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Glen Naspa has gone to her grave, and no sisters, no children, will make paths to the place of her sleep. Nas Ta Bega will never have a wife a child. He sees the end. It is the sunset of the Navajo.... Bi Nai, the Navajo is dying dying dying!" A crescent moon hung above the lofty peak over the valley and a train of white stars ran along the bold rim of the western wall.
Then he spread a goat-skin on the ground, lay down upon it, with his back to the fire, and, pulling a long-haired saddle-blanket over his shoulders, he relaxed and became motionless. His sister, Glen Naspa, did likewise, except that she stayed farther away from the fire, and she had a larger blanket, which covered her well. It appeared to Shefford that they went to sleep at once.
The desert had certainly not made him flint. He had not toiled or suffered or fought. "But I can hurt you," thundered Shefford, with startling suddenness. "Here! Look at this Indian! Do you know him? Glen Naspa's brother. Look at him. Let us see you face him while I accuse you.... You made love to Glen Naspa took her from her home!" "Harping infidel!" replied Willetts, hoarsely.
His duty in the matter, of course, was to tell Nas Ta Bega what he had seen. Upon reflection Shefford decided to give the missionary the benefit of a doubt; and if he really cared for the Indian girl, and admitted or betrayed it, to think all the better of him for the fact. Glen Naspa was certainly pretty enough, and probably lovable enough, to please any lonely man in this desert.
Shefford did not understand whether he meant the name of his visitor or something else, but the menace connected with the word was clear enough. Glen Naspa mounted her pony, and it was a graceful action that pleased Shefford. He climbed a little stiffly into his own saddle. Then Nas Ta Bega got up and pointed northward. "Kayenta?" he inquired.
At his feet crouched the old woman, Hosteen Doetin's wife, and beside her, prone and quiet, half covered with a blanket, lay Glen Naspa. She was dead. To Shefford she seemed older than when he had last seen her. And she was beautiful. Calm, cold, dark, with only bitter lips to give the lie to peace! There was a story in those lips.
"But if old Hosteen Doetin objects to the girl leaving, and if Nas Ta Bega does the same, won't that end the matter?" "Reckon not. The end of the matter is Glen Naspa. If she wants to go she'll go." Shefford thought best to drop the discussion. For the first time he had occasion to be repelled by something in this kind and genial Mormon, and he wanted to forget it.
The face of the missionary turned purple as Shefford forced his head back over the rail. "I'll kill you, man," repeated Shefford, piercingly. "Do you want to go to your God unprepared? Say you made love to Glen Naspa tell that you persuaded her to leave her home. Quick!" Willetts raised a shaking hand and then Shefford relaxed the paralyzing grip and let his head come forward.
"That's a matter of opinion. But don't let's argue.... Willetts is after Glen Naspa. And if I know Indian girls he'll persuade her to go to his school." "Persuade her!" Then Shefford broke off and related the incident that had occurred at Red Lake. "Reckon any means justifies the end," replied Joe, imperturbably.
I heard of Willetts before Withers spoke of him. He's friendly with Mormons. I understand he's worked for Mormon interests, someway or other. That's on the quiet. Savvy? This matter of him coming after Glen Naspa, reckon that's all right. The missionaries all go after the young people. What'd be the use to try to convert the old Indians?
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