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If Nas Ta Bega led them safely down to the river, if Joe Lake met them at the mouth of Nonnezoshe Boco, if they survived the rapids of that terrible gorge, then Shefford would have to face his soul and the meaning of this spirit that breathed on the wind.
I imagine it'd be worth some trouble." "Maybe that's the bridge Venters talked about the one overarching the entrance to Surprise Valley," Said Shefford. "It might be," replied the trader. "You've got a good chance of finding out. Nas Ta Bega is the man. You stick to that Indian. ... Well, we start down here into this canyon, and we go down some, I reckon.
The Indian had taken him for a missionary. "No!... Me no missionary," cried Shefford, and he flung up a passionately repudiating hand. A singular flash shot from the Indian's dark eyes. It struck Shefford even at this stinging moment when the past came back. "Trade buy wool blanket?" queried Nas Ta Bega. "No," replied Shefford. "Me want ride walk far."
"Shoot, shoot, shoot, lot time, an' no shoot nuffum to eat. Pomp dreffle hungly." "There's plenty of bread," I said, smiling at the boy's utter unconcern about our position of peril. "Yah, 'tuff! Nas' 'tuff. Pomp too dreffle hungly eat any more bread. Why no go now and kill all Injum? Pomp fine de way."
There are hours enough for both, and rest time, too, unless the housekeeper or maid be cut after the pattern of Chaucer's Sergeant of the Law: "Nowher so bisy a man as he ther nas, And yet he semed bisier than he was." Wash day is always somewhat of an ordeal, and a long pull, a strong pull, and a pull all together is necessary to carry it successfully through.
Oh, I shall be torn one way and another.... But, John, I daren't run away. I will not tell you where to find Lassiter and Mother Jane." "I shall find them I have the Indian. He found you for me. Nas Ta Bega will find Surprise Valley." "Nas Ta Bega!... Oh, I remember. There was an Indian with the Mormons who found us. But he was a Piute." "Nas Ta Bega never told me how he learned about you.
This morning Nas Ta Bega proceeded leisurely, and his manner was comforting. When all was in readiness for a start he gave the mustang he had ridden to Shefford, and walked, leading the pack-animal. The mode of travel here was a selection of the best levels, the best places to cross the brook, the best banks to climb, and it was a process of continual repetition.
"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!
Yes, we saw him. There! He's still with his gang. Nas Ta Bega, what are they up to?" "They will steal what they can." "Withers says Shadd is friendly with the Mormons." "Yes, and with the missionary, too." "With Willetts?" "I saw them talk together strong talk." "Strange. But maybe it's not so strange. Shadd is known well in Monticello and Bluff. He spends money there.
To the right a red canyon opened its jagged jaws, and away to the north rose a whorled and strange sea of curved ridges, crags, and domes. Nas Ta Bega rode up then, leading the pack-train. "Bi Nai, that is Na-tsis-an," he said, pointing to the mountain. "Navajo Mountain. And there in the north are the canyon."
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