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.

That the dog would understand to make the return across the desert to ‘where they lived’ was also explained.  Each man there had his dog, each man had his friend.  These two men, kind to their two dogs, caressed them, fed them, sheltered them.  All other men in the tribe abused these two beasts on sight, stoned them, drove them away.  Hence every dog had two masters whom he loved with all of the loyalty of a dog heart and all other men he distrusted and feared and hated.  Now, in the desert, Kish Taka had but to drive his dog from him, shouting at him, casting a stone at him, and the big brute to whom similar experiences had come before out of as clear a sky, knew that he had a friend in the distant camp, one friend only in the world, and as straight as a dart made off to find him.  In three days’ time he would be leaping and fawning upon his other master, sure of food and kind words.  And, when in turn that other master turned upon him and seized a stick with which to beat him, he would know that Kish Taka would take him into his arms and give him meat and water.  For such things had he known since he was a roly-poly puppy.

There was but one matter further about which Howard wondered, and he asked his question point-blank.  Point-blank Kish Taka answered it.

Jim Courtot, with lies in his mouth, had come to these desert folk several months ago.  He had tarried with them long, swearing that he hated all white men, that he had killed a white and that the whites would kill him, that he would spend his life with the Indians, teaching them good things.  In time they came to trust him.  He learned of them their secrets, he found where they hid the gold they used now and then to barter with the white men in their towns, he saw their hidden turquoises.  Further, he wronged a maiden who was one day to come to the kiva of the headman, the Hawk Man, Kish Taka.  The maiden now was dead by her own hand; Courtot that night, full-handed with his thievings, had fled; and always and always, until the end came, Kish Taka would follow him.