ACROSS THE DESERT 95 



it was low, and acting upon the missionary's 

 advice we made the passage in safety, though I 

 barely escaped a ducking in the muddy cur- 

 rent through Shorty's unseemly plunging at a 

 critical point. 



Thence, with no definite trail to follow, we 

 turned down along the east bank of the river, 

 marked by a straggling line of Cottonwood, 

 past pink and gray cliffs which rose to the east- 

 ward, to the old Wolf Crossing where the one- 

 time emigrant trail, now nearly obliterated by 

 great sand drifts, was again resumed. 



A traveler through the Navajo country does 

 not long go unobserved by its dusky dwellers. 

 We had unpacked on a sandy promontory for 

 the night. Our horses were hobbled and 

 turned adrift, our supper cooked over a fire 

 which a single friendly stick of driftwood had 

 supplied, and we were sitting down to eat when 

 the silence was broken by the whoops and 

 shrieks of an approaching Indian. It was quite 

 dark at this time and we could see nothing be- 

 yond the circle illumined by our little blaze, 

 but presently the Indian rode up, reined his 

 pony to a stop within the fire glow, exclaimed 

 "Huh!" and sat silent and stiff as a statue. 

 John, who was dishing some stew, did not raise 

 his eyes, but remarked: 



