he woman--the human--the soul born in her that came
uppermost then; now, when there was no direct call to the wild and
elemental in her nature, she showed a heart above revenge, the instinct
of a saving right, of truth as Shefford knew them. He took her into his
arms and never had he loved her so well.

"Nas Ta Bega, you killed the Mormon," declared Shefford, with a voice
that had gained strength. No silent Indian suggestion of a deed would
suffice in that moment. Shefford needed to hear the Navajo speak--to
have Fay hear him speak. "Nas Ta Bega, I know I understand. But tell
her. Speak so she will know. Tell it as a white man would!"

"I heard her cry out," replied the Indian, in his slow English. "I
waited. When he came I killed him."

A poignant why was wrenched from Shefford. Nas Ta Bega stood silent.

"BI NAI!" And when that sonorous Indian name rolled in dignity from his
lips he silently stalked away into the gloom. That was his answer to the
white man.

Shefford bent over Fay, and as the strain on him broke he held her
closer and closer and his tears streamed down and his voice broke in
exclamations of tenderness and thanksgiving. It did not matter what she
had thought, but she must never know what he had thought. He clasped
her as something precious he had lost and regained. He was shaken with
a passion of remorse. How could he have believed Fay Larkin guilty of
murder? Women less wild and less justified than she had been driven to
such a deed, yet how could he have believed it of her, when for two days
he had been with her, had seen her face, and deep into her eyes? There
was mystery in his very blindness. He cast the whole thought from him
for ever. There was no shadow between Fay and him. He had found her.
He had saved her. She was free. She was innocent. And suddenly, as he
seemed delivered from contending tumults within, he became aware that it
was no unresponsive creature he had folded to his breast.

He became suddenly alive to the warm, throbbing contact of her bosom, to
her strong arms clinging round his neck, to her closed eyes, to the rapt
whiteness of her face. And he bent to cold lips that seemed to receive
his first kisses as new and strange; but tremulously changed, at last to
meet his own, and then to burn with sweet and thrilling fire.

"My darling, my dream's come true," he said. "You are my treasure. I
found you here at the foot of the rainbow!... What if it is a stone
rainbow--if all i