“Yes; what of it?”
“The town’s thur.”
Chapter Thirty Six.
Navajoa.
It was near evening of the next day when we arrived at the foot of the sierra, at the debouchure of the cañon. We could not follow the stream any farther, as there was no path by the channel. It would be necessary to pass over the ridge that formed the southern jaw of the chasm. There was a plain trail among scrubby pines; and, following our guide, we commenced riding up the mountain.
After ascending for an hour or so, by a fearful road along the very brink of the precipice, we climbed the crest of the ridge, and looked eastward. We had reached the goal of our journey. The town of the Navajoes was before us.
“Voilà!”
“Mira el pueblo!”