On a windswept mesa high above the baked Arizona desert, Hopi Indians gathered last week to appease their gods. Below them were two lesser mesas where parched yellow cornstalks rustled in the dry breeze. Above them, a cloudless sky. Across the dusty desert road and up the steep ascent to the topmost mesa went scores of automobiles packed with curious white men & women. Their interest in the famed Hopi Snake Dance was whetted by the sound of muffled drum beats as they neared the grey mud-&-stone village of Hotevilla. But the...
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