the huge base of cliff that supported the arch. Shefford selected a
level place for camp, some few rods away, and here, with Lassiter,
unsaddled and unpacked the lame, drooping mustangs. When this was done
twilight had fallen. Nas Ta Bega appeared, coming down the steep slope
on this side of the bridge. Then Shefford divined why the Navajo had
made that arduous climb. He would not go under the bridge. Nonnezoshe
was a Navajo god. And Nas Ta Bega, though educated as a white man, was
true to the superstition of his ancestors.

Nas Ta Bega turned the mustangs loose to fare for what scant grass grew
on bench and slope. Firewood was even harder to find than grass. When
the camp duties had been performed and the simple meal eaten there was
gloom gathering in the canyon and the stars had begun to blink in the
pale strip of blue above the lofty walls. The place was oppressive and
the fugitives mostly silent. Shefford spread a bed of blankets for
the women, and Jane at once lay wearily down. Fay stood beside the
flickering fire, and Shefford felt her watching him. He was conscious of
a desire to get away from her haunting gaze. To the gentle good-night he
bade her she made no response.

Shefford moved away into a strange dark shadow cast by the bridge
against the pale starlight. It was a weird, black belt, where he
imagined he was invisible, but out of which he could see. There was a
slab of rock near the foot of the bridge, and here Shefford composed
himself to watch, to feel, to think the unknown thing that seemed to be
inevitably coming to him.

A slight stiffening of his neck made him aware that he had been
continually looking up at the looming arch. And he found that insensibly
it had changed and grown. It had never seemed the same any two moments,
but that was not what he meant. Near at hand it was too vast a thing for
immediate comprehension. He wanted to ponder on what had formed it--to
reflect upon its meaning as to age and force of nature, yet all he could
do at each moment was to see. White stars hung along the dark curved
line. The rim of the arch seemed to shine. The moon must be up there
somewhere. The far side of the canyon was now a blank, black wall. Over
its towering rim showed a pale glow. It brightened. The shades in the
canyon lightened, then a white disk of moon peered over the dark line.
The bridge turned to silver, and the gloomy, shadowy belt it had cast
blanched and vanished.

Shefford became awar