The latter stalked forward and began a long harangue. He seemed urging Niltci to confess, but the boy shook his head, his eyes piteous with injured innocence, his face looking at them terrified over the fearful predicament into which the superstition of the Black Panther had brought him.
“What does he say, Neyani?” demanded Colonel Colvin. “The white men do not understand this at all!”
Neyani shrugged his shoulders. He was through with his renegade son, it was quite evident. His interest was merely that for some criminal.
“Perhaps a man in the desert lies dead because of him; perhaps some girl she lives dishonored by him. Who knows? For that Dsilyi his Black Panther sends. But the sun god, he tell,” he remarked, stolidly.
“What do you mean?” asked the Colonel, quickly.
“To-morrow he must look at the sun god till he tell. No good!” explained Neyani, coolly.
As the qcali finished, a group of young braves stepped forward and bound Niltci so that he faced to the east. Then a fork was secured about his head, the purpose evidently being for someone to hold it so that the poor youth would have to face the desert sun until its torture forced him to tell something or invent a confession if he had none.
The whites looked at one another significantly. “Well, boys—we must be getting back to camp,” said the Colonel. “Neyani, the white men think that your son is innocent. There is some other reason for the Black Panther. But to-morrow Major Hinchman will come. My advice to you is to wait until the White Father arrives, before doing anything that you yourself may regret for all the rest of your life.”
And with this he turned away, leaving the old Indian shaking his head and staring at him stolidly.
Two hours later all was quiet. The Navahos had departed to their hogans; the desert was as still, under its canopy of stars, as if never the doings of foolish men had disturbed its peace. And, out toward the west moved the Colvin pack train, silent and shrouded in darkness. There was yet an hour before the moon would rise.