But the Chief calmly informed me that they were "heavy
enough." I presume he should know, having helped to carry them down that
twelve-mile trail. Pride alone prevented me from turning and fleeing
back up that steep trail like a fly up a wall. I looked at White
Mountain. He was riding serenely on, never doubting my close attendance
at his horse's heels. I told myself that I had undoubtedly reached a
bridge that _had_ to be crossed, and so I spoke firmly, or as firmly as
possible under the circumstances, to Supai Bob. No results. Bob was as
unresponsive as any other Indian when he doesn't want to "savvy." I
coaxed, I pulled, I pushed. I spanked with a board. Bob was not
interested in what was across the river. Then and there I formed a high
regard for that pony's sound judgment and will-power. At last the Chief
looked back and saw my predicament. He turned his horse loose to
continue across alone and came back over the wildly swaying bridge to
me.

"What's the matter?"

Just as if he couldn't well see! I glared at him and he grinned.

"Why don't you talk to him in Supai language?"

"Speak to him yourself," I snapped and stalked out on that heaving
horror. I never learned the details of the conversation, but a clatter
of hoofs sounded behind me and Bob anchored his nose against my
shoulder, there to remain until terra firma was regained. I worried all
the rest of the way over and back about having to get him across again,
but returning, he walked on to the bridge as if crossing it were his
life work.

On the north end of the bridge where the cables are anchored is a
labyrinth of trails crossing and recrossing. The Chief explained that
Bright Angel, the little wild burro, had made those at a time when high
water had marooned him on that small area. While the bridge was being
built he hung around constantly, and when it was completed he was the
first animal allowed to cross it. I wonder what he thought of the
promised land he had gazed at so longingly for years. Poor Brighty fell
a victim to a tramp who refused to listen to advice, and crossed to the
North Rim after the snows had come. Perhaps he had reasons for hiding
away, but he took little Brighty from his winter home in the bottom of
the Canyon to carry his pack for him. After being snowed in for several
weeks in a cattle cabin several miles back from the Rim, Brighty died of
starvation and was eaten by the man. Brighty had plenty of friends that
miss him when th