That, as nearly as I can spell it, is the only Navajo any of us managed to learn. Mr. Wetherell so frequently addressed Hostein this way that we thought it was his name, and called him by it, even after we learned that it meant “Light a fire.” The little jest always brought a silent smile to the face of the Navajo, and he would mimic our mimicry. We christened an unnamed canyon for him De-jiss-je Boco, where we lunched at noon, and cached part of the pack till the return trip. Here was a delicious stream, running between sandstone rocks, into which horses and all put our heads and drank. The sun steamed upon the land of rocks until the heat made us droop, and our horses, poor beasts, were rapidly wearing down from the trail. Only piñons, with hardy roots gripping the red wastes of rock, and thorny cactus, grew in this vast echo-land. Rocks! I could not have believed there were so many in the universe. It looked like the Pit out of which the gods had taken material to build the world, or the abyss where they threw the remnants afterward. For the first time we saw purple sage, whose scent is indescribably sweet. This rare variety is found only in this region. Its leaf is dark green and differently shaped from ordinary sage. We were nearing great Navajo, whose bare stark head topped all other hills from Mt. Henry in Utah to the San Francisco peaks in the south. Soon we were in the lee of it, climbing beside it, but closer and closer to its heights. De-jiss-je looked at the cloudless sky, and suggested it might rain. To my surprise the others agreed. The sky was velvet blue and the air as dry and sparkling as ever. Yet we had hardly rounded the shoulder of Navajo when thick, broken clouds shrouded it in terrible grandeur, and the wind swirled them against that rocky mass. The storm broke immediately in wildest fury, and we saw the giant in its proper surroundings, storm wrapped and terrible. I never saw a more majestic storm in more titanic setting. Low waves of prairie, stretching for miles, were broken here and there into strange monoliths and grotesque needles, around which the lightning played sharp and short as a whip snapping,--rose-colored, deep green. The sky turned purple-blue, cut and slashed by gashes of blinding white. Grayed by sheets of rain, the red rocks took on a sulphurous look. Far off to our right a rainbow canyon opened, almost as vast and quite as brilliant as the Grand Canyon of Colorado, reaching to the horizon. [Illustration: RAINBOW BRIDGE TRAIL. Near Navajo Mountain, whose bare, stark head topped all other hills.]