to climb. Across the water some 300 feet away was a tall mountain-like cliff. He knew if he could somehow get there he would be safe. But the water was too swift for him to swim. The cliff was too far for him to jump. Had he but a rope, he could shoot it across with his arrow and swing himself across. But he had no rope.

  Soon he felt the water lapping at his moccasins. And he began to pray the prayer of the lost. He began to chant to the North Wind to send him a rainbow, that he might climb it and cross the water in peace.

  But the water continued to rise. The young chieftain continued to pray and chant to each of the spirit winds, the South Wind, the East Wind, the West Wind. Always his prayer was the same: send me a rainbow so that I might cross the raging waters in peace.

  As the water reached the young man’s chest, a swirling mist descended and surrounded him. The winds began to blow and howl. Through the mist, he could see a beautiful rainbow being formed. Before his eyes he watched as the transparent rainbow began to harden into a lovely pink rock bridge. With a desperate lunge, the young chief pulled himself up onto the rainbow bridge and crossed over the turbulent water beneath him to safety and peace.”

  When Slim Woman finished the story, they remained silent, still under the spell of the words. Then Louisa spoke softly but with great excitement, “The Indians say that there is such a place, John, a very sacred place where there is a large rock rainbow that still remains to this day.”

  Rainbow Bridge at Lake Powell, the world's largest known natural bridge, 209 feet high (Courtesy Arizona Office of Tourism)

  Louisa and John believed the story. They began to ask about the possible location of this rainbow rock. No one knew where it was; the location had been lost somewhere in the telling. Then one day, a visiting Indian from another area said that he had personally seen it once long ago when he was a young boy. He and his cousin had been trying to capture some wild horses and had wandered far into canyons where they had never been before. In the distance, they saw an enormous rainbow of rock.

  With help from this Indian as his guide, John was eventually able to find what is now considered one of the great natural wonders of the world, the Rainbow Bridge, located just north of the Arizona border.

  When Rainbow Bridge was dedicated as a national monument, it was Louisa Wetherill, Slim Woman, who insisted that the plaque honoring the person who discovered the great natural wonder should name the Indian guide who had led John to its discovery. Louisa also insisted that the dedication ceremony include the praying of the sacred chant of the lost that she first heard in that wonderful Native American story. For it was the myths and legends which she helped to preserve that gave the Navajos some sense of security during those times when their world was changing far, far too quickly and many lost their balance as they struggled to live between two disparate societies.

  In those early times and perhaps still today, it is rare to find an individual who is able to develop an empathy and a sensitive understanding for a culture such as that of the Navajos. Louisa Wade Wetherill was such a person. The Indians so trusted her that many times they brought their arguments to Slim Woman to settle. Serious-faced Indians would come from miles away to sit in her dining room or in front of her house to explain their problems and to accept her decisions. She had the reputation for being honest and fair. Often her decisions reflected a deep awareness of the mental process of these people which few Indian agents hired by the government ever even attempted to achieve.

  One time there was an argument over a cow which belonged to a Navajo and was killed by some young Paiute boys.

  “She was a good, young cow,” said the Navajo and his family, “she was the best one we ever had.”

  The father of the Paiute boys disagreed. “She was a very old cow, long past her prime. She was not worth anything.”

  For nearly three hours, 30 Navajos and Paiutes sat in Slim Woman’s house arguing. In their midst, Louisa listened carefully to every opinion. A resolution seemed no closer after hours of argument. The Indians turned to her, “ Asthon Sosi ,” they said, “you must show us the way to an answer, for we see no way but fighting.”

  The Navajo stood up, there was anger in his stance. “Give me a horse for the cow and we will shake hands.”

  “No,” answered the Paiute, contempt in his voice, “the cow is not worth a horse.”

  Slim Woman realized that no agreement was going to be reached. The tension in the room was palpable. She raised her hand. Everyone in the room turned toward her. She began to speak quietly, “Some time ago, I lost my colt. Some of you helped look for him. You found his bones at the foot on the mountain. Remember, you told me that you knew the bones belonged to a horse that was young and fat because the bones were yellow. If it had been a thin, old horse the bones would have been white. Now if this is true and I think it must be, I will tell you how to settle this argument.”

  Every eye was upon Slim Woman. The silence was complete. “We will select one Navajo and one Paiute
to go and get the bones of the cow. If the bones are yellow, the cow was fat and the Paiute will give the Navajo a horse for his loss. If the bones are white, nothing more needs to be done.”

  A sigh rippled through the assembly of Indians. Everyone agreed with Slim Woman’s plan.

  Suddenly, the father of the Paiute boys stood up. “You need not send for the bones,” he said. “I will give you the horse.”

  Again and again it was repeated in the hogans, “Slim Woman has wisdom.” The Indians trusted their Asthon Sosi.

  By now Louisa was more than skilled in the slow desert speech of the Navajo. She had somehow learned to recognize the poetry of their language and the deep spiritual foundation of their lives. More and more, she came to realize the sensitivity and awareness of the Native American mind.

  In time, the clan allowed Slim Woman to witness a ceremony that they had never before allowed a white person to see and experience. Louisa was given the honor of watching the ceremony of healing and the creation of the sand painting of healing. Never before had she seen such beautiful colors of sand or such elaborate drawings as those used to cure the ill. When the ceremony was over the sand drawing was gathered up and thrown northward upon the desert to be released, gone and lost forever.

  Although she understood that the sand was used to take on the illness and the painting was destroyed to dispel the malady, Louisa was saddened by the loss of such exquisite artwork. How she wanted some memory of those lovely, colorful drawings made with colored sand! It took a long time to overcome the hesitancy of the medicine men before she was able to achieve the trust of two of them, Yellow Singer and Wolfkiller. Yellow Singer eventually became willing to reproduce some of the drawings for her with crayons. For Slim Woman, he would do it. They knew that she would honor their sacred sand paintings. Because of their trust in her, today we are able to have copies of the beautiful Navajo paintings of sand.

  Patiently, hour after hour, filling up boxes upon boxes of files, Louisa recorded the stories, the legends, the chants of her Indian friends. Many of her collections can now be found in the libraries of our Arizona universities.

  During the nearly 40 years that Slim Woman and her husband lived at the trading post in Kayenta, Arizona, thousands of visitors, many scholars from museums and universities, many famous and renowned people such as Zane Grey, John Houston and a former President, Teddy Roosevelt, came to accept the Wetherill hospitality and to go with John to see the great Indian ruins and natural wonders that were near their home. But, when they were done with those grand outdoor journeys, they came back to the trading post and stayed to listen to Slim Woman tell the stories of the Navajos and to receive from her tantalizing glimpses into the fascinating lives of these people.

  By the early 1920s, Slim Woman and John, still living so far from civilization in the heart of the land of the Navajos, were known throughout the world. Louisa Wade Wetherill was invited to give talks about her life among the Navajos all over the West.

  Louisa with daughter Georgia Ida (Courtesy of the Wetherill Family Collection)

  Louisa Wetherill lived to be 68 years old. She died on September 18, 1945, about one year after the death of her beloved husband. She was a pioneer who became a mother to the Navajos. When she came to Arizona, Louisa helped make it a better place by genuinely caring about its native people. Today she is still remembered for her prodigious and thoughtful work among the Navajos. She has been given honorable recognition by the state of Arizona and has had her named placed in the Arizona Women’s Hall of Fame.

  BIBLIOGRAPHY

  Comfort, May Apoline, Rainbow to Yesterday , the John and Louisa Wetherill Story , Vantage Press, New York, 1980.

  Crowe, Rosalie and Tod, Diane, Arizona Women’s Hall of Fame , Arizona Historical Society Museum Monograph, Central Arizona Division, Phoenix, Arizona, 1985.

  Mazza, Evelyn M., telephone conversation and letter, 1987.

  Wagoner, Jay J., Arizona’s Heritage , Peregrine Smith, Inc., Santa Barbara and Salt Lake City, 1977.

  Wetherill, Louisa Wade, “Navaho Recipes,” “Story of the First Lie,” “The Woman Whose Nose Was Cut Off Twelve Times,” Kiva , Volume XII, March 1947, pages 25–39.

  Wetherill, Louisa and Gillmor, Frances, Traders to the Navajos , Houghton Mifflin, New York, 1934, University of New Mexico Press, 1953 and 1965 (paperback).

  Wetherill, Lulu W. and Cummings, Byron, “A Navaho Folk Tale of Pueblo Bonito,” Art and Archeology , 1922, Vol. XIV, page 132.

  The Mystery of the Lady in Blue

  Close to four hundred years ago, when Spanish explorers and missionaries first entered the Southwest, they found an untamed land, and tribes of unknown people whose baffling culture and way of life they sought to change. They expected to witness the unusual, but even they were not prepared for encounters with Native Americans who already knew of the “white man” and his religion from visits with a beautiful white woman dressed in blue.

  In those olden days, these Spanish explorers and missionaries were the first Europeans who had ever explored the Southwest. They were an aggressive and arrogant group of men who looked upon the desert as a dreary, barren wasteland and the natives as a species of beings less than human. Often they would laugh among themselves, saying that only men such as themselves, and horses could survive in this harsh land; women and dogs would never live long.

  Yet time and again, the journals written by the missionaries during 1629 to 1631 tell of sightings by the Indians of a young, beautiful, white woman dressed in a flowing gown of blue.

  The first written account we have comes from the journal of a Father Alonzo de Benavides. At that time, Fray Alonzo was in charge of several missions in the Southwest. He wrote:

  One day, a strange delegation of Indians came to our mission. I had never seen them before. With the help of our interpreter, the Indians told us that they had come from far over the mountains, from an area our missionaries had never before explored. I asked them what they wanted. They were quite savage-looking, yet when our interpreter explained their request, we were puzzled.

  These strange Indians desired a priest to accompany them and return with them to their village to baptize everyone in their tribe. They also wanted a padre to help them build a church. Suspicious of their motive, I asked them why should they wish this. They answered that they had learned all about our Christian God and wished to worship him. Still very perplexed, I asked them how they had heard of our work here at the mission. “Oh,” they answered, “it was the beautiful, young white lady dressed in a flowing gown of blue. She came to our village and, speaking in our language, told us all about your Christian God. She also told us to come to the mission here.”

  “Well, where did the lady come from?” I asked. “We don’t know,” they answered. “One day she just appeared.” I persisted, “Well, where did she go?” The Indians shook their heads bewildered and said, “She just disappeared.”

  “The Indians remained with us at the mission for several days while we readied a priest to return with them. Among our possessions at the mission was a painting of the sister of one of our men. When the Indians saw the picture, they cried out excitedly, “That is old lady, our lady is very young lady, but she is wearing the same kind of dress.” The woman in the picture was wearing a nun’s habit and was a mother superior of a convent in Spain. This strange experience happened to me once again with a different tribe, yet their story was essentially the same.

  Father Alonzo decided to write to Spain to find out whether the religious authorities were now sending women over as missionaries. After many months, he received a reply stating that no women were being sent to the Southwest. At this time, no women were being sent to the New World for any reason.

  Some years later, a Father Damien Manzanet, who was in charge of a mission near the Texas border, recorded in his journal the following incident. “A chief from a neighboring tribe came to me wanting to trade vegetables and skins for a piece of blue cloth. In the course of our bartering, I a
sked him what he wanted to do with the material. He said, ‘My mother is getting very old and will soon die. When she dies, we want to wrap her in the blue cloth.’ I tried to explain to the chief that he did not want blue but rather black material because black was the color for a shroud. The Indian chief shook his head very upset; he insisted that he wanted blue cloth or none. Puzzled by his determination I asked him, ‘Why?’ He replied that his tribe was fond of the color blue, particularly for burial clothes. ‘Was there a reason for this fondness?’ I asked. ‘Oh yes,’ he answered, ‘many years ago, before I was born, when my mother was a very young girl, a beautiful, young white woman dressed in a flowing gown of blue came down from the hills to our village and, speaking in our language, told us all about your Christian God, baptized us, and helped us build a church. Since that time, we always dress those who die in blue cloth. It is our hope that they will journey to meet the lady once more.’ ”

  An artist's conception of Father Kino (Courtesy Arizona Historical Society Library, Tucson)

  A Frenchman named Saint Dennis wrote in his journal that while visiting the Southwest, he noticed a strange and perplexing custom among the Indians. “Often,” he wrote, “they would ask for blue cloth to bury their dead. Their reason was always the same. A great many years ago, a beautiful woman had come to their village dressed all in blue and, speaking their language, had baptized everyone in the village including the medicine man. So great was the impression she had made that they wanted their dead to enter the next world dressed in blue like the woman.”