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It was nearly sunset when we reached the mouth of the Red River, nineteen miles above Grand Lake, where it flows into the Nascaupee from the west. This is a wide, shallow stream whose red- brown waters were quite in contrast to the clear waters of the Nas- caupee.
Should life be spared to me, I may collect into systematic form such knowledge as I acquired of this language during my sojourn amongst the Vril-ya. Ek is strife Glek, the universal strife. Nas, as I before said, is corruption or rot; thus, Glek-Nas may be construed, "the universal strife-rot."
But, Bi Nai, the half-breed has a strange step on your trail." "What do you mean?" demanded Shefford. "Nas Ta Bega cannot tell what he does not know," replied the Navajo. "Let that be. We shall know some day. Bi Nai, there is sorrow to tell that is not the Indian's.... Sorrow for my brother!" Shefford lifted his eyes to the Indian's, and if he did not see sadness there he was much deceived.
"You didn't believe in the God of the Bible.... Well, I've been in the desert long enough to know there IS a God, but probably not the one your Church worships. ... Shefford, go to the Navajo for a faith!" Shefford had forgotten the presence of Nas Ta Bega, and perhaps Withers had likewise.
The home of Nas Ta Bega lay far up the cedared slope, with the craggy yellow cliffs and the black canyon and the pine-fringed top of Navajo Mountain behind, and to the fore the vast, rolling descent of cedar groves and sage flats and sandy washes. No dim, dark range made bold outline along the horizon; the stretch of gray and purple and green extended to the blue line of sky.
He'll come back here, and when you both feel like leaving, and if Nas Ta Bega thinks it safe, you'll take a trail over to some Indian hogans and pack me out a load of skins and blankets.... My boy, you've all the time there is, and I wish you luck. This isn't a bad place to loaf. I always get sentimental over here. Maybe it's the women.
Withers and Joe shook hands with the Indian, whom Joe called "Navvy," and Shefford lost no time in doing likewise. Then Nas Ta Bega came in, and he and the Navajo talked. When the meal was ready all of them sat down round the canvas. The shepherd did not tie his horse. Presently Shefford noticed that Nack-yal had returned to camp and was acting strangely.
Here the Indian waited for them. He pointed down another long swell of naked stone to a narrow green split which was evidently different from all these curved pits and holes and abysses, for this one had straight walls and wound away out of sight. It was the head of a canyon. "Nonnezoshe Boco!" said the Indian. "Nas Ta Bega, go on!" replied Shefford.
Shefford hardly knew how to take this likable Mormon, but vowed he would be on his guard in the future. Nas Ta Bega soon led the pack-train toward the left wall of the canyon, and evidently intended to scale it. Shefford could not see any trail, and the wall appeared steep and insurmountable.
In a few moments the whole band was strung out in sight. Nas Ta Bega kept his mustang at a steady walk, in spite of the gaining pursuers. There came a point, however, when the Indian, reaching comparatively level ground, put his mount to a swinging canter. The other mustangs broke into the same gait.
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