in them. As I grew older thought and study convinced me of the
narrowness of religion as my congregation lived it. I preached what I
believed. I alienated them. They put me out, took my calling from me,
disgraced me, ruined me."

"So that's all!" exclaimed Withers, slowly. "You didn't believe in
the God of the Bible. . . . Well, I've been in the desert long enough
to know there IS a God, but probably not the one your Church worships.
. . . Shefford, go to the Navajo for a faith!"

Shefford had forgotten the presence of Nas Ta Bega, and perhaps Withers
had likewise. At this juncture the Indian rose to his full height, and
he folded his arms to stand with the somber pride of a chieftain while
his dark, inscrutable eyes were riveted upon Shefford. At that moment
he seemed magnificent. How infinitely more he seemed than just a
common Indian who had chanced to befriend a white man! The difference
was obscure to Shefford. But he felt that it was there in the Navajo's
mind. Nas Ta Bega's strange look was not to be interpreted. Presently
he turned and passed from the room.

"By George!" cried Withers, suddenly, and he pounded his knee with his
fist. "I'd forgotten."

"What?" ejaculated Shefford.

"Why, that Indian understood every word we said. He knows English.
He's educated. Well, if this doesn't beat me. . . . Let me tell you
about Nas Ta Bega."

Withers appeared to be recalling something half forgotten.