He leaned his head back against the ruined pueblo wall for a moment, as though gathering strength from the ancient building. Then he began to sing in his rich baritone.
At first the chant went slowly, slowly, like the beat of buffalo hoofs on the open prairie. Then, as Sandy held his breath to listen, the rhythm became faster. The words meant nothing to the boy, but somehow they painted pictures in his mind: A wild charge of naked Indian horsemen, dying in a hopeless effort to capture a fort from which white rifle smoke wreathed. The thundering rapids of some great northern river. Chirping of treetoads in the spring. A love song on some distant mesa. A bird call. The silence of a summer night....
“There!” Ralph whispered at last, his broad face dripping sweat.
He reached under Ponytooth’s robe and fumbled there for several moments. Almost, he seemed to be withdrawing some object from the old man’s body—something red and wet—like a fingernail!
The Hopi gave a long sigh. “Frens,” he murmured as he sank into peaceful slumber.
“He’ll be all right now,” said the Ute, “providing we take him to the hospital at Lukachukai quick to get that compound fracture fixed.”
He stumbled out into the darkness, which now was spangled with stars.
Her eyes round with faith and wonder, the little brown woman followed him. She was carrying a pot of steaming coffee.
The less said about that awful midnight drive to Lukachukai, the better. Hall got them there somehow, while Chief Quail and Ralph held Ponytooth in their arms during the entire journey to protect his leg.
Then they had to go all the way back to Chinle for the jeep, but not before Chief Quail had made a detour to toss a piece of yellow carnotite ore on the wishing pile which stood near the entrance to Canyon de Chelly.