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killed and eaten his horse. Crazed with thirst, he will pounce upon the first barrel cactus he sees, cut off the top, and drink the liquid he squeezes from the pulp. As they always say in Spanish, he is el hombre loco, ‘the crazy guy.’ ”
    “No, no,” Mart argued, “I am merely a cacto-maniac. For the simple reason that I promised my English teacher that I would write an erudite article on that extremely fascinating subject.”
    “That reminds me,” Brian broke in. “I couldn’t help overhearing some of the interesting things our stewardess was telling you girls a while ago. Don’t you think you’d better make some notes for your theme, Trix? The sooner you get going on it, the sooner Jim and I can start correcting your grammatical errors.”
    Trixie turned around to glare at him. “How do you know I’m going to make any grammatical errors? And in case you’re interested, I’ve already done enough research so I can write reams and reams about the Navahos any time I feel like it.”
    Mart shook his forefinger under her pert nose. “A slight exaggeration, to put it mildly. Why, little one, must you always pick subjects about which you know nothing?”
    Trixie sniffed. “You don’t know much about cactus. I’ll have you know that those yucca hearts which you crave have to be baked between heated rocks for three days. Apache women may have hovered over a hot stove for that length of time, but no woman in this day and age would think of such a thing.”
    Mart shrugged. “If you know so much about Apaches, why did you pick Navahos? However, I am very well informed on the subject, so you feel free to seek my advice at any time when I am at leisure. For the small fee of a dollar an hour, that is.
    Trixie snorted with disgust. “Go find another bonanza.”
    “A what?” Di demanded curiously. “Are you talking about some of those awful lizards?”
    Mart chuckled. “A bonanza is nothing for you to be afraid of, Di. If you were a miner and found one, it would mean that you had 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