Which way to Tuba City, I called, Across a piece of Arizona The Navajo neither moved nor spoke. Tuba City that way? I asked, Tonto-like, Pointing clearly to the west. Yes, signaled a slight but certain nod. I smiled, turned, then frowned And turned again. Tuba City that way? I repeated, now pointing directly east. Yes, exactly as before, Said the silent face. When I looked back The Indian appeared the same But his horse smiled at me.