t for your eyes!"

Naab had not ceased speaking when Hare saw that the train of Indians
trailing down the slope was enveloped in red clouds. Then the white
wagons disappeared. Soon he was struck in the back by a gust which
justified Naab's warning. It swept by; the air grew clear again; once
more he could see. But presently a puff, taking him unawares, filled his
eyes with dust difficult of removal. Whereupon he turned his back to the
wind.

The afternoon grew apace; the sun glistened on the white patches of
Coconina Mountain; it set; and the wind died.

"Five miles of red sand," said Naab. "Here's what kills the horses.
Getup."

There was no trail. All before was red sand, hollows, slopes, levels,
dunes, in which the horses sank above their fetlocks. The wheels
ploughed deep, and little red streams trailed down from the tires. Naab
trudged on foot with the reins in his hands. Hare essayed to walk also,
soon tired, and floundered behind till Naab ordered him to ride again.
Twilight came with the horses still toiling.

"There! thankful I am when we get off that strip! But, Jack, that
trailless waste prevents a night raid on my home. Even the Navajos shun
it after dark. We'll be home soon. There's my sign. See? Night or day we
call it the Blue Star."

High in the black cliff a star-shaped, wind-worn hole let the blue sky
through.

There was cheer in Naab's "Getup," now, and the horses quickened
with it. Their iron-shod hoofs struck fire from the rosy road. "Easy,
easy--soho!" cried Naab to his steeds. In the pitchy blackness under the
shelving cliff they picked their way cautiously, and turned a corner.
Lights twinkled in Hare's sight, a fresh breeze, coming from water,
dampened his cheek, and a hollow rumble, a long roll as of distant
thunder, filled his ears.

"What's that?" he asked.

"That, my lad, is what I always love to hear. It means I'm home. It's
the roar of the Colorado as she takes her first plunge into the Canyon."

IV. THE OASIS

AUGUST NAAB'S oasis was an oval valley, level as a floor, green with
leaf and white with blossom, enclosed by a circle of colossal cliffs of
vivid vermilion hue. At its western curve the Colorado River split the
red walls from north to south. When the wind was west a sullen roar,
remote as of some far-off driving mill, filled the valley; when it
was east a dreamy hollow hum, a somnolent song, murmured through the
cottonwoods; when no wind stirred, silence reig