Once around the chalky bastions of the butte, the Major dismounted and, taking a bundle from his horse, began to climb up a deep cleft that led to the top of the mesa. Big John and the boys unsaddled the ponies and tethered them out, with the dogs leashed on watch under the shade of a huge cliff. “Better hook on your canteens, fellers,” said Big John as they started out. “’Twon’t look well to be askin’ the Injuns for a drink, an’ thar ain’t no water around hyar.” Presently they came upon Indians loping in on their ponies from the general direction of Canyon Cheyo. They tethered them in a rude corral, hastily thrown up near the entrance of a huge gap that cleft into the heart of the mesa. Its gorge was filled with Navaho, all silent and scared, and crowding close together for protection. Usually the noisiest of Indian tribes, these bucks were now sullen and silent, greeting the white party with frightened nods, superstitious fear written on every face. The way led up a steep, narrow ravine, bare of vegetation, a hideous gulch of hot and thirsty rocks. The procession had dwindled down to twos and threes, as Big John and the boys pushed on up it, passing the hesitating and reluctant Navaho. Evidently the tribe feared what they were about to see. Up near the head and slightly below the top of the mesa jutted a tall white shaft of stone. It was at least fifty feet high, and detached entirely from the cliff wall for some twenty feet down from the top. A stratified shelf of rock jutted out here, and upon it they saw the qcali and three assistant priests, in a ceremonial dress of feathers and plumes that almost disguised them. They were beating on small skin drums and chanting a dreary monotone as they danced in the jerky steps of the Indian. The boys watched them as they climbed, and then their attention was attracted to a sort of pocket or cave, opening by a cleft from the top of the mesa, in the sheer wall of the cliff opposite. The wind bellowed and sighed in it, making the weird noises that they had heard without being able to explain them, as they had come up the ravine. With every swirl of the wind scouring over the flat mesa top above, this cave answered with a huge sigh. A most uncanny effect--one would not like to be there at night! “The mouth of a Ganhi, I suppose!” whispered Sid to Scotty as they paused. “They are supposed to be a sort of giant genii----”