"Once there was a man out in the mountains over yonder," said he, pointing to the west, "and he had a 'heap-shoot' gun like this."
"What sort of a man do you mean?" asked Stephens; "an American?"
The Indian looked at him with eyes that were both bold and cunning. "I didn't ask him," said he; "he was just a man."
"I'll bet he was a lone American prospector," returned Stephens.
The Navajo laughed, and there was insolence in his laugh. "He was alone," he continued, "and the people there got after him——"
"What people do you mean?" asked Stephens; "the Navajos?"
The Indian laughed the same laugh as before.
"Oh, leave him finish," interjected Backus in English. "You can bet he means Navajos. Probably he was there himself."
"The people got after him," repeated the redskin, "and he fired away at them a long time with his 'heap-shoot' gun; but he couldn't do them any harm." An insolent chuckle accompanied this last remark.
"Couldn't he!" rejoined Stephens. "If he was an American prospector, and there's no other sort of man ever went there with a Winchester, I'll bet he laid some of them out."