With a mighty effort she pulled on the tightly gathered reins and fairly lifted her horse up the bank of the hollow. His hoofs slipped in the shifting sand, but at last he stumbled up to the edge. Here, for a sickening moment, he tottered uncertainly in the blast of the simoon. Joan leaned far over his neck and commanded. He obeyed. In another minute he was galloping at the end of the line of horses which was now turning to the left to the mass of rock.
No one had missed Joan, as the heavy sheets of wind-driven sand had been so persistent that each rider was fully occupied with his or her horse. Not until after the storm had blown over were the scouts aware of Joan’s narrow escape.
Resuming the trail, and gazing again at the wonderful colorings of land and sky, the scout-party rode on until they hailed the Navajo children, with their goats and sheep, taking them to drink, and then entered Ream’s Cañon, where they rested the weary horses and spent the night in the hospitable shelter provided by the white trader.
The following morning the scouts visited the monument commemorating Kit Carson, the famous pioneer in the west; they attended the school where several hundred Navajo and Moki Indian children are taught, and they secured the necessary permits to continue the trail across the Painted Desert. Obtaining the permit was not difficult, because every one in Ream’s Cañon knew Lorenzo and he vouched for his party.
After a visit of a day and the second night with the friendly citizens, the scout-party rode on to the last lap of the trip over the Desert. As they rode they discussed the wonderful rugs they had seen in the making, and the still more wonderful specimens of baskets woven by the Old Navajos. They spoke of the beautiful filigree silver work these Indian craftsmen make, and they admired without stint the odd pottery which is molded, ornamented, and baked by the Indians.
Although a description of the beauties and the ever-changing colors of the Painted Desert might give a faint idea of what it is like, the scouts felt that it would be a hard task to try to present to others what they themselves had seen.
“Julie, how are you going to write it up for the Record?” asked Betty, as they jogged along the trail and heard the girls exclaim at this or that beauty.
“I shall not even try, Betty. It beggars all description.”
Mr. Gilroy had just come alongside in time to hear Julie’s reply, and he laughed.
“Julie, ever read Cobb’s book on traveling de luxe to the Grand Cañon?” asked he.