The Indian smiled. He understood and liked Peggy, as all other boys and men who were worth while did. She was so simple and straightforward and so without the least trace of coquetry.
“Yes, if Mrs. Burton and the rest of you really wish it, I will come when I can, although I have other more important work to do,” he answered proudly. Then smiling again, “Perhaps the last two syllables of my name will be less difficult. Tewa alone means ‘Keeper of the Trail.’”
He was looking directly at Peggy and talking to her, not appearing to notice Bettina nor the Indian girl.
Nevertheless Bettina replied:
“I was lucky when you chanced to be the ‘Keeper of my Trail’ yesterday.” She was smiling, also, and yet she spoke seriously. “I wish I knew how to thank you.”
A moment afterwards the entire party was entering the Painted Desert.
It was as if they had come into a country where, long centuries ago, Titanic artists and alchemists had poured out their paints and jewels.
The mounds of earth with plateau-like surfaces called mesas were red, blue, green or orange and took strange, fantastic shapes.
Fallen between the mesa were petrified trees which had split open and were filled with precious stones. Now and then a petrified tree appeared embedded in the sandstone of the mesa showing along its side.
No one of the party realized how many miles were walked that day. Nevertheless, after a time, Bettina naturally grew weary. Yet she did not wish to mention her fatigue, realizing that she had simply not entirely recovered from her experience of thirty-six hours before.