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Updated: June 28, 2025
But when I gazed across that sublime and majestic wilderness, in which the Grand Canyon was only a dim line, I strangely lost my terror and something came to me across the shining spaces. Then Nas ta Bega and Wetherill began the descent of the slope, and the rest of us followed. No sign of a trail showed where the base of the slope rolled out to meet the green plain.
He saw standing before him a Spaniard wrapped in a cloak, who fixed on him the same burning gaze that he had seen through the bushes. "Bega shouted out, 'Help, help, come at once, friends! But the Spaniard answered his cry of distress with a bitter laugh. 'Opium grows for all! said he.
"Having thus pronounced sentence as it were, the stranger pointed to the three other men sleeping soundly, took from under his cloak the arm of a woman, freshly amputated, and held it out to Bega, pointing to a mole like that he had so rashly described. 'Is it the same? he asked.
"Is it because of of Glen Naspa?" inquired Shefford. Nas Ta Bega stalked on, still silent, but Shefford divined that, although his service to Glen Naspa would never be forgotten, still it was not wholly responsible for the Indian's subtle sympathy. "Bi Nai!
I don't know about that, but I say take the Indian as he thinks he is your brother. Long before I knew Nas Ta Bega well my wife used to tell me about him. He's a sage and a poet the very spirit of this desert. He's worth cultivating for his own sake. But more remember, if Fay Larkin is still shut in that valley the Navajo will find her for you."
Shefford followed the Indian down the trail and soon lost sight of that wide green-and-red wilderness. Nas Ta Bega turned at an intersecting trail, rode down into the canyon, and climbed out on the other side. Shefford got a glimpse now and then of the black dome of the mountain, but for the most part the distant points of the country were hidden.
He got too close to the gray mare and, warned by a yell from Withers, he jumped back just in time to avoid her vicious heels. Then Shefford turned his attention to Nack-yal and chased him all over the flat in a futile effort to catch him. Nas Ta Bega came to Shefford's assistance and put a rope over Nack-yal's head.
He waved his hand to indicate a wide sweep of territory. "Me sick." Nas Ta Bega laid a significant finger upon his lungs. "No," replied Shefford. "Me strong. Sick here." And with motions of his hands he tried to show that his was a trouble of the heart. Shefford received instant impression of this Indian's intelligent comprehension, but he could not tell just what had given him the feeling.
It was a narrow slant of ledge, doubling back parallel with the course already traversed. A sharp warning cry from Nas Ta Bega scarcely prepared Shefford for hoarse yells, and then a rattling rifle-volley from the top of the slope opposite. Bullets thudded on the cliff, whipped up red dust, and spanged and droned away. Fay Larkin screamed and staggered back against the wall.
By the light of the lantern the man had set on the bed, Bega recognized the arm, and his speechless amazement was answer enough. "Without waiting for further information, the lady's husband stabbed him to the heart." "You must tell that to the marines!" said Lousteau. "It needs their robust faith to swallow it! Can you tell me which told the tale, the dead man or the Spaniard?"
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