Some of them prepared to sleep. Visitors dropped in; more coffee was made. Slim Girl drew apart, into the darkness, and rolled up. Over there, a chink of light showed in the blanketed door of a big, earth-covered winter hogan. Singing came out of it, rollicking, running songs. They were gambling there; Laughing Boy would soon be penniless. She smiled at the thought of him and his stubbornness. The bushes rustled faintly. From where she lay, she could see a clump of yucca in a fixed pattern against the sky. The voices by the fire became distant. The stars stooped near.
“In beauty it is begun. In beauty it is begun. Thanks.”
VI
I
At first light, before dawn, the desert is intimate, and each man feels the presence of others as an intrusion. Blinding colour has not supplanted soft greys, uncertain forms; cliffs harsh by daylight, and thunderous-walled canyons loom soft with wells of coolness. The east is white—mother-of-pearl—the world is secret to each one’s self.
Slim Girl, sitting apart, watching the slow increase of visible forms, looked towards the gambling hogan. She heard them announce sunrise with the Magpie Song, and, after the last ringing “It dawns, it dawns,” saw the straight dark forms coming out, moving away; some alone, some together talking, their voices intruding upon the hushed world.
She rose to intercept the path of one. He stood before her, answering her smile with a smile, tall and straight and shameless as he let his blanket fall to show—no silver belt, no jewelry, only the lucky bow-guard on his left wrist.
“Take this bow-guard, now, to keep. By first cold moon you will hear from me again. My uncles will look for you, or I shall.”
“So they won everything?”
“Everything.”
“Horse, belt, money?”
“Horse, belt, money. I go to T’o Tlakai to make silver.”
“You were foolish.”
“What else could I have done? And it was fine play! I was happy. We sang, all night we sang. We made new songs about ourselves. Now I must work.”
She was prepared for this. “You are not a man yet, I think.”
That gave him a start. “Why do you say that? That is not a good thing to say.” Losing the goods meant little, but if losing them meant losing her, the world was a loom of lies.
“You are like a child. You are happy now, so you forget what you wanted before.”
“What thing?”
“Where is the love-song now? ‘Now my horse will not go / From your valley, a-a-a,’ ” she sang.
“I tell you, I have nothing now. I have not even a horse. Nothing.” He struck his right hand across his left in emphatic gesture.
“I tell you, you do not have to pay for me. I have no mother. If you come, you must come now.”
“I am a man. I cannot come to you with nothing. I cannot let you buy me.”
“Look at me.” She shook herself so that her jewelry clanked. He heard the sound, but his eyes were upon hers. The east was banded with orange, red, and purple. “Look at me.” Her eyes were long and narrow, and deep enough to absorb a man. “I am rich. I shall give you silver and turquoise to work, horses to breed, till you too are rich. Must I tell you twice?” Her eyes were more beautiful than springs among the rocks. “You have spoken to your uncle; you know what he said. Your mother will give you no sheep, no horses for me. If you want to come with me, come now. I cannot wait until first cold moon. You cannot cache me in a tree until you are ready for me. You have your manhood and your weapons; if you are not good enough with them, nothing can make you good enough. Come now.”
He was a long time answering, searching and searching her eyes. At last, “It is good. Get your horse.”
She thought she had stood for twenty years with a rifle pointed at her breast. Her face did not change; she walked away slowly. He saw that full day lay golden along the tops of the cliffs, and the sky was brilliant; from the camps he heard the noise of departure, bustle and low voices and laughter that to an American would have seemed furtive.
I am like Natinesthani and the magician’s daughter,
he thought, but I have no sacred tobacco. I have just myself and my bow. I wonder what medicine will she give me? I shall make a bracelet that is like her walking; she is silver strong as iron. When I have horses again, we must both come back to T’o Tlakai. There is good water in Tseya Kien canyon, that is the place for our hogan.
He rolled a cigarette. The freshness would leave the air soon. Already he felt tired.
She rode as well as she danced or walked. Her pinto pony tossed its head, working against her light touch on the reins, ringing the tinklers on its bridle. That girl on that horse—ei-yei! Reaching him, she smiled, and he forgot his fatigue. He walked tall and proud beside her, one hand on her stirrup, not caring who might see.
II
Red Man sought out Wounded Face where he stood at his pony’s head, talking to Killed a Navajo. Despite a certain
