'Do you know Jim Courtot?' he asked sharply.
Kish Taka's eyes were veiled.
'What man, Jeem Cour'?' he demanded expressionlessly. Then, with the naïveté of a child: 'Him your frien'?'
Howard tapped the sagging holster at his hip.
'For Jim Courtot I carry this.' he returned quietly. 'He wants to kill me.'
'Then,' said Kish Taka, and through the veils in his eyes fire flashed and was gone, 'him better be quick! Me, Kish Taka, I kill Jeem Cour' damn quick pretty soon.'
Howard looked at him curiously, wondering just how the trails of the gambler and the desert man had crossed and what wrong Courtot had done the other. For he did not doubt that the sin had been Courtot's.
'You have a big dog,' he said, still looking probingly into the beady eyes. 'Big dog, big head, big shoulders, teeth like a wolf. Where is he?'
If Kish Taka wondered at his knowledge, no sign evidenced the fact. His own teeth, white and strong as a wolf's, showed fleetingly, and into his expression came merely a look of pride.
'You my frien'--See!' With a swift gesture he whipped from his side his long knife, pricked his arm so that a drop of blood came, set his forefinger to the ruby drop and, leaning closer, touched the finger point in the palm of Howard's hand. 'Kish Taka tell you true. No other dog like the dog of Kish Taka! He run with Kish Taka, fight with Kish Taka, hunt with Kish Taka--kill for Kish Taka! He smell out the trail of the man not the frien' of Kish Taka. Now, Kish Taka say, "Dog, go home." And he gone. Yonder.' He swept his long arm out toward the north.
'Far?'
'Running,' answered Kish Taka, 'he go three day and night. Running he come back, other three day and night.'
From other added fragments Howard gathered something of a story: Kish Taka and his brother, the dog with them, had come from 'where they lived' far off to the north, seeking Jim Courtot. Yesterday Kish Taka had sent his dog back across the wastes, carrying a message. The message was in the form of a feather from his belt tied with a lock of hair dipped in blood. The feather was grey, from a dove's wing, and grey is symbolical of the Underworld with the Hopi; the hair was from the head of Kish Taka's brother. The meaning was plain. The explanation came stoically: Kish Taka pointed to the wound upon his own head. Jim Courtot, more cunning than they had thought, had surprised his pursuers, had even come out into the desert to take them unawares. He had killed the other Indian from ambush, had wounded Kish Taka and had fled. Now Kish Taka's tribesmen would understand and another runner would come to take the place of him who had fallen.