“Look!” he whispered to the girl. “See, a mounted Indian, there on the ridge--there, he's gone--no, I see him again. But that's another. Look! there are more.” He ceased in breathless suspense and stared fearfully at a line of mounted Indians moving in single file over the ridge to become lost to view in the intervening blackness. A faint rattling of gravel and the peculiar crack of unshod hoof on stone gave reality to that shadowy train. “Navajos,” said Mescal. “Navajos!” he echoed. “I heard of them at Lund; 'desert hawks' the men called them, worse than Piutes. Must we not alarm the men?--You--aren't you afraid? “No.” “But they are hostile.” “Not to him.” She pointed at the stalwart figure standing against the firelight. “Ah! I remember. The man Cole spoke of friendly Navajos. They must be close by. What does it mean?” “I'm not sure. I think they are out there in the cedars, waiting.” “Waiting! For what?” “Perhaps for a signal.” “Then they were expected?” “I don't know; I only guess. We used to ride often to White Sage and Lund; now we go seldom, and when we do there seem to be Navajos near the camp at night, and riding the ridges by day. I believe Father Naab knows.” “Your father's risking much for me. He's good. I wish I could show my gratitude.” “I call him Father Naab, but he is not my father.” “A niece or granddaughter, then?” “I'm no relation. Father Naab raised me in his family. My mother was a Navajo, my father a Spaniard.” “Why!” exclaimed Hare. “When you came out of the wagon I took you for an Indian girl. But the moment you spoke--you talk so well--no one would dream--” “Mormons are well educated and teach the children they raise,” she said, as he paused in embarrassment. He wanted to ask if she were a Mormon by religion, but the question seemed curious and unnecessary. His interest was aroused; he realized suddenly that he had found pleasure in her low voice; it was new and strange, unlike any woman's voice he had ever heard; and he regarded her closely. He had only time for a glance at her straight, clean-cut profile, when she turned startled eyes on him, eyes black as the night. And they were eyes that looked through and beyond him. She held up a hand, slowly bent toward the wind, and whispered: “Listen.”