north, remained level and green. Beyond rose the jagged range of
red peaks, all strangely cut and slanting. These distant deceiving
features of the country held Shefford's gaze until the Indian drew
his attention to things near at hand. Then Shefford saw flocks of
sheep dotting the gray-green valley, and bands of beautiful long-
maned, long-tailed ponies.

For several miles the scene did not change except that Shefford
imagined he came to see where the upland plain ended or at least
broke its level. 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.
Then close under the foot of the slope he espied two squat stone
houses with red roofs, and a corral with a pool of water shining
in the sun.

The trail leading down was steep and sandy, but it was not long.
Shefford's sweeping eyes appeared to take in everything at once--the
crude stone structures with their earthen roofs, the piles of dirty
wool, the Indians lolling around, the tents, and wagons, and horses,
little lazy burros and dogs, and scattered everywhere saddles,
blankets, guns, and packs.

Then a white man came out of the door. He waved a hand and shouted.
Dust and wool and flour were thick upon him. He was muscular and