f some monstrous crime to youth
and innocence, the presence of an agony and terror that unfathomably
seemed not to be for herself--these transfixed the court and the
audience, and held them silenced, till she reached out blindly and then
sank in a heap to the floor.

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."

"Blue Canyon! She went to the missionary. Nas Ta Bega, I thought I saw
her there. But I wasn't sure. I didn't want to make sure. I was afraid
it might be true."

"A brave who loved my sister trailed her there."

"Nas Ta Bega, will you--will we go find her, take her home?"

"No. She will come home some day."

What bitter sadness and wisdom in his words!

"But, my friend, that damned missionary--" began Shefford, passionately.
The Indian had met him at a bad hour.

"Willetts is here. I saw him go in there," interrupted Nas Ta Bega, and
he pointed to the hall.

"Here! He gets around a good deal," declared Shefford. "Nas Ta Bega,
what are you going to do to him?"

The Indian held his peace and there was no telling from his inscrutable
face what might be in his mind. He was dark, impassive. He seemed a wise
and bitter Indian, beyond any savagery of his tribe, and the suffering
Shefford divined was deep.

"He'd better keep out of my sight," muttered Shefford, more to himself
than to his com