“Nas Ta Bega will show you the trails and the water-holes and how to hide from Shadd.”
“For money—for silver you will do this?” inquired Shefford.
Shefford felt that the Indian's silence was a rebuke. He remembered Withers's singular praise of this red man. He realized he must change his idea of Indians.
“Nas Ta Bega, I know nothing. I feel like a child in the wilderness. When I speak it is out of the mouths of those who have taught me. I must find a new voice and a new life.... You heard my story to Withers. I am an outcast from my own people. If you will be my friend—be so.”
The Indian clasped Shefford's hand and held it in a response that was more beautiful for its silence. So they stood for a moment in the starlight.
“Nas Ta Bega, what did Withers mean when he said go to the Navajo for a faith?” asked Shefford.
“He meant the desert is my mother.... Will you go with Nas Ta Bega into the canyon and the mountains?”
“Indeed I will.”
They unclasped hands and turned toward the trading-post.
“Nas Ta Bega, have you spoken my tongue to any other white man since you returned to your home?” asked Shefford.