“Dost thou know who that is?”

The other shrugged his shoulders.

“That is Topanashka, the strong and wise warrior.  That is very, very good!”

Navajo number two looked closely at the corpse; then he grasped the hair again and resumed the cutting.  Number one touched his arm.

“Why do you do this?” he asked.

The other chuckled.

“Dost thou not see it, Nacaytzusle,” said he; “the people of the houses know that we only take a lock of the hair.  If now they find the body and see that this”—­he pointed to the skin—­“is gone, they will think it is one of those up here”—­waving his hand to the north—­“that has done it.”

Nacaytzusle, for he was indeed the second Navajo, nodded approvingly and suffered the other to go on.

Cutting, scraping, tearing, and pulling, he at last succeeded in making a deep incision around the skull.  Blood flowed over his fingers and hands.  Then he grasped the gray hair, planted himself with both feet on the neck, and pulled until the scalp was wrenched off and dangled in his fist.  Over the bare skull numberless fillets of blood began to trickle, at once changing the face and neck of the dead into a red mass.  Then he turned to the other, nodded, and said,—­

“It is well.”

Nacaytzusle turned his eyes upon the dead, and replied in a hoarse voice,—­

“It is well.”

He scanned the surroundings suspiciously.

“Thou hast done well, very well,” he said to the murderer.  “Thou art strong and cunning.  This one”—­he touched the body with his toes—­“was strong and wise also, but now he is so no longer.  Now,” he hissed, “we can go down into the Tu Atzissi and get what we want.”

“What dost thou mean, Nacaytzusle?” inquired the victorious Navajo.

“Go thou back to the hogan,” whispered Nacaytzusle to him, “and tell the men to be there,” pointing southwestward, “four days from now.  I will be there and will speak to them.”

The other nodded.

“Let us go,” said he.

They moved off in silence without casting another glance at the dead.  Their direction was southwest.  They carefully avoided making the least noise; they spied and peered cautiously in every direction, shy, suspicious.  Thus they vanished in the forest like wolves sneaking through timber.

* * * * *

Evening had set in.  Stronger blew the wind, and the top of the pines shook occasionally with a solemn rushing sound that resembled distant thunder.  The breeze swayed the grass, the blades nodded and bowed beside the remains of the brave man as if they were asking his forgiveness for the bloody deed of which they had been the innocent witnesses.  A crow came up, flapping her wings, and alighted on a tree which stood near the corpse, and peered down upon the body.  Then she croaked hoarsely, jumped to a lower limb, and peered again.  Thus the bird