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Updated: June 5, 2025
To try to take the three out by way of Kayenta and Durango was not to be thought of, for reasons he briefly stated. The Red Lake trail was the only one left, and if that were taken the chances were against Shefford. It was five days over sand to Red Lake impossible to hide a trail and even with a day's start Shefford could not escape the hard-riding men who would come from Stonebridge.
You may be days going down and waiting for me at the mouth of the canyon, at the river." "Joe! Where will you be?" "I'll ride like hell for Kayenta, get another horse there, and ride like hell for the San Juan River. There's a big flatboat at the Durango crossing. I'll go down the San Juan in that into the big river.
After three trips to Marsh Pass and Kayenta with my old guide, Al Doyle of Flagstaff, I finally succeeded in getting Wetherill to take me in to Nonnezoshe. This was in the spring of 1913 and my party was the second one, not scientific, to make the trip. Later this same year Wetherill took in the Roosevelt party and after that the Kolb brothers.
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.
In despair he had to face the hardest task that could have been given him to take care of a crippled Indian, catch, water, feed, harness, and drive four wild mustangs that did not know him and tried to kill him at every turn, and to get that precious load of supplies home to Kayenta. That he accomplished it proved to hint the possibilities of a man, for both endurance and patience.
That deep and mystic chord in Shefford thrilled. Here it was again something tangible at the bottom of his dream. Withers did not wait for Shefford to say any more, and almost as if he read his visitor's mind he began to talk about the wild country he called home. He had lived at Kayenta for several years hard and profitless years by reason of marauding outlaws.
The gray searching eyes went right through him. "Glad to see you. Get down and come in. Just heard from an Indian that you were coming. I'm the trader Withers," he said to Shefford. His voice was welcoming and the grip of his hand made Shefford's ache. Shefford told his name and said he was as glad as he was lucky to arrive at Kayenta. "Hello! Nas Ta Bega!" exclaimed Withers.
He was right, for presently the Indian pointed, and Shefford went on to halt upon the edge of a steep slope leading down into a valley vast in its barren gray reaches. "Kayenta," said Nas Ta Bega. Shefford at first saw nothing except the monotonous gray valley reaching far to the strange, grotesque monuments of yellow cliff.
The desert beyond Kayenta spread out impressively, bare red flats and plains of sage leading to the rugged vividly-colored and wind-sculptured sandstone heights typical of the Painted Desert of Arizona.
Upon another he went through a sand-storm in the open desert, facing it for forty miles and keeping to the trail; When he rode in to Kayenta that night the trader, in grim praise, said there was no worse to endure. At Monticello Shefford stood off a band of desperadoes, and this time Shefford experienced a strange, sickening shock in the wounding of a man.
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