exhilaration. The whipping air made him stretch his hands to the fire.
An odor of coffee and broiled meat mingled with the fragrance of wood
smoke. Glen Naspa was on her knees broiling a rabbit on a stick
over the red coals. Nas Ta Bega was saddling the ponies. The canyon
appeared to be full of purple shadows under one side of dark cliffs
and golden streaks of mist on the other where the sun struck high up
on the walls.

"Good morning," said Shefford.

Glen Naspa shyly replied in Navajo.

"How," was Nas Ta Bega's greeting.

In daylight the Indian lost some of the dark somberness of face that
had impressed Shefford. He had a noble head, in poise like that of
an eagle, a bold, clean-cut profile, and stern, close-shut lips. His
eyes were the most striking and attractive feature about him; they
were coal-black and piercing; the intent look out of them seemed to
come from a keen and inquisitive mind.

Shefford ate breakfast with the Indians, and then helped with the few
preparations for departure. Before they mounted, Nas Ta Bega pointed
to horse tracks in the dust. They were those that had been made by
Shefford's threatening visitor of the night before. Shefford explained
by word and sign, and succeeded at least in showing that he had been
in danger. Nas Ta Bega followed the tracks a little way and presently
returned.

"Shadd," he said, with an ominous shake of his head. Shefford did not