Again, had he been other than a Hopi, less than the superb creature that he was, the thing could not have been done.  Down in Oraibi to-day an Indian boy will run eighty miles in a day for ten dollars, and on his return will run races for fun.  The American desert has made him just as it has made the thirstless cactus and the desert wolf.  He is a special creation, and Kish Taka was but doing the thing he knew.  On the run he drained the canteen; at the end of it he stopped and drank and rested briefly.  Then with full canteen he turned back to succour and save the man who had befriended and saved him.  So it came about that he found Howard in time.

All of that long hot day they sought to rest, lying inert in what scant shade they could find, eating a few bits of dried beef, drinking their water now and then.  By the time that the first hint of coming coolness crept into the air Howard sat up, somewhat refreshed and again eager to be moving.  He turned to the Indian with a question on his lips, for a thought had come to him.

‘Do you know Jim Courtot?’ he asked sharply.

Kish Taka’s eyes were veiled.

‘What man, Jeem Cour’?’ he demanded expressionlessly.  Then, with the naivete 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.’