The Mystery in Arizona

struck a rich vein of gold or silver. In slang, it simply means anything yielding a large return of money.”
    “Which thing,” Trixie said emphatically, “I definitely am not. I have exactly two dollars—a dollar a week to use for spending money. Period. Full stop, Mart.”
    Just then the pretty Apache stewardess began to serve lunch. Mart let out a yelp.
    “Roast turkey with stuffing and candied sweet potatoes, as I sniff and die!”
    “A sniff,” said Babs cheerily, “is all you’re going to get for quite a while. I am going to serve Mr. Lynch now, and then the girls. The boys get their trays last.”
    “You’re not a true Apache squaw,” Mart groaned. “If this were a wickiup or hogan, the womenfolk would have to wait to eat until we menfolk were through.”
    Babs, on her way back to the galley for two more trays, stopped to pat his freckled cheek. “Howl In this heap big flying wigwam it’s ladies first. In fact, with my people it always has been ladies first. We who do the cooking must always taste, must we not?” She narrowed her dark eyes, laughing softly.
    “One can do a great deal of tasting before one pronounces the meal ready for heap big braves!”
    Mart collapsed, his face flaming. “I never thought about that angle,” he admitted gruffly. “The average squaw probably had already consumed a full meal before she yelled ‘Come and get it.’ ”
    “You have a lot to learn,” said Trixie complacently when the girls started to eat. “Most Indians had a great deal of respect for their women, especially the grandmothers. Navaho women were mistresses of their homes—are, I should say, because they still contribute a lot of money to the family income. They make rugs and jewelry and grow com, and they own the herds of sheep and goats.”
    “How and where did you pick up all that knowledge?” Mart demanded suspiciously. “Sounds to me as though it came right straight out of a tourist’s guidebook.”
    Trixie tossed her blond curls. “You probably don’t know, either, that Navaho husbands are terrified of their mothers-in-law. In fact, they never meet face to face if they can possibly avoid it, because it is believed that if they should look at each other, one or both of them will become blind or wither away.” Mart started to laugh, but Babs, bringing the boys’ trays, joined in the conversation then. “Trixie is right. Navaho women are greatly respected by their men. At the squaw dances the girls choose their own partners, and, when they marry, young couples live with the wife’s family in a nearby hogan.”
    She shook her head, smiling faintly. “In Navaho-land there is no such thing as a dependent woman. When the widowed grandmother becomes aged, a healthy young boy or girl is given to her so that she will receive proper care and affection until she joins her ancestors.”
    Everyone, even the boys, listened attentively as she continued in her soft, low voice. “Contrary to general belief, Indian marriages are not arranged by the parents. A girl may remain unmarried all of her life, if she chooses, without receiving any criticism whatsoever. But both Navaho and Apache girls have coming-out parties. I made what you might call my debut at the ceremony of the Big Wickiup, which lasts for three days. You can imagine how much it cost my father to provide food for many guests during all that time. But he has never once scolded me for deciding to have a career instead of getting married.
    Mr. Lynch, from his seat across the aisle, laughed. “You’re still too young to be considered an old maid, Miss Slater,” he said.
    Smiling, Babs took his tray and went back to the galley for dessert and coffee.
    When they had all finished lunch, Brian said sternly to Trixie, “Study hall is that empty seat way up in front. Come on. We’re going to do fractions and then more fractions. By the time we land in
    Tucson, you should be able to reduce at least a few of the more simple fractions to the lowest common denominator.”
    Trixie groaned. “I’d like to reduce you to the lowest speck of dust on earth.” But she meekly followed him up the aisle and studied hard until the plane circled above Tucson and came down to land at the Municipal Airport.
    “Welcome to the Sunshine City!” Di’s uncle called to them as they followed the crowd into the waiting room. Mr. Wilson was not much taller than Jim, but he was so thin that he looked much taller. Like his sister, Di’s mother, he had very