XI. AFTER THE TRIAL
Shefford might have leaped over the railing but for Withers's restraining hand, and when there appeared to be some sign of kindness in those other women for the unconscious girl Shefford squeezed through the crowd and got out of the hall.
The gang outside that had been denied admittance pressed upon Shefford, with jest and curious query, and a good nature that jarred upon him. He was far from gentle as he jostled off the first importuning fellows; the others, gaping at him, opened a lane for him to pass through.
Then there was a hand laid on his shoulder that he did not shake off. Nas Ta Bega loomed dark and tall beside him. Neither the trader nor Joe Lake nor any white man Shefford had met influenced him as this Navajo.
“Nas Ta Bega! you here, too. I guess the whole country is here. We waited at Kayenta. What kept you so long?”
The Indian, always slow to answer, did not open his lips till he drew Shefford apart from the noisy crowd.
“Bi Nai, there is sorrow in the hogan of Hosteen Doetin,” he said.
“Glen Naspa!” exclaimed Shefford.
“My sister is gone from the home of her brother. She went away alone in the summer.”