"Sister," replied the Indian. He spoke the word reluctantly, as if the
white man's language did not please him, but the clearness and correct
pronunciation surprised Shefford.

"What name--what call her?" he went on.

"Glen Naspa."

"What your name?" inquired Shefford, indicating the Indian.

"Nas Ta Bega," answered the Indian.

"Navajo?"

The Indian bowed with what seemed pride and stately dignity.

"My name John Shefford. Come far way back toward rising sun. Come
stay here long."

Nas Ta Bega's dark eyes were fixed steadily upon Shefford. He
reflected that he could not remember having felt so penetrating a
gaze. But neither the Indian's eyes nor face gave any clue to his
thoughts.

"Navajo no savvy Jesus Christ," said the Indian, and his voice rolled
out low and deep.

Shefford felt both amaze and pain. The Indian had taken him for a
missionary.