A powerful hand fell upon Shefford's shoulder, startling him. Nas Ta Bega stood there, looking down upon him and Fay. Never had the Indian seemed so dark, inscrutable of face. But in his magnificent bearing, in the spirit that Shefford sensed in him, there were nobility and power and a strange pride. The Indian kept one hand on Shefford's shoulder, and with the other he struck himself on the breast. The action was that of an Indian, impressive and stern, significant of an Indian's prowess. “My God!” breathed Shefford, very low. “Oh, what does he mean?” cried Fay. Shefford held her with shaking hands, trying to speak, to fight a way out of these stultifying emotions. “Nas Ta Bega--you heard. She thinks--I killed Waggoner!” All about the Navajo then was dark and solemn disproof of her belief. He did not need to speak. His repetition of that savage, almost boastful blow on his breast added only to the dignity, and not to the denial, of a warrior. “Fay, he means he killed the Mormon,” said Shefford. “He must have, for _I_ did not!” “Ah!” murmured Fay, and she leaned to him with passionate, quivering gladness. It was the woman--the human--the soul born in her that came uppermost then; now, when there was no direct call to the wild and elemental in her nature, she showed a heart above revenge, the instinct of a saving right, of truth as Shefford knew them. He took her into his arms and never had he loved her so well. “Nas Ta Bega, you killed the Mormon,” declared Shefford, with a voice that had gained strength. No silent Indian suggestion of a deed would suffice in that moment. Shefford needed to hear the Navajo speak--to have Fay hear him speak. “Nas Ta Bega, I know I understand. But tell her. Speak so she will know. Tell it as a white man would!” “I heard her cry out,” replied the Indian, in his slow English. “I waited. When he came I killed him.” A poignant why was wrenched from Shefford. Nas Ta Bega stood silent. “BI NAI!” And when that sonorous Indian name rolled in dignity from his lips he silently stalked away into the gloom. That was his answer to the white man.