Again the canyon opened to view.  All the walls were pale and steely and the stone bridge loomed dark.  Nas Ta Bega said camp would be made at the bridge, which was now close.  Just before they reached it the Navajo halted with one of his singular actions.  Then he stood motionless.  Shefford realized that Nas Ta Bega was saying his prayer to this great stone god.  Presently the Indian motioned for Shefford to lead the others and the horses on under the bridge.  Shefford did so, and, upon turning, was amazed to see the Indian climbing the steep and difficult slope on the other side.  All the party watched him until he disappeared behind the huge base of cliff that supported the arch.  Shefford selected a level place for camp, some few rods away, and here, with Lassiter, unsaddled and unpacked the lame, drooping mustangs.  When this was done twilight had fallen.  Nas Ta Bega appeared, coming down the steep slope on this side of the bridge.  Then Shefford divined why the Navajo had made that arduous climb.  He would not go under the bridge.  Nonnezoshe was a Navajo god.  And Nas Ta Bega, though educated as a white man, was true to the superstition of his ancestors.

Nas Ta Bega turned the mustangs loose to fare for what scant grass grew on bench and slope.  Firewood was even harder to find than grass.  When the camp duties had been performed and the simple meal eaten there was gloom gathering in the canyon and the stars had begun to blink in the pale strip of blue above the lofty walls.  The place was oppressive and the fugitives mostly silent.  Shefford spread a bed of blankets for the women, and Jane at once lay wearily down.  Fay stood beside the flickering fire, and Shefford felt her watching him.  He was conscious of a desire to get away from her haunting gaze.  To the gentle good-night he bade her she made no response.

Shefford moved away into a strange dark shadow cast by the bridge against the pale starlight.  It was a weird, black belt, where he imagined he was invisible, but out of which he could see.  There was a slab of rock near the foot of the bridge, and here Shefford composed himself to watch, to feel, to think the unknown thing that seemed to be inevitably coming to him.

A slight stiffening of his neck made him aware that he had been continually looking up at the looming arch.  And he found that insensibly it had changed and grown.  It had never seemed the same any two moments, but that was not what he meant.  Near at hand it was too vast a thing for immediate comprehension.  He wanted to ponder on what had formed it—­to reflect upon its meaning as to age and force of nature, yet all he could do at each moment was to see.  White stars hung along the dark curved line.  The rim of the arch seemed to shine.  The moon must be up there somewhere.  The far side of the canyon was now a blank, black wall.  Over its towering rim showed a pale glow.  It brightened.  The shades in the canyon lightened, then a white disk of moon peered over the dark line.  The bridge turned to silver, and the gloomy, shadowy belt it had cast blanched and vanished.