you understand all I told Withers?"

"Yes," replied the Indian.

"You won't betray me?"

"I am a Navajo."

"Nas Ta Bega, you trail me--you say I had no gun." Shefford wanted
to ask this Indian if he cared to be the white man's friend, but the
question was not easy to put, and, besides, seemed unnecessary. "I
am alone and strange in this wild country. I must learn."

"Nas Ta Bega will show you the trails and the water-holes and how to
hide from Shadd."

"For money--for silver you will do this?" inquired Shefford.

Shefford felt that the Indian's silence was a rebuke. He remembered
Withers's singular praise of this red man. He realized he must change
his idea of Indians.

"Nas Ta Bega, I know nothing. I feel like a child in the wilderness.
When I speak it is out of the mouths of those who have taught me. I
must find a new voice and a new life. . . . You heard my story to
Withers. I am an outcast from my own people. If you will be my
friend--be so."

The Indian clasped Shefford's hand and held it in a response that
was more beautiful for its silence. So they stood for a moment in