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.

The two domed peaks split the sky, and back of them, looming dark and shadowy, rose the mountain. There was something cold, austere, and majestic in their lofty presence, and they made him feel alone, yet not alone. He raised himself to see the quiet forms of Withers and Nas Ta Bega prone in the starlight, and their slow, deep breathing was that of tired men.

"Shore he means somethin' big," drawled Lassiter. "Oh, what did he say?" queried Fay in eagerness. "Nas Ta Bega, tell us," said Shefford. "We are full of hope." "Grand Canyon," replied the Indian. "How do you know?" asked Shefford. "I hear the roar of the river." But Shefford, listen as he might, could not hear it. They traveled on, winding down the wonderful lane.

Shefford recognized him as the brave who had been in love with Glen Naspa. The moment Nas Ta Bega saw this visitor he made a singular motion with his hands a motion that somehow to Shefford suggested despair and then he waited, somber and statuesque, for the messenger to come to him. It was the Piute who did all the talking, and that was brief.

Gone despite the fact that Nas Ta Bega had reported every trail free of watchers! There was no sign of any spies, cowboys, outlaws, or Indians in the vicinity of the valley. A passionate gratitude to the Mormon overcame Shefford; and the unreasonableness of it, the nature of it, perturbed him greatly.

Still Shefford began to worry, and finally dropped back to question Nas Ta Bega. "Bi Nai, she has the eye of a Navajo," replied the Indian. "Look! Iron-shod horses have passed here. See the marks in the stone?" Shefford indeed made out faint cut tracks that would have escaped his own sight. They had been made long ago, but they were unmistakable.

When Shefford was ready to go in Nas Ta Bega extended his hand. "Good-by Bi Nai!" he said, strangely, using English and Navajo in what Shefford supposed to be merely good night. The starlight shone full upon the dark, inscrutable face of the Indian. Shefford bade him good night and then watched him stride away in the silver gloom. But next morning Shefford understood.

Well, it doesn't matter. He won't tell. He can hardly be made to use an English word. Besides, he's a noble red man, if there ever was one. He has been a friend in need to me. If you stay long out here you'll learn something from the Indians. Nas Ta Bega has befriended you, too, it seems. I thought he showed unusual interest in you."

Withers talked about the canyon, the Indians, the mustangs, the scorpions running out of the heated sand; and to Shefford it was all like a fascinating book. Nas Ta Bega smoked in silence, his brooding eyes upon the fire. Shefford was awakened next morning by a sound he had never heard before the plunging of hobbled horses on soft turf.

It was astonishing how much action they had, how much ground they could cover with their forefeet hobbled together. They were exceedingly skilful; they lifted both forefeet at once, and then plunged. And they all went in different directions. Nas Ta Bega darted in here and there to head off escape. Shefford pulled on his boots and went out to help.