The Navaho youth waved his hand toward a corner of a pole sheep corral which jutted out of the brush back of the hogan. Evidently he was not welcome in his father’s presence, for he immediately dropped back and went over to where his silver forge lay smoking under the shade of the thick desert juniper. The party dismounted and tied their horses, while Big John put leashes on the remaining dogs, for there would surely be half-wild shepherd dogs out in the corral, and they had no wish to open up the proceedings with a dog-fight. The Colonel led the way around the hogan. Their appearance was greeted by a chorus of barks from two shaggy shepherd dogs, half coyote, that guarded Neyani’s sheep. The old fellow was kneeling over a struggling animal under the shade of a low bush, putting some sort of healing vegetable compound on deep, bloody gashes in its side. Seamed and wrinkled with age, with silver locks hanging in thick mats over his ears, Neyani’s eyes were, nevertheless, bright with the unconquerable spirit of a wild and free desert people. Just now there was deep trouble in them, and he looked up at Colonel Colvin with something like relief, for he evidently connected his coming in some way with Major Hinchman, the White Father of all the Navahos. “How, Neyani! What’s the trouble, bear?” asked Colonel Colvin, pointing down at the wounded sheep and endeavoring to draw the old fellow out by a leading question. Neyani shook his head gloomily. “No, cougar. Dsilyi send him. Plenty sheep, he kill.” The whites knew vaguely of Dsilyi. He was the Elder Brother of the Navaho, a heroic demigod who had visited in the abodes of the high gods, and who stood in the same relation to the Navaho as Achilles did to the ancient Greeks. “Why don’t you shoot the varmint, Injun?” broke in Big John. “You won’t have no wool for to make blankets of if you don’t get rid of that critter.” Neyani shrank back, alarmed at the very idea, and an expression of superstitious fear crossed his face. “Ugh! No,--_no_! Navaho no kill! Him medicine panther! Him _black_! Dsilyi send him.” “Well, I want to know!” guffawed Big John, incredulously. Neyani shot him a dark look, and then turned to the Colonel, whose face showed more sympathy for the Indian’s beliefs and superstitions. “Oh, White Father,--black he is! Great, and black as the night! I, Neyani, seen him have! Dsilyi send him!” he insisted, coming back to his original declaration again. “How do you know that he is Dsilyi’s panther, Neyani?” asked the Colonel, sympathetically, suppressing patiently his own ardent wish to inquire about his son.