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Updated: June 29, 2025
The Indian and the trader and the Mormon all meant more to him this morning. He had grown a little overnight. Nas Ta Bega's deep "Bi Nai" rang in his ears, and the smiles of Withers and Joe were greetings. He had friends; he had work; and there was rich, strange, and helpful life to live. There was even a difference in the mustang Nack-yal.
Joe Lake came to Shefford and said, "Withers told me you had a mix-up with a missionary at Red Lake." "Yes, I regret to say," replied Shefford. "About Glen Naspa?" "Yes, Nas Ta Bega's sister." "Withers just mentioned it. Who was the missionary?" "Willetts, so Presbrey, the trader, said." "What'd he look like?"
When he raised them again the Indian stood on a point of slope with folded arms, gazing down where the canyon veered. Something in Nas Ta Bega's pose quickened Shefford's pulse and then his steps. He reached the Indian and the point where he, too, could see beyond that vast jutting wall that had obstructed his view.
He wondered if that were so with Nas Ta Bega's religion, and he meant to find out some day. The women he liked best he imagined the least religious, and they made less effort to attract him. Every night in the dark he went to Mary's home and sat with her on the porch. He never went inside. For all he knew, his visits were unknown to her neighbors. Still, it did not matter to him if they found out.
"Where're Fay and the others?" The Indian made a gesture that signified the rest of the party were beyond a little way. Shefford took Nas Ta Bega's arm, and as they walked, and he panted for breath, he told what had happened back on the slopes. The Indian made one of his singular speaking sweeps of hand, and he scrutinized Shefford's face, but he received the news in silence.
Come far way back toward rising sun. Come stay here long." Nas Ta Bega's dark eyes were fixed steadily upon Shefford. He reflected that he could not remember having felt so penetrating a gaze. But neither the Indian's eyes nor face gave any clue to his thoughts. "Navajo no savvy Jesus Christ," said the Indian, and his voice rolled out low and deep. Shefford felt both amaze and pain.
Nas Ta Bega's arrival had frightened away that dark and silent prowler of the night; and Shefford was convinced the Indian had saved his life. The measure of his gratitude was a source of wonder to him. Had he cared so much for life? Yes he had, when face to face with death. That was something to know. It helped him.
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