Down the length of one sage level Shefford saw a long lane where the brush and the grass had been beaten flat. This, the Navajo said, was a track where the young braves had raced their mustangs and had striven for supremacy before the eyes of maidens and the old people of the tribe. “Nas Ta Bega, did you ever race here?” asked Shefford. “I am a chief by birth. But I was stolen from my home, and now I cannot ride well enough to race the braves of my tribe,” the Indian replied, bitterly. In another place Joe Lake halted his horse and called Shefford's attention to a big yellow rock lying along the trail. And then he spoke in Navajo to the Indian. “I've heard of this stone--Isende Aha,” said Joe, after Nas Ta Bega had spoken. “Get down, and let's see.” Shefford dismounted, but the Indian kept his seat in the saddle. Joe placed a big hand on the stone and tried to move it. According to Shefford's eye measurement the stone was nearly oval, perhaps three feet high, by a little over two in width. Joe threw off his sombrero, took a deep breath, and, bending over, clasped the stone in his arms. He was an exceedingly heavy and powerful man, and it was plain to Shefford that he meant to lift the stone if that were possible. Joe's broad shoulders strained, flattened; his arms bulged, his joints cracked, his neck corded, and his face turned black. By gigantic effort he lifted the stone and moved it about six inches. Then as he released his hold he fell, and when he sat up his face was wet with sweat. “Try it,” he said to Shefford, with his lazy smile. “See if you can heave it.” Shefford was strong, and there had been a time when he took pride in his strength. Something in Joe's supreme effort and in the gloom of the Indian's eyes made Shefford curious about this stone. He bent over and grasped it as Joe had done. He braced himself and lifted with all his power, until a red blur obscured his sight and shooting stars seemed to explode in his head. But he could not even stir the stone. “Shefford, maybe you'll be able to heft it some day,” observed Joe. Then he pointed to the stone and addressed Nas Ta Bega. The Indian shook his head and spoke for a moment. “This is the Isende Aha of the Navajos,” explained Joe. “The young braves are always trying to carry this stone. As soon as one of them can carry it he is a man. He who carries it farthest is the biggest man. And just so soon as any Indian can no longer lift it he is old. Nas Ta Bega says the stone has been carried two miles in his lifetime. His own father carried it the length of six steps.” “Well! It's plain to me that I am not a man,” said Shefford, “or else I am old.” Joe Lake drawled his lazy laugh and, mounting, rode up the trail. But Shefford lingered beside the Indian. “Bi Nai,” said Nas Ta Bega, “I am a chief of my tribe, but I have never been a man. I never lifted that stone. See what the pale-face education has done for the Indian!”