THE RAINBOW TRAIL, a Romance

by ZANE GREY. 

Transcriber's note:

In the original text the words "canyon" and "pinyon" are spelled in theSpanish form, "canon" and "pinon", with tildes above the center "n"s. Since the plain text format precludes the use of tildes, I've changedthese words to the more familiar spelling to make them easier toread. --D. L. 

CONTENTS. 

 FOREWORD

 CHAPTER. 

 I. RED LAKE. 

 II. THE SAGI. 

 III. KAYENTA. 

 IV. NEW FRIENDS. 

 V. ON THE TRAIL. 

 VI. IN THE HIDDEN VALLEY. 

 VII. SAGO-LILIES. 

 VIII. THE HOGAN OF NAS TA BEGA. 

 IX. IN THE DESERT CRUCIBLE. 

 X. STONEBRIDGE. 

 XI. AFTER THE TRIAL. 

 XII. THE REVELATION. 

 XIII. THE STORY OF SURPRISE VALLEY. 

 XIV. THE NAVAJO. 

 XV. WILD JUSTICE. 

 XVI. SURPRISE VALLEY. 

 XVII. THE TRAIL TO NONNEZOSHE. 

 XVIII. AT THE FOOT OF THE RAINBOW. 

 XIX. THE GRAND CANYON OF THE COLORADO. 

 XX. WILLOW SPRINGS. 

 EPILOGUE

FOREWORD

The spell of the desert comes back to me, as it always will come. I seethe veils, like purple smoke, in the canyon, and I feel the silence. Andit seems that again I must try to pierce both and to get at the strangewild life of the last American wilderness--wild still, almost, as itever was. 

While this romance is an independent story, yet readers of "Riders ofthe Purple Sage" will find in it an answer to a question often asked. 

I wish to say also this story has appeared serially in a differentform in one of the monthly magazines under the title of "The DesertCrucible. " ZANE GREY. 

 June, 1915. 

THE RAINBOW TRAIL

I. RED LAKE

Shefford halted his tired horse and gazed with slowly realizing eyes. 

A league-long slope of sage rolled and billowed down to Red Lake, a dryred basin, denuded and glistening, a hollow in the desert, a lonely anddesolate door to the vast, wild, and broken upland beyond. 

All day Shefford had plodded onward with the clear horizon-line a thingunattainable; and for days before that he had ridden the wild bare flatsand climbed the rocky desert benches. The great colored reaches andsteps had led endlessly onward and upward through dim and deceivingdistance. 

A hundred miles of desert travel, with its mistakes and lessons andintimations, had not prepared him for what he now saw. He beheld whatseemed a world that knew only magnitude. Wonder and awe fixed his gaze, and thought remained aloof. Then that dark and unknown northland flunga menace at him. An irresistible call had drawn him to this seamed andpeaked border of Arizona, this broken battlemented wilderness of Utahupland; and at first sight they frowned upon him, as if to warn him notto search for what lay hidden beyond the ranges. But Shefford thrilledwith both fear and exultation. That was the country which had beendescribed to him. Far across the red valley, far beyond the ragged lineof black mesa and yellow range, lay the wild canyon with its hauntingsecret. 

Red Lake must be his Rubicon. Either he must enter the unknown to seek, to strive, to find, or turn back and fail and never know and be alwayshaunted. A friend's strange story had prompted his singular journey; abeautiful rainbow with its mystery and promise had decided him. Once inhis life he had answered a wild call to the kingdom of adventurewithin him, and once in his life he had been happy. But here in thehorizon-wide face of that up-flung and cloven desert he grew cold; hefaltered even while he felt more fatally drawn. 

As if impelled Shefford started his horse down the sandy trail, but hechecked his former far-reaching gaze. It was the month of April, and thewaning sun lost heat and brightness. Long shadows crept down the slopeahead of him and the scant sage deepened its gray. He watched thelizards shoot like brown streaks across the sand, leaving their slendertracks; he heard the rustle of pack-rats as they darted into theirbrushy homes; the whir of a low-sailing hawk startled his horse. 

Like ocean waves the slope rose and fell, its hollows choked with sand, its ridge-tops showing scantier growth of sage and grass and weed. Thelast ridge was a sand-dune, beautifully ribbed and scalloped and linedby the wind, and from its knife-sharp crest a thin wavering sheet ofsand blew, almost like smoke. Shefford wondered why the sand looked redat a distance, for here it seemed almost white. It rippled everywhere, clean and glistening, always leading down. 

Suddenly Shefford became aware of a house looming out of the barenessof the slope. It dominated that long white incline. Grim, lonely, forbidding, how strangely it harmonized with the surroundings! Thestructure was octagon-shaped, built of uncut stone, and resembled afort. There was no door on the sides exposed to Shefford's gaze, butsmall apertures two-thirds the way up probably served as windows andport-holes. The roof appeared to be made of poles covered with redearth. 

Like a huge cold rock on a wide plain this house stood there on thewindy slope. It was an outpost of the trader Presbrey, of whom Sheffordhad heard at Flagstaff and Tuba. No living thing appeared in thelimit of Shefford's vision. He gazed shudderingly at the unwelcominghabitation, at the dark eyelike windows, at the sweep of barren slopemerging into the vast red valley, at the bold, bleak bluffs. Could anyone live here? The nature of that sinister valley forbade a home there, and the spirit of the place hovered in the silence and space. Sheffordthought irresistibly of how his enemies would have consigned him tojust such a hell. He thought bitterly and mockingly of the narrowcongregation that had proved him a failure in the ministry, that hadrepudiated his ideas of religion and immortality and God, that haddriven him, at the age of twenty-four, from the calling forced upon himby his people. As a boy he had yearned to make himself an artist; hisfamily had made him a clergyman; fate had made him a failure. A failureonly so far in his life, something urged him to add--for in the lonelydays and silent nights of the desert he had experienced a strange birthof hope. Adventure had called him, but it was a vague and spiritualhope, a dream of promise, a nameless attainment that fortified hiswilder impulse. 

As he rode around a corner of the stone house his horse snorted andstopped. A lean, shaggy pony jumped at sight of him, almost displacinga red long-haired blanket that covered an Indian saddle. Quick thudsof hoofs in sand drew Shefford's attention to a corral made of peeledpoles, and here he saw another pony. 

Shefford heard subdued voices. He dismounted and walked to an open door. In the dark interior he dimly descried a high counter, a stairway, apile of bags of flour, blankets, and silver-ornamented objects, but thepersons he had heard were not in that part of the house. Around anothercorner of the octagon-shaped wall he found another open door, andthrough it saw goat-skins and a mound of dirty sheep-wool, black andbrown and white. It was light in this part of the building. When hecrossed the threshold he was astounded to see a man struggling witha girl--an Indian girl. She was straining back from him, panting, anduttering low guttural sounds. The man's face was corded and dark withpassion. This scene affected Shefford strangely. Primitive emotions werenew to him. 

Before Shefford could speak the girl broke loose and turned to flee. Shewas an Indian and this place was the uncivilized desert, but Sheffordknew terror when he saw it. Like a dog the man rushed after her. It wasinstinct that made Shefford strike, and his blow laid the man flat. Helay stunned a moment, then raised himself to a sitting posture, hishand to his face, and the gaze he fixed upon Shefford seemed to combineastonishment and rage. 

"I hope you're not Presbrey, " said Shefford, slowly. He felt awkward, not sure of himself. 

The man appeared about to burst into speech, but repressed it. Therewas blood on his mouth and his hand. Hastily he scrambled to his feet. Shefford saw this man's amaze and rage change to shame. He was tall andrather stout; he had a smooth tanned face, soft of outline, with a weakchin; his eyes were dark. The look of him and his corduroys and his softshoes gave Shefford an impression that he was not a man who worked hard. By contrast with the few other worn and rugged desert men Shefford hadmet this stranger stood out strikingly. He stooped to pick up a softfelt hat and, jamming it on his head, he hurried out. Shefford followedhim and watched him from the door. He went directly to the corral, mounted the pony, and rode out, to turn down the slope toward the south. When he reached the level of the basin, where evidently the sand washard, he put the pony to a lope and gradually drew away. 

"Well!" ejaculated Shefford. He did not know what to make of thisadventure. Presently he became aware that the Indian girl was sitting ona roll of blankets near the wall. With curious interest Shefford studiedher appearance. She had long, raven-black hair, tangled and disheveled, and she wore a soiled white band of cord above her brow. The color ofher face struck him; it was dark, but not red nor bronzed; it almosthad a tinge of gold. Her profile was clear-cut, bold, almost stern. Longblack eyelashes hid her eyes. She wore a tight-fitting waist garment ofmaterial resembling velveteen. It was ripped along her side, exposinga skin still more richly gold than that of her face. A string of silverornaments and turquoise-and-white beads encircled her neck, and it movedgently up and down with the heaving of her full bosom. Her skirt wassome gaudy print goods, torn and stained and dusty. She had little feet, incased in brown moccasins, fitting like gloves and buttoning over theankles with silver coins. 

"Who was that man? Did he hurt you?" inquired Shefford, turning to gazedown the valley where a moving black object showed on the bare sand. 

"No savvy, " replied the Indian girl. 

"Where's the trader Presbrey?" asked Shefford. 

She pointed straight down into the red valley. 

"Toh, " she said. 

In the center of the basin lay a small pool of water shining brightly inthe sunset glow. Small objects moved around it, so small that Sheffordthought he saw several dogs led by a child. But it was the distancethat deceived him. There was a man down there watering his horses. Thatreminded Shefford of the duty owing to his own tired and thirsty beast. Whereupon he untied his pack, took off the saddle, and was about readyto start down when the Indian girl grasped the bridle from his hand. 

"Me go, " she said. 

He saw her eyes then, and they made her look different. They were asblack as her hair. He was puzzled to decide whether or not he thoughther handsome. 

"Thanks, but I'll go, " he replied, and, taking the bridle again, hestarted down the slope. At every step he sank into the deep, soft sand. Down a little way he came upon a pile of tin cans; they were everywhere, buried, half buried, and lying loose; and these gave evidence of howthe trader lived. Presently Shefford discovered that the Indian girlwas following him with her own pony. Looking upward at her against thelight, he thought her slender, lithe, picturesque. At a distance heliked her. 

He plodded on, at length glad to get out of the drifts of sand to thehard level floor of the valley. This, too, was sand, but dried and bakedhard, and red in color. At some season of the year this immense flatmust be covered with water. How wide it was, and empty! Sheffordexperienced again a feeling that had been novel to him--and it was thathe was loose, free, unanchored, ready to veer with the wind. From thefoot of the slope the water hole had appeared to be a few hundred rodsout in the valley. But the small size of the figures made Shefforddoubt; and he had to travel many times a few hundred rods before thosefigures began to grow. Then Shefford made out that they were approachinghim. 

Thereafter they rapidly increased to normal proportions of man andbeast. When Shefford met them he saw a powerful, heavily built young manleading two ponies. 

"You're Mr. Presbrey, the trader?" inquired Shefford. 

"Yes, I'm Presbrey, without the Mister, " he replied. 

"My name's Shefford. I'm knocking about on the desert. Rode from beyondTuba to-day. "

"Glad to see you, " said Presbrey. He offered his hand. He was a stalwartman, clad in gray shirt, overalls, and boots. A shock of tumbled lighthair covered his massive head; he was tanned, but not darkly, and therewas red in his cheeks; under his shaggy eyebrows were deep, keen eyes;his lips were hard and set, as if occasion for smiles or words was rare;and his big, strong jaw seemed locked. 

"Wish more travelers came knocking around Red Lake, " he added. "Reckonhere's the jumping-off place. "

"It's pretty--lonesome, " said Shefford, hesitating as if at a loss forwords. 

Then the Indian girl came up. Presbrey addressed her in her ownlanguage, which Shefford did not understand. She seemed shy and wouldnot answer; she stood with downcast face and eyes. Presbrey spoke again, at which she pointed down the valley, and then moved on with her ponytoward the water-hole. 

Presbrey's keen eyes fixed on the receding black dot far down that ovalexpanse. 

"That fellow left--rather abruptly, " said Shefford, constrainedly. "Whowas he?"

"His name's Willetts. He's a missionary. He rode in to-day with thisNavajo girl. He was taking her to Blue Canyon, where he lives andteaches the Indians. I've met him only a few times. You see, not manywhite men ride in here. He's the first white man I've seen in sixmonths, and you're the second. Both the same day!. .. Red Lake's gettingpopular! It's queer, though, his leaving. He expected to stay all night. There's no other place to stay. Blue Canyon is fifty miles away. "

"I'm sorry to say--no, I'm not sorry, either--but I must tell you I wasthe cause of Mr. Willetts leaving, " replied Shefford. 

"How so?" inquired the other. 

Then Shefford related the incident following his arrival. 

"Perhaps my action was hasty, " he concluded, apologetically. "I didn'tthink. Indeed, I'm surprised at myself. "

Presbrey made no comment and his face was as hard to read as one of thedistant bluffs. 

"But what did the man mean?" asked Shefford, conscious of a littleheat. "I'm a stranger out here. I'm ignorant of Indians--how they'recontrolled. Still I'm no fool. .. . If Willetts didn't mean evil, at leasthe was brutal. "

"He was teaching her religion, " replied Presbrey. His tone held faintscorn and implied a joke, but his face did not change in the slightest. 

Without understanding just why, Shefford felt his conviction justifiedand his action approved. Then he was sensible of a slight shock ofwonder and disgust. 

"I am--I was a minister of the Gospel, " he said to Presbrey. "What youhint seems impossible. I can't believe it. "

"I didn't hint, " replied Presbrey, bluntly, and it was evident thathe was a sincere, but close-mouthed, man. "Shefford, so you're apreacher?. .. Did you come out here to try to convert the Indians?"

"No. I said I WAS a minister. I am no longer. I'm just a--a wanderer. "

"I see. Well, the desert's no place for missionaries, but it's good forwanderers. .. . Go water your horse and take him up to the corral. You'llfind some hay for him. I'll get grub ready. "

Shefford went on with his horse to the pool. The water appeared thick, green, murky, and there was a line of salty crust extending around themargin of the pool. The thirsty horse splashed in and eagerly bent hishead. But he did not like the taste. Many times he refused to drink, yetalways lowered his nose again. Finally he drank, though not his fill. Shefford saw the Indian girl drink from her hand. He scooped up ahandful and found it too sour to swallow. When he turned to retrace hissteps she mounted her pony and followed him. 

A golden flare lit up the western sky, and silhouetted dark and lonelyagainst it stood the trading-post. Upon his return Shefford found thewind rising, and it chilled him. When he reached the slope thin graysheets of sand were blowing low, rising, whipping, falling, sweepingalong with soft silken rustle. Sometimes the gray veils hid his boots. It was a long, toilsome climb up that yielding, dragging ascent, and hehad already been lame and tired. By the time he had put his horse awaytwilight was everywhere except in the west. The Indian girl left herpony in the corral and came like a shadow toward the house. 

Shefford had difficulty in finding the foot of the stairway. He climbedto enter a large loft, lighted by two lamps. Presbrey was there, kneading biscuit dough in a pan. 

"Make yourself comfortable, " he said. 

The huge loft was the shape of a half-octagon. A door opened upon thevalley side, and here, too, there were windows. How attractive the placewas in comparison with the impressions gained from the outside! Thefurnishings consisted of Indian blankets on the floor, two beds, adesk and table, several chairs and a couch, a gun-rack full of rifles, innumerable silver-ornamented belts, bridles, and other Indian articlesupon the walls, and in one corner a wood-burning stove with teakettlesteaming, and a great cupboard with shelves packed full of canned foods. 

Shefford leaned in the doorway and looked out. Beneath him on a roll ofblankets sat the Indian girl, silent and motionless. He wondered whatwas in her mind, what she would do, how the trader would treat her. Theslope now was a long slant of sheeted moving shadows of sand. Dusk hadgathered in the valley. The bluffs loomed beyond. A pale star twinkledabove. Shefford suddenly became aware of the intense nature of thestillness about him. Yet, as he listened to this silence, he heardan intermittent and immeasurably low moan, a fitful, mournful murmur. Assuredly it was only the wind. Nevertheless, it made his blood runcold. It was a different wind from that which had made music underthe eaves of his Illinois home. This was a lonely, haunting wind, withdesert hunger in it, and more which he could not name. Shefford listenedto this spirit-brooding sound while he watched night envelop the valley. How black, how thick the mantle! Yet it brought no comforting senseof close-folded protection, of walls of soft sleep, of a home. Insteadthere was the feeling of space, of emptiness, of an infinite hall downwhich a mournful wind swept streams of murmuring sand. 

"Well, grub's about ready, " said Presbrey. 

"Got any water?" asked Shefford. 

"Sure. There in the bucket. It's rain-water. I have a tank here. "

Shefford's sore and blistered face felt better after he had washed offthe sand and alkali dust. 

"Better not wash your face often while you're in the desert. Bad plan, "went on Presbrey, noting how gingerly his visitor had gone about hisablutions. "Well, come and eat. "

Shefford marked that if the trader did live a lonely life he fared well. There was more on the table than twice two men could have eaten. It wasthe first time in four days that Shefford had sat at a table, and hemade up for lost opportunity. 

His host's actions indicated pleasure, yet the strange, hard face neverrelaxed, never changed. When the meal was finished Presbrey declinedassistance, had a generous thought of the Indian girl, who, he said, could have a place to eat and sleep down-stairs, and then with the skilland despatch of an accomplished housewife cleared the table, after whichwork he filled a pipe and evidently prepared to listen. 

It took only one question for Shefford to find that the trader wasstarved for news of the outside world; and for an hour Shefford fed thatappetite, even as he had been done by. But when he had talked himselfout there seemed indication of Presbrey being more than a good listener. 

"How'd you come in?" he asked, presently. 

"By Flagstaff--across the Little Colorado--and through Moencopie. "

"Did you stop at Moen Ave?"

"No. What place is that?"

"A missionary lives there. Did you stop at Tuba?"

"Only long enough to drink and water my horse. That was a wonderfulspring for the desert. "

"You said you were a wanderer. .. . Do you want a job? I'll give you one. "

"No, thank you, Presbrey. "

"I saw your pack. That's no pack to travel with in this country. Yourhorse won't last, either. Have you any money?"

"Yes, plenty of money. "

"Well, that's good. Not that a white man out here would ever take adollar from you. But you can buy from the Indians as you go. Where areyou making for, anyhow?"

Shefford hesitated, debating in mind whether to tell his purpose or not. His host did not press the question. 

"I see. Just foot-loose and wandering around, " went on Presbrey. "I canunderstand how the desert appeals to you. Preachers lead easy, safe, crowded, bound lives. They're shut up in a church with a Bible and goodpeople. When once in a lifetime they get loose--they break out. "

"Yes, I've broken out--beyond all bounds, " replied Shefford, sadly. He seemed retrospective for a moment, unaware of the trader's keen andsympathetic glance, and then he caught himself. "I want to see some wildlife. Do you know the country north of here?"

"Only what the Navajos tell me. And they're not much to talk. There'sa trail goes north, but I've never traveled it. It's a new trail everytime an Indian goes that way, for here the sand blows and covers oldtracks. But few Navajos ride in from the north. My trade is mostly withIndians up and down the valley. "

"How about water and grass?"

"We've had rain and snow. There's sure to be, water. Can't say aboutgrass, though the sheep and ponies from the north are always fat. .. . But, say, Shefford, if you'll excuse me for advising you--don't gonorth. "

"Why?" asked Shefford, and it was certain that he thrilled. 

"It's unknown country, terribly broken, as you can see from here, andthere are bad Indians biding in the canyon. I've never met a man who hadbeen over the pass between here and Kayenta. The trip's been made, sothere must be a trail. But it's a dangerous trip for any man, let alonea tenderfoot. You're not even packing a gun. "

"What's this place Kayenta?" asked Shefford. 

"It's a spring. Kayenta means Bottomless Spring. There's a littletrading-post, the last and the wildest in northern Arizona. Withers, thetrader who keeps it, hauls his supplies in from Colorado and New Mexico. He's never come down this way. I never saw him. Know nothing of himexcept hearsay. Reckon he's a nervy and strong man to hold that post. Ifyou want to go there, better go by way of Keams Canyon, and then aroundthe foot of Black Mesa. It'll be a long ride--maybe two hundred miles. "

"How far straight north over the pass?"

"Can't say. Upward of seventy-five miles over rough trails, if there aretrails at all. .. . I've heard rumors of a fine tribe of Navajos living inthere, rich in sheep and horses. It may be true and it may not. But I doknow there are bad Indians, half-breeds and outcasts, hiding in there. Some of them have visited me here. Bad customers! More than that, you'll be going close to the Utah line, and the Mormons over there areunfriendly these days. "

"Why?" queried Shefford, again with that curious thrill. 

"They are being persecuted by the government. "

Shefford asked no more questions and his host vouchsafed no moreinformation on that score. The conversation lagged. Then Sheffordinquired about the Indian girl and learned that she lived up the valleysomewhere. Presbrey had never seen her before Willetts came with herto Red Lake. And this query brought out the fact that Presbrey wascomparatively new to Red Lake and vicinity. Shefford wondered why alonely six months there had not made the trader old in experience. Probably the desert did not readily give up its secrets. Moreover, thisRed Lake house was only an occasionally used branch of Presbrey's maintrading-post, which was situated at Willow Springs, fifty miles westwardover the mesa. 

"I'm closing up here soon for a spell, " said Presbrey, and now hisface lost its set hardness and seemed singularly changed. It was adifference, of light and softness. "Won't be so lonesome over at WillowSprings. .. . I'm being married soon. "

"That's fine, " replied Shefford, warmly. He was glad for the sake ofthis lonely desert man. What good a wife would bring into a trader'slife!

Presbrey's naive admission, however, appeared to detach him from hispresent surroundings, and with his massive head enveloped by a cloud ofsmoke he lived in dreams. 

Shefford respected his host's serene abstraction. Indeed, he wasgrateful for silence. Not for many nights had the past impinged soclosely upon the present. The wound in his soul had not healed, and tospeak of himself made it bleed anew. Memory was too poignant; the pastwas too close; he wanted to forget until he had toiled into the heart ofthis forbidding wilderness--until time had gone by and he dared to facehis unquiet soul. Then he listened to the steadily rising roar of thewind. How strange and hollow! That wind was freighted with heavy sand, and he heard it sweep, sweep, sweep by in gusts, and then blow withdull, steady blast against the walls. The sound was provocative ofthought. This moan and rush of wind was no dream--this presence of hisin a night-enshrouded and sand-besieged house of the lonely desert wasreality--this adventure was not one of fancy. True indeed, then, mustbe the wild, strange story that had led him hither. He was going on toseek, to strive, to find. Somewhere northward in the broken fastnesseslay hidden a valley walled in from the world. Would they be there, thoselost fugitives whose story had thrilled him? After twelve years wouldshe be alive, a child grown to womanhood in the solitude of a beautifulcanyon? Incredible! Yet he believed his friend's story and he indeedknew how strange and tragic life was. He fancied he heard her voiceon the sweeping wind. She called to him, haunted him. He admitted theimprobability of her existence, but lost nothing of the persistentintangible hope that drove him. He believed himself a man stricken insoul, unworthy, through doubt of God, to minister to the people who hadbanished him. Perhaps a labor of Hercules, a mighty and perilous work ofrescue, the saving of this lost and imprisoned girl, would help him inhis trouble. She might be his salvation. Who could tell? Always as a boyand as a man he had fared forth to find the treasure at the foot of therainbow. 

II. THE SAGI

Next morning the Indian girl was gone and the tracks of her pony lednorth. Shefford's first thought was to wonder if he would overtake heron the trail; and this surprised him with the proof of how unconsciouslyhis resolve to go on had formed. 

Presbrey made no further attempt to turn Shefford back. But he insistedon replenishing the pack, and that Shefford take weapons. FinallyShefford was persuaded to accept a revolver. The trader bade him good-byand stood in the door while Shefford led his horse down the slopetoward the water-hole. Perhaps the trader believed he was watching thedeparture of a man who would never return. He was still standing at thedoor of the post when Shefford halted at the pool. 

Upon the level floor of the valley lay thin patches of snow whichhad fallen during the night. The air was biting cold, yet stimulatedShefford while it stung him. His horse drank rather slowly anddisgustedly. Then Shefford mounted and reluctantly turned his back uponthe trading-post. 

As he rode away from the pool he saw a large flock of sheep approaching. They were very closely, even densely, packed, in a solid slow-movingmass and coming with a precision almost like a march. This factsurprised Shefford, for there was not an Indian in sight. Presently hesaw that a dog was leading the flock, and a little later he discoveredanother dog in the rear of the sheep. They were splendid, long-haireddogs, of a wild-looking shepherd breed. He halted his horse to watch theprocession pass by. The flock covered fully an acre of ground and thesheep were black, white, and brown. They passed him, making a littlepattering roar on the hard-caked sand. The dogs were taking the sheep into water. 

Shefford went on and was drawing close to the other side of the basin, where the flat red level was broken by rising dunes and ridges, when heespied a bunch of ponies. A shrill whistle told him that they had seenhim. They were wild, shaggy, with long manes and tails. They stopped, threw up their heads, and watched him. Shefford certainly returned theattention. There was no Indian with them. Presently, with a snort, theleader, which appeared to be a stallion, trotted behind the others, seemed to be driving them, and went clear round the band to get in thelead again. He was taking them in to water, the same as the dogs hadtaken the sheep. 

These incidents were new and pleasing to Shefford. How ignorant he hadbeen of life in the wilderness! Once more he received subtle intimationsof what he might learn out in the open; and it was with a less weightedheart that he faced the gateway between the huge yellow bluffs on hisleft and the slow rise of ground to the black mesa on his right. Helooked back in time to see the trading-post, bleak and lonely on thebare slope, pass out of sight behind the bluffs. Shefford felt nofear--he really had little experience of physical fear--but it wascertain that he gritted his teeth and welcomed whatever was to come tohim. He had lived a narrow, insulated life with his mind on spiritualthings; his family and his congregation and his friends--except thatone new friend whose story had enthralled him--were people of quietreligious habit; the man deep down in him had never had a chance. Hebreathed hard as he tried to imagine the world opening to him, andalmost dared to be glad for the doubt that had sent him adrift. 

The tracks of the Indian girl's pony were plain in the sand. Also therewere other tracks, not so plain, and these Shefford decided had beenmade by Willetts and the girl the day before. He climbed a ridge, halfsoft sand and half hard, and saw right before him, rising in strikingform, two great yellow buttes, like elephant legs. He rode between them, amazed at their height. Then before him stretched a slowly ascendingvalley, walled on one side by the black mesa and on the other by lowbluffs. For miles a dark-green growth of greasewood covered the valley, and Shefford could see where the green thinned and failed, to give placeto sand. He trotted his horse and made good time on this stretch. 

The day contrasted greatly with any he had yet experienced. Gray cloudsobscured the walls of rock a few miles to the west, and Shefford sawsqualls of snow like huge veils dropping down and spreading out. Thewind cut with the keenness of a knife. Soon he was chilled to the bone. A squall swooped and roared down upon him, and the wind that bore thedriving white pellets of snow, almost like hail, was so freezing bittercold that the former wind seemed warm in comparison. The squall passedas swiftly as it had come, and it left Shefford so benumbed he could nothold the bridle. He tumbled off his horse and walked. By and by the suncame out and soon warmed him and melted the thin layer of snow on thesand. He was still on the trail of the Indian girl, but hers were nowthe only tracks he could see. 

All morning he gradually climbed, with limited view, until at last hemounted to a point where the country lay open to his sight on all sidesexcept where the endless black mesa ranged on into the north. A ruggedyellow peak dominated the landscape to the fore, but it was far away. Red and jagged country extended westward to a huge flat-topped wall ofgray rock. Lowering swift clouds swept across the sky, like droopingmantles, and darkened the sun. Shefford built a little fire out of deadgreasewood sticks, and with his blanket round his shoulders he hung overthe blaze, scorching his clothes and hands. He had been cold before inhis life but he had never before appreciated fire. This desert blastpierced him. The squall enveloped him, thicker and colder and windierthan the other, but, being better fortified, he did not suffer so much. It howled away, hiding the mesa and leaving a white desert behind. Shefford walked on, leading his horse, until the exercise and the sunhad once more warmed him. 

This last squall had rendered the Indian girl's trail difficult tofollow. The snow did not quickly melt, and, besides, sheep tracks andthe tracks of horses gave him trouble, until at last he was compelled toadmit that he could not follow her any longer. A faint path or trailled north, however, and, following that, he soon forgot the girl. Everysurmounted ridge held a surprise for him. The desert seemed never tochange in the vast whole that encompassed him, yet near him it wasalways changing. From Red Lake he had seen a peaked, walled, andcanyoned country, as rough as a stormy sea; but when he rode into thatcountry the sharp and broken features held to the distance. 

He was glad to get out of the sand. Long narrow flats, gray with grassand dotted with patches of greasewood, and lined by low bare ridges ofyellow rock, stretched away from him, leading toward the yellow peakthat seemed never to be gained upon. 

Shefford had pictures in his mind, pictures of stone walls and wildvalleys and domed buttes, all of which had been painted in colorful andvivid words by his friend Venters. He believed he would recognize thedistinctive and remarkable landmarks Venters had portrayed, and he wascertain that he had not yet come upon one of them. This was his secondlonely day of travel and he had grown more and more susceptible to theinfluence of horizon and the different prominent points. He attributeda gradual change in his feelings to the loneliness and the increasingwildness. Between Tuba and Flagstaff he had met Indians and anoccasional prospector and teamster. Here he was alone, and though hefelt some strange gladness, he could not help but see the difference. 

He rode on during the gray, lowering, chilly day, and toward eveningthe clouds broke in the west, and a setting sun shone through therift, burnishing the desert to red and gold. Shefford's instinctivebut deadened love of the beautiful in nature stirred into life, and themoment of its rebirth was a melancholy and sweet one. Too late for theartist's work, but not too late for his soul!

For a place to make camp he halted near a low area of rock that lay likean island in a sea of grass. There was an abundance of dead greasewoodfor a camp-fire, and, after searching over the rock, he found littlepools of melted snow in the depressions. He took off the saddle andpack, watered his horse, and, hobbling him as well as his inexperiencepermitted, he turned him loose on the grass. 

Then while he built a fire and prepared a meal the night came down uponhim. In the lee of the rock he was well sheltered from the wind, butthe air, was bitter cold. He gathered all the dead greasewood in thevicinity, replenished the fire, and rolled in his blanket, back to theblaze. The loneliness and the coyotes did not bother him this night. He was too tired and cold. He went to sleep at once and did not awakenuntil the fire died out. Then he rebuilt it and went to sleep again. Every half-hour all night long he repeated this, and was glad indeedwhen the dawn broke. 

The day began with misfortune. His horse was gone; it had been stolen, or had worked out of sight, or had broken the hobbles and made off. Froma high stone ridge Shefford searched the grassy flats and slopes, allto no purpose. Then he tried to track the horse, but this was equallyfutile. He had expected disasters, and the first one did not daunt him. He tied most of his pack in the blanket, threw the canteen across hisshoulder, and set forth, sure at least of one thing--that he was a verymuch better traveler on foot than on horseback. 

Walking did not afford him the leisure to study the surrounding country;however, from time to time, when he surmounted a bench he scanned thedifferent landmarks that had grown familiar. It took hours of steadywalking to reach and pass the yellow peak that had been a kind ofgoal. He saw many sheep trails and horse tracks in the vicinity of thismountain, and once he was sure he espied an Indian watching him from abold ridge-top. 

The day was bright and warm, with air so clear it magnified objectshe knew to be far away. The ascent was gradual; there were many narrowflats connected by steps; and the grass grew thicker and longer. At noonShefford halted under the first cedar-tree, a lonely, dwarfed shrub thatseemed to have had a hard life. From this point the rise of ground wasmore perceptible, and straggling cedars led the eye on to a purple slopethat merged into green of pinyon and pine. Could that purple be thesage Venters had so feelingly described, or was it merely the purple ofdeceiving distance? Whatever it might be, it gave Shefford a thrill andmade him think of the strange, shy, and lovely woman Venters had won outhere in this purple-sage country. 

He calculated that he had ridden thirty miles the day before and hadalready traveled ten miles today, and therefore could hope to be in thepass before night. Shefford resumed his journey with too much energy andenthusiasm to think of being tired. And he discovered presently thatthe straggling cedars and the slope beyond were much closer than hehad judged them to be. He reached the sage to find it gray instead ofpurple. Yet it was always purple a little way ahead, and if he half shuthis eyes it was purple near at hand. He was surprised to find that hecould not breathe freely, or it seemed so, and soon made the discoverythat the sweet, pungent, penetrating fragrance of sage and cedar hadthis strange effect upon him. This was an exceedingly dry and odorousforest, where every open space between the clumps of cedars was chokedwith luxuriant sage. The pinyons were higher up on the mesa, and thepines still higher. Shefford appeared to lose himself. There were notrails; the black mesa on the right and the wall of stone on the leftcould not be seen; but he pushed on with what was either singularconfidence or rash impulse. And he did not know whether that slope waslong or short. Once at the summit he saw with surprise that it brokeabruptly and the descent was very steep and short on that side. Throughthe trees he once more saw the black mesa, rising to the dignity of amountain; and he had glimpses of another flat, narrow valley, this timewith a red wall running parallel with the mesa. He could not help buthurry down to get an unobstructed view. His eagerness was rewarded by asplendid scene, yet to his regret he could not force himself to believeit had any relation to the pictured scenes in his mind. The valley washalf a mile wide, perhaps several miles long, and it extended in a curvebetween the cedar-sloped mesa and a looming wall of red stone. There wasnot a bird or a beast in sight. He found a well-defined trail, but ithad not been recently used. He passed a low structure made of peeledlogs and mud, with a dark opening like a door. It did not take him manyminutes to learn that the valley was longer than he had calculated. He walked swiftly and steadily, in spite of the fact that the pack hadbecome burdensome. What lay beyond the jutting corner of the mesa hadincreasing fascination for him and acted as a spur. At last he turnedthe corner, only to be disappointed at sight of another cedar slope. He had a glimpse of a single black shaft of rock rising far in thedistance, and it disappeared as his striding forward made the crest ofthe slope rise toward the sky. 

Again his view became restricted, and he lost the sense of a slow andgradual uplift of rock and an increase in the scale of proportion. Half-way up this ascent he was compelled to rest; and again the sun wasslanting low when he entered the cedar forest. Soon he was descending, and he suddenly came into the open to face a scene that made his heartbeat thick and fast. 

He saw lofty crags and cathedral spires, and a wonderful canyon windingbetween huge beetling red walk. He heard the murmur of flowing water. The trail led down to the canyon floor, which appeared to be level andgreen and cut by deep washes in red earth. Could this canyon be themouth of Deception Pass? It bore no resemblance to any place Sheffordhad heard described, yet somehow he felt rather than saw that it was theportal to the wild fastness he had traveled so far to enter. 

Not till he had descended the trail and had dropped his pack did herealize how weary and footsore he was. Then he rested. But his eyesroved to and fro, and his mind was active. What a wild and lonesomespot! The low murmur of shallow water came up to him from a deep, narrowcleft. Shadows were already making the canyon seem full of blue haze. Hesaw a bare slope of stone out of which cedar-trees were growing. And ashe looked about him he became aware of a singular and very perceptiblechange in the lights and shades. The sun was setting; the crags weregold-tipped; the shadows crept upward; the sky seemed to darken swiftly;then the gold changed to red, slowly dulled, and the grays and purplesstood out. Shefford was entranced with the beautiful changing effects, and watched till the walls turned black and the sky grew steely and afaint star peeped out. Then he set about the necessary camp tasks. 

Dead cedars right at hand assured him a comfortable night with steadyfire; and when he had satisfied his hunger he arranged an easy seatbefore the blazing logs, and gave his mind over to thought of his weird, lonely environment. 

The murmur of running water mingled in harmonious accompaniment with themoan of the wind in the cedars--wild, sweet sounds that were balm to hiswounded spirit! They seemed a part of the silence, rather than a breakin it or a hindrance to the feeling of it. But suddenly that silencedid break to the rattle of a rock. Shefford listened, thinking some wildanimal was prowling around. He felt no alarm. Presently he heard thesound again, and again. Then he recognized the crack of unshod hoofsupon rock. A horse was coming down the trail. Shefford rather resentedthe interruption, though he still had no alarm. He believed he wasperfectly safe. As a matter of fact, he had never in his life beenanything but safe and padded around with wool, hence, never havingexperienced peril, he did not know what fear was. 

Presently he saw a horse and rider come into dark prominence on theridge just above his camp. They were silhouetted against the starrysky. The horseman stopped and he and his steed made a magnificent blackstatue, somehow wild and strange, in Shefford's sight. Then he came on, vanished in the darkness under the ridge, presently to emerge into thecircle of camp-fire light. 

He rode to within twenty feet of Shefford and the fire. The horse wasdark, wild-looking, and seemed ready to run. The rider appeared to be anIndian, and yet had something about him suggesting the cowboy. At onceShefford remembered what Presbrey had said about half-breeds. A littleshock, inexplicable to Shefford, rippled over him. 

He greeted his visitor, but received no answer. Shefford saw a dark, squat figure bending forward in the saddle. The man was tense. All abouthim was dark except the glint of a rifle across the saddle. The faceunder the sombrero was only a shadow. Shefford kicked the fire-logs anda brighter blaze lightened the scene. Then he saw this stranger a littlemore clearly, and made out an unusually large head, broad dark face, asinister tight-shut mouth, and gleaming black eyes. 

Those eyes were unmistakably hostile. They roved searchingly overShefford's pack and then over his person. Shefford felt for the gun thatPresbrey had given him. But it was gone. He had left it back where hehad lost his horse, and had not thought of it since. Then a strange, slow-coming cold agitation possessed Shefford. Something gripped histhroat. 

Suddenly Shefford was stricken at a menacing movement on the part ofthe horseman. He had drawn a gun. Shefford saw it shine darkly in thefirelight. The Indian meant to murder him. Shefford saw the grim, darkface in a kind of horrible amaze. He felt the meaning of that drawnweapon as he had never felt anything before in his life. And hecollapsed back into his seat with an icy, sickening terror. In a secondhe was dripping wet with cold sweat. Lightning-swift thoughts flashedthrough his mind. It had been one of his platitudes that he was notafraid of death. Yet here he was a shaking, helpless coward. What hadhe learned about either life or death? Would this dark savage plungehim into the unknown? It was then that Shefford realized his hollowphilosophy and the bitter-sweetness of life. He had a brain and a soul, and between them he might have worked out his salvation. But what werethey to this ruthless night-wanderer, this raw and horrible wildness ofthe desert?

Incapable of voluntary movement, with tongue cleaving to the roof of hismouth, Shefford watched the horseman and the half-poised gun. It was notyet leveled. Then it dawned upon Shefford that the stranger's head wasturned a little, his ear to the wind. He was listening. His horse waslistening. Suddenly he straightened up, wheeled his horse, and trottedaway into the darkness. But he did not climb the ridge down which he hadcome. 

Shefford heard the click of hoofs upon the stony trail. Other horses andriders were descending into the canyon. They had been the cause of hisdeliverance, and in the relaxation of feeling he almost fainted. Then hesat there, slowly recovering, slowly ceasing to tremble, divining thatthis situation was somehow to change his attitude toward life. 

Three horses, two with riders, moved in dark shapes across the skylineabove the ridge, disappeared as had Shefford's first visitor, and thenrode into the light. Shefford saw two Indians--a man and a woman; thenwith surprise recognized the latter to be the Indian girl he had met atRed Lake. He was still more surprised to recognize in the third horsethe one he had lost at the last camp. Shefford rose, a little shaky onhis legs, to thank these Indians for a double service. The man slippedfrom his saddle and his moccasined feet thudded lightly. He was tall, lithe, erect, a singularly graceful figure, and as he advanced Sheffordsaw a dark face and sharp, dark eyes. The Indian was bareheaded, withhis hair bound in a band. He resembled the girl, but appeared to have afiner face. 

"How do?" he said, in a voice low and distinct. He extended his hand, and Shefford felt a grip of steel. He returned the greeting. Thenthe Indian gave Shefford the bridle of the horse, and made signs thatappeared to indicate the horse had broken his hobbles and strayed. Shefford thanked him. Thereupon the Indian unsaddled and led the horsesaway, evidently to water them. The girl remained behind. Sheffordaddressed her, but she was shy and did not respond. He then set aboutcooking a meal for his visitors, and was busily engaged at this when theIndian returned without the horses. Presently Shefford resumed his seatby the fire and watched the two eat what he had prepared. They certainlywere hungry and soon had the pans and cups empty. Then the girl drewback a little into the shadow, while the man sat with his legs crossedand his feet tucked under him. 

His dark face was smooth, yet it seemed to have lines under the surface. Shefford was impressed. He had never seen an Indian who interested himas this one. Looked at superficially, he appeared young, wild, silent, locked in his primeval apathy, just a healthy savage; but looked at moreattentively, he appeared matured, even old, a strange, sad, broodingfigure, with a burden on his shoulders. Shefford found himself growingcurious. 

"What place?" asked Shefford, waving his hand toward the dark openingbetween the black cliffs. 

"Sagi, " replied the Indian. 

That did not mean anything to Shefford, and he asked if the Sagi was thepass, but the Indian shook his head. 

"Wife?" asked Shefford, pointing to the girl. 

The Indian shook his head again. "_Bi-la_, " he said. 

"What you mean?" asked Shefford. "What _bi-la_?"

"Sister, " replied the Indian. He spoke the word reluctantly, as if thewhite man's language did not please him, but the clearness and correctpronunciation surprised Shefford. 

"What name--what call her?" he went on. 

"Glen Naspa. "

"What your name?" inquired Shefford, indicating the Indian. 

"Nas Ta Bega, " answered the Indian. 

"Navajo?"

The Indian bowed with what seemed pride and stately dignity. 

"My name John Shefford. Come far way back toward rising sun. Come stayhere long. "

Nas Ta Bega's dark eyes were fixed steadily upon Shefford. He reflectedthat he could not remember having felt so penetrating a gaze. Butneither the Indian's eyes nor face gave any clue to his thoughts. 

"Navajo no savvy Jesus Christ, " said the Indian, and his voice rolledout low and deep. 

Shefford felt both amaze and pain. The Indian had taken him for amissionary. 

"No!. .. Me no missionary, " cried Shefford, and he flung up apassionately repudiating hand. 

A singular flash shot from the Indian's dark eyes. It struck Sheffordeven at this stinging moment when the past came back. 

"Trade--buy wool--blanket?" queried Nas Ta Bega. 

"No, " replied Shefford. "Me want ride--walk far. " He waved his hand toindicate a wide sweep of territory. "Me sick. "

Nas Ta Bega laid a significant finger upon his lungs. 

"No, " replied Shefford. "Me strong. Sick here. " And with motions of hishands he tried to show that his was a trouble of the heart. 

Shefford received instant impression of this Indian's intelligentcomprehension, but he could not tell just what had given him thefeeling. Nas Ta Bega rose then and walked away into the shadow. Sheffordheard him working around the dead cedar-tree, where he had probably goneto get fire-wood. Then Shefford heard a splintering crash, which wasfollowed by a crunching, bumping sound. Presently he was astounded tosee the Indian enter the lighted circle dragging the whole cedar-tree, trunk first. Shefford would have doubted the ability of two men to dragthat tree, and here came Nas Ta Bega, managing it easily. He laid thetrunk on the fire, and then proceeded to break off small branches, toplace them advantageously where the red coals kindled them into a blaze. 

The Indian's next move was to place his saddle, which he evidently meantto use for a pillow. Then he spread a goat-skin on the ground, laydown upon it, with his back to the fire, and, pulling a long-hairedsaddle-blanket over his shoulders, he relaxed and became motionless. Hissister, Glen Naspa, did likewise, except that she stayed farther awayfrom the fire, and she had a larger blanket, which covered her well. Itappeared to Shefford that they went to sleep at once. 

Shefford felt as tired as he had ever been, but he did not think hecould soon drop into slumber, and in fact he did not want to. 

There was something in the companionship of these Indians that he hadnot experienced before. He still had a strange and weak feeling--theaftermath of that fear which had sickened him with its horrible icygrip. Nas Ta Bega's arrival had frightened away that dark and silentprowler of the night; and Shefford was convinced the Indian had savedhis life. The measure of his gratitude was a source of wonder to him. Had he cared so much for life? Yes--he had, when face to face withdeath. That was something to know. It helped him. And he gathered fromhis strange feeling that the romantic quest which had brought himinto the wilderness might turn out to be an antidote for the morbidbitterness of heart. 

With new sensations had come new thoughts. Right then it was verypleasant to sit in the warmth and light of the roaring cedar fire. Therewas a deep-seated ache of fatigue in his bones. What joy it was to rest!He had felt the dry scorch of desert thirst and the pang of hunger. How wonderful to learn the real meaning of water and food! He had justfinished the longest, hardest day's work of his life! Had that anythingto do with a something almost like peace which seemed to hover near inthe shadows, trying to come to him? He had befriended an Indian girl, and now her brother had paid back the service. Both the giving andreceiving were somehow sweet to Shefford. They opened up hitherto vaguechannels of thought. For years he had imagined he was serving people, when he had never lifted a hand. A blow given in the defense of anIndian girl had somehow operated to make a change in John Shefford'sexistence. It had liberated a spirit in him. Moreover, it had worked itsinfluence outside his mind. The Indian girl and her brother had followedhis trail to return his horse, perhaps to guide him safely, but, unknowingly perhaps, they had done infinitely more than that for him. AsShefford's eye wandered over the dark, still figures of the sleepers hehad a strange, dreamy premonition, or perhaps only a fancy, that therewas to be more come of this fortunate meeting. 

For the rest, it was good to be there in the speaking silence, to feelthe heat on his outstretched palms and the cold wind on his cheek, tosee the black wall lifting its bold outline and the crags reaching forthe white stars. 

III. KAYENTA

The stamping of horses awoke Shefford. He A saw a towering crag, rosyin the morning light, like a huge red spear splitting the clear blueof sky. He got up, feeling cramped and sore, yet with unfamiliarexhilaration. The whipping air made him stretch his hands to the fire. An odor of coffee and broiled meat mingled with the fragrance of woodsmoke. Glen Naspa was on her knees broiling a rabbit on a stick over thered coals. Nas Ta Bega was saddling the ponies. The canyon appearedto be full of purple shadows under one side of dark cliffs and goldenstreaks of mist on the other where the sun struck high up on the walls. 

"Good morning, " said Shefford. 

Glen Naspa shyly replied in Navajo. 

"How, " was Nas Ta Bega's greeting. 

In daylight the Indian lost some of the dark somberness of face that hadimpressed Shefford. He had a noble head, in poise like that of an eagle, a bold, clean-cut profile, and stern, close-shut lips. His eyes were themost striking and attractive feature about him; they were coal-blackand piercing; the intent look out of them seemed to come from a keen andinquisitive mind. 

Shefford ate breakfast with the Indians, and then helped with the fewpreparations for departure. Before they mounted, Nas Ta Bega pointedto horse tracks in the dust. They were those that had been made byShefford's threatening visitor of the night before. Shefford explainedby word and sign, and succeeded at least in showing that he had beenin danger. Nas Ta Bega followed the tracks a little way and presentlyreturned. 

"Shadd, " he said, with an ominous shake of his head. Shefford did notunderstand whether he meant the name of his visitor or something else, but the menace connected with the word was clear enough. 

Glen Naspa mounted her pony, and it was a graceful action that pleasedShefford. He climbed a little stiffly into his own saddle. Then Nas TaBega got up and pointed northward. 

"Kayenta?" he inquired. 

Shefford nodded and then they were off, with Glen Naspa in the lead. They did not climb the trail which they had descended, but took oneleading to the right along the base of the slope. Shefford saw down intothe red wash that bisected the canyon floor. It was a sheer wall ofred clay or loam, a hundred feet high, and at the bottom ran a swift, shallow stream of reddish water. Then for a time a high growth ofgreasewood hid the surroundings from Shefford's sight. Presently thetrail led out into the open, and Shefford saw that he was at the neck ofa wonderful valley that gradually widened with great jagged red peaks onthe left and the black mesa, now a mountain, running away to the right. He turned to find that the opening of the Sagi could no longer be seen, and he was conscious of a strong desire to return and explore thatcanyon. 

Soon Glen Naspa put her pony to a long, easy, swinging canter and herfollowers did likewise. As they got outward into the valley Sheffordlost the sense of being overshadowed and crowded by the nearness ofthe huge walls and crags. The trail appeared level underfoot, but at adistance it was seen to climb. Shefford found where it disappeared overthe foot of a slope that formed a graceful rising line up to thecedared flank of the mesa. The valley floor, widening away to the north, remained level and green. Beyond rose the jagged range of red peaks, all strangely cut and slanting. These distant deceiving features ofthe country held Shefford's gaze until the Indian drew his attentionto things near at hand. Then Shefford saw flocks of sheep dottingthe gray-green valley, and bands of beautiful long-maned, long-tailedponies. 

For several miles the scene did not change except that Shefford imaginedhe came to see where the upland plain ended or at least broke its level. He was right, for presently the Indian pointed, and Shefford went on tohalt upon the edge of a steep slope leading down into a valley vast inits barren gray reaches. 

"Kayenta, " said Nas Ta Bega. 

Shefford at first saw nothing except the monotonous gray valley reachingfar to the strange, grotesque monuments of yellow cliff. Then closeunder the foot of the slope he espied two squat stone houses with redroofs, and a corral with a pool of water shining in the sun. 

The trail leading down was steep and sandy, but it was not long. Shefford's sweeping eyes appeared to take in everything at once--thecrude stone structures with their earthen roofs, the piles of dirtywool, the Indians lolling around, the tents, and wagons, and horses, little lazy burros and dogs, and scattered everywhere saddles, blankets, guns, and packs. 

Then a white man came out of the door. He waved a hand and shouted. Dust and wool and flour were thick upon him. He was muscular andweather-beaten, and appeared young in activity rather than face. A gunswung at his hip and a row of brass-tipped cartridges showed in hisbelt. Shefford looked into a face that he thought he had seen before, until he realized the similarity was only the bronze and hard line andrugged cast common to desert men. The gray searching eyes went rightthrough him. 

"Glad to see you. Get down and come in. Just heard from an Indian thatyou were coming. I'm the trader Withers, " he said to Shefford. His voicewas welcoming and the grip of his hand made Shefford's ache. 

Shefford told his name and said he was as glad as he was lucky to arriveat Kayenta. 

"Hello! Nas Ta Bega!" exclaimed Withers. His tone expressed a surprisehis face did not show. "Did this Indian bring you in?"

Withers shook hands with the Navajo while Shefford briefly related whathe owed to him. Then Withers looked at Nas Ta Bega and spoke to him inthe Indian tongue. 

"Shadd, " said Nas Ta Bega. Withers let out a dry little laugh and hisstrong hand tugged at his mustache. 

"Who's Shadd?" asked Shefford. 

"He's a half-breed Ute--bad Indian, outlaw, murderer. He's in witha gang of outlaws who hide in the San Juan country. .. . Reckon you'relucky. How'd you come to be there in the Sagi alone?"

"I traveled from Red Lake. Presbrey, the trader there, advised againstit, but I came anyway. "

"Well. " Withers's gray glance was kind, if it did express thefoolhardiness of Shefford's act. "Come into the house. .. . Never mind thehorse. My wife will sure be glad to see you. "

Withers led Shefford by the first stone house, which evidently was thetrading-store, into the second. The room Shefford entered was large, with logs smoldering in a huge open fireplace, blankets covering everyfoot of floor space, and Indian baskets and silver ornaments everywhere, and strange Indian designs painted upon the whitewashed walls. Witherscalled his wife and made her acquainted with Shefford. She was a slight, comely little woman, with keen, earnest, dark eyes. She seemed to beserious and quiet, but she made Shefford feel at home immediately. Herefused, however, to accept the room offered him, saying that he memeant to sleep out under the open sky. Withers laughed at this and saidhe understood. Shefford, remembering Presbrey's hunger for news of theoutside world, told this trader and his wife all he could think of; andhe was listened to with that close attention a traveler always gained inthe remote places. 

"Sure am glad you rode in, " said Withers, for the fourth time. "Now youmake yourself at home. Stay here--come over to the store--do what youlike. I've got to work. To-night we'll talk. "

Shefford went out with his host. The store was as interesting asPresbrey's, though much smaller and more primitive. It was full ofeverything, and smelled strongly of sheep and goats. There was a narrowaisle between sacks of flour and blankets on one side and a high counteron the other. Behind this counter Withers stood to wait upon the buyingIndians. They sold blankets and skins and bags of wool, and in exchangetook silver money. Then they lingered and with slow, staid reluctancebought one thing and then another--flour, sugar, canned goods, coffee, tobacco, ammunition. The counter was never without two or three Indiansleaning on their dark, silver-braceleted arms. But as they were slow tosell and buy and go, so were others slow to come in. Their voices weresoft and low and it seemed to Shefford they were whispering. He likedto hear them and to look at the banded heads, the long, twisted rollsof black hair tied with white cords, the still dark faces and watchfuleyes, the silver ear-rings, the slender, shapely brown hands, the leanand sinewy shapes, the corduroys with a belt and gun, and the small, close-fitting buckskin moccasins buttoned with coins. These Indiansall appeared young, and under the quiet, slow demeanor there was fierceblood and fire. 

By and by two women came in, evidently squaw and daughter. The formerwas a huge, stout Indian with a face that was certainly pleasant if notjolly. 

She had the corners of a blanket tied under her chin, and in the foldsbehind on her broad back was a naked Indian baby, round and black ofhead, brown-skinned, with eyes as bright as beads. When the youngstercaught sight of Shefford he made a startled dive into the sack of theblanket. Manifestly, however, curiosity got the better of fear, forpresently Shefford caught a pair of wondering dark eyes peeping at him. 

"They're good spenders, but slow, " said Withers. "The Navajos arecareful and cautious. That's why they're rich. This squaw, Yan As Pa, has flocks of sheep and more mustangs than she knows about. "

"Mustangs. So that's what you call the ponies?" replied Shefford. 

"Yep. They're mustangs, and mostly wild as jack-rabbits. "

Shefford strolled outside and made the acquaintance of Withers's helper, a Mormon named Whisner. He was a stockily built man past maturity, andhis sun-blistered face and watery eyes told of the open desert. He wasengaged in weighing sacks of wool brought in by the Indians. Near bystood a framework of poles from which an immense bag was suspended. Fromthe top of this bag protruded the head and shoulders of an Indian whoappeared to be stamping and packing wool with his feet. He grinned atthe curious Shefford. But Shefford was more interested in the Mormon. Sofar as he knew, Whisner was the first man of that creed he had ever met, and he could scarcely hide his eagerness. Venters's stories had beenof a long-past generation of Mormons, fanatical, ruthless, andunchangeable. Shefford did not expect to meet Mormons of this kind. But any man of that religion would have interested him. Besides this, Whisner seemed to bring him closer to that wild secret canyon he hadcome West to find. Shefford was somewhat amazed and discomfited to havehis polite and friendly overtures repulsed. Whisner might have been anIndian. He was cold, incommunicative, aloof; and there was somethingabout him that made the sensitive Shefford feel his presence wasresented. 

Presently Shefford strolled on to the corral, which was full of shaggymustangs. They snorted and kicked at him. He had a half-formed wish thathe would never be called upon to ride one of those wild brutes, and thenhe found himself thinking that he would ride one of them, and after awhile any of them. Shefford did not understand himself, but he foughthis natural instinctive reluctance to meet obstacles, peril, suffering. 

He traced the white-bordered little stream that made the pool in thecorral, and when he came to where it oozed out of the sand under thebluff he decided that was not the spring which had made Kayenta famous. Presently down below the trading-post he saw a trough from which burroswere drinking. Here he found the spring, a deep well of eddying waterwalled in by stones, and the overflow made a shallow stream meanderingaway between its borders of alkali, like a crust of salt. Sheffordtasted the water. It bit, but it was good. 

Shefford had no trouble in making friends with the lazy sleepy-eyedburros. They let him pull their long ears and rub their noses, but themustangs standing around were unapproachable. They had wild eyes; theyraised long ears and looked vicious. He let them alone. 

Evidently this trading-post was a great deal busier than Red Lake. Shefford counted a dozen Indians lounging outside, and there were othersriding away. Big wagons told how the bags of wool were transported outof the wilds and how supplies were brought in. A wide, hard-packed roadled off to the east, and another, not so clearly defined, wound away tothe north. And Indian trails streaked off in all directions. 

Shefford discovered, however, when he had walked off a mile or so acrossthe valley to lose sight of the post, that the feeling of wildnessand loneliness returned to him. It was a wonderful country. It heldsomething for him besides the possible rescue of an imprisoned girl froma wild canyon. 

. . . . . . . . . . . 

That night after supper, when Withers and Shefford sat alone beforethe blazing logs in the huge fireplace, the trader laid his hand onShefford's and said, with directness and force:

"I've lived my life in the desert. I've met many men and have been afriend to most. .. . You're no prospector or trader or missionary?"

"No, " replied Shefford. 

"You've had trouble?"

"Yes. "

"Have you come in here to hide? Don't be afraid to tell me. I won't giveyou away. "

"I didn't come to hide. "

"Then no one is after you? You've done no wrong?"

"Perhaps I wronged myself, but no one else, " replied Shefford, steadily. 

"I reckoned so. Well, tell me, or keep your secret--it's all one to me. "

Shefford felt a desire to unburden himself. This man was strong, persuasive, kindly. He drew Shefford. 

"You're welcome in Kayenta, " went on Withers. "Stay as long as you like. I take no pay from a white man. If you want work I have it aplenty. "

"Thank you. That is good. I need to work. We'll talk of it later. . .. But just yet I can't tell you why I came to Kayenta, what I want todo, how long I shall stay. My thoughts put in words would seem solike dreams. Maybe they are dreams. Perhaps I'm only chasing aphantom--perhaps I'm only hunting the treasure at the foot of therainbow. "

"Well, this is the country for rainbows, " laughed Withers. "In summerfrom June to August when it storms we have rainbows that'll make youthink you're in another world. The Navajos have rainbow mountains, rainbow canyons, rainbow bridges of stone, rainbow trails. It sure israinbow country. "

That deep and mystic chord in Shefford thrilled. Here it wasagain--something tangible at the bottom of his dream. 

Withers did not wait for Shefford to say any more, and almost as ifhe read his visitor's mind he began to talk about the wild country hecalled home. 

He had lived at Kayenta for several years--hard and profitless years byreason of marauding outlaws. He could not have lived there at all butfor the protection of the Indians. His father-in-law had been friendlywith the Navajos and Piutes for many years, and his wife had beenbrought up among them. She was held in peculiar reverence and affectionby both tribes in that part of the country. Probably she knew more ofthe Indians' habits, religion, and life than any white person in theWest. Both tribes were friendly and peaceable, but there were badIndians, half-breeds, and outlaws that made the trading-post a ventureWithers had long considered precarious, and he wanted to move andintended to some day. His nearest neighbors in New Mexico and Coloradowere a hundred miles distant and at some seasons the roads wereimpassable. To the north, however, twenty miles or so, was situated aMormon village named Stonebridge. It lay across the Utah line. Withersdid some business with this village, but scarcely enough to warrantthe risks he had to run. During the last year he had lost severalpack-trains, one of which he had never heard of after it leftStonebridge. 

"Stonebridge!" exclaimed Shefford, and he trembled. He had heard thatname. In his memory it had a place beside the name of another villageShefford longed to speak of to this trader. 

"Yes--Stonebridge, " replied Withers. "Ever heard the name?"

"I think so. Are there other villages in--in that part of the country?"

"A few, but not close. Glaze is now only a water-hole. Bluff andMonticello are far north across the San Juan. .. . There used to beanother village--but that wouldn't interest you. "

"Maybe it would, " replied Shefford, quietly. 

But his hint was not taken by the trader. Withers suddenly showed asemblance of the aloofness Shefford had observed in Whisner. 

"Withers, pardon an impertinence--I am deeply serious. .. . Are you aMormon?"

"Indeed I'm not, " replied the trader, instantly. 

"Are you for the Mormons or against them?"

"Neither. I get along with them. I know them. I believe they are amisunderstood people. "

"That's for them. "

"No. I'm only fair-minded. "

Shefford paused, trying to curb his thrilling impulse, but it was toostrong. 

"You said there used to be another village. .. . Was the name ofit--Cottonwoods?"

Withers gave a start and faced round to stare at Shefford in blankastonishment. 

"Say, did you give me a straight story about yourself?" he queried, sharply. 

"So far as I went, " replied Shefford. 

"You're no spy on the lookout for sealed wives?"

"Absolutely not. I don't even know what you mean by sealed wives. "

"Well, it's damn strange that you'd know the name Cottonwoods. .. . Yes, that's the name of the village I meant--the one that used to be. It'sgone now, all except a few stone walls. "

"What became of it?"

"Torn down by Mormons years ago. They destroyed it and moved away. I'veheard Indians talk about a grand spring that was there once. It's gone, too. Its name was--let me see--"

"Amber Spring, " interrupted Shefford. 

"By George, you're right!" rejoined the trader, again amazed. "Shefford, this beats me. I haven't heard that name for ten years. I can't helpseeing what a tenderfoot--stranger--you are to the desert. Yet, here youare--speaking of what you should know nothing of. .. . And there's morebehind this. "

Shefford rose, unable to conceal his agitation. 

"Did you ever hear of a rider named Venters?"

"Rider? You mean a cowboy? Venters. No, I never heard that name. "

"Did you ever hear of a gunman named Lassiter?" queried Shefford, withincreasing emotion. 

"No. "

"Did you ever hear of a Mormon woman named--Jane Withersteen?"

"No. "

Shefford drew his breath sharply. He had followed a gleam--he had caughta fleeting glimpse of it. 

"Did you ever hear of a child--a girl--a woman--called Fay Larkin?"

Withers rose slowly with a paling face. 

"If you're a spy it'll go hard with you--though I'm no Mormon, " he said, grimly. 

Shefford lifted a shaking hand. 

"I WAS a clergyman. Now I'm nothing--a wanderer--least of all a spy. "

Withers leaned closer to see into the other man's eyes; he looked longand then appeared satisfied. 

"I've heard the name Fay Larkin, " he said, slowly. "I reckon that's allI'll say till you tell your story. "

. . . . . . . . . . . 

Shefford stood with his back to the fire and he turned the palms ofhis hands to catch the warmth. He felt cold. Withers had affected himstrangely. What was the meaning of the trader's somber gravity? Why wasthe very mention of Mormons attended by something austere and secret?

"My name is John Shefford. I am twenty-four, " began Shefford. "Myfamily--"

Here a knock on the door interrupted Shefford. 

"Come in, " called Withers. 

The door opened and like a shadow Nas Ta Bega slipped in. He saidsomething in Navajo to the trader. 

"How, " he said to Shefford, and extended his hand. He was stately, butthere was no mistaking his friendliness. Then he sat down before thefire, doubled his legs under him after the Indian fashion, and with darkeyes on the blazing logs seemed to lose himself in meditation. 

"He likes the fire, " explained Withers. "Whenever he comes to Kayenta healways visits me like this. .. . Don't mind him. Go on with your story. "

"My family were plain people, well-to-do, and very religious, " went onShefford. "When I was a boy we moved from the country to a town calledBeaumont, Illinois. There was a college in Beaumont and eventually I wassent to it to study for the ministry. I wanted to be---- But never mindthat. .. . By the time I was twenty-two I was ready for my career as aclergyman. I preached for a year around at different places and then gota church in my home town of Beaumont. I became exceedingly good friendswith a man named Venters, who had recently come to Beaumont. He was asingular man. His wife was a strange, beautiful woman, very reserved, and she had wonderful dark eyes. They had money and were devoted to eachother, and perfectly happy. They owned the finest horses ever seen inIllinois, and their particular enjoyment seemed to be riding. They werealways taking long rides. It was something worth going far for to seeMrs. Venters on a horse. 

"It was through my own love of horses that I became friendly withVenters. He and his wife attended my church, and as I got to see moreof them, gradually we grew intimate. And it was not until I did getintimate with them that I realized that both seemed to be haunted by thepast. They were sometimes sad even in their happiness. They driftedoff into dreams. They lived back in another world. They seemed to belistening. Indeed, they were a singularly interesting couple, and I grewgenuinely fond of them. By and by they had a little girl whom they namedJane. The coming of the baby made a change in my friends. They werehappier, and I observed that the haunting shadow did not so oftenreturn. 

"Venters had spoken of a journey west that he and his wife meant totake some time. But after the baby came he never mentioned his wife inconnection with the trip. I gathered that he felt compelled to go toclear up a mystery or to find something--I did not make out just what. But eventually, and it was about a year ago, he told me his story--thestrangest, wildest, and most tragic I ever heard. I can't tell it allnow. It is enough to say that fifteen years before he had been arider for a rich Mormon woman named Jane Withersteen, of this villageCottonwoods. She had adopted a beautiful Gentile child named Fay Larkin. Her interest in Gentiles earned the displeasure of her churchmen, and asshe was proud there came a breach. Venters and a gunman named Lassiterbecame involved in her quarrel. Finally Venters took to the canyon. Herein the wilds he found the strange girl he eventually married. For a longtime they lived in a wonderful hidden valley, the entrance to which wasguarded by a huge balancing rock. Venters got away with the girl. ButLassiter and Jane Withersteen and the child Fay Larkin were driven intothe canyon. They escaped to the valley where Venters had lived. Lassiterrolled the balancing rock, and, crashing down the narrow trail, itloosened the weathered walls and closed the narrow outlet for ever. "

IV. NEW FRIENDS

Shefford ended his narrative out of breath, pale, and dripping withsweat. Withers sat leaning forward with an expression of intenseinterest. Nas Ta Bega's easy, graceful pose had succeeded to oneof strained rigidity. He seemed a statue of bronze. Could a fewintelligible words, Shefford wondered, have created that strange, listening posture?

"Venters got out of Utah, of course, as you know, " went on Shefford. "Hegot out, knowing--as I feel I would have known--that Jane, Lassiter, andlittle Fay Larkin were shut up, walled up in Surprise Valley. For yearsVenters considered it would not have been safe for him to ventureto rescue them. He had no fears for their lives. They could live inSurprise Valley. But Venters always intended to come back with Bess andfind the valley and his friends. No wonder he and Bess were haunted. However, when his wife had the baby that made a difference. It meant hehad to go alone. And he was thinking seriously of starting when--whenthere were developments that made it desirable for me to leave Beaumont. Venters's story haunted me as he had been haunted. I dreamed of thatwild valley--of little Fay Larkin grown to womanhood--such a womanas Bess Venters was. And the longing to come was great. .. . And, Withers--here I am. "

The trader reached out and gave Shefford the grip of a man in whomemotion was powerful, but deep and difficult to express. 

"Listen to this. .. . I wish I could help you. Life is a queer deal. . .. Shefford, I've got to trust you. Over here in the wild canyon countrythere's a village of Mormons' sealed wives. It's in Arizona, perhapstwenty miles from here, and near the Utah line. When the United Statesgovernment began to persecute, or prosecute, the Mormons for polygamy, the Mormons over here in Stonebridge took their sealed wives and movedthem out of Utah, just across the line. They built houses, establisheda village there. I'm the only Gentile who knows about it. And I packsupplies every few weeks in to these women. There are perhaps fiftywomen, mostly young--second or third or fourth wives of Mormons--sealedwives. And I want you to understand that sealed means SEALED in all thatreligion or loyalty can get out of the word. There are also some oldwomen and old men in the village, but they hardly count. And there's aflock of the finest children you ever saw in your life. 

"The idea of the Mormons must have been to escape prosecution. Thelaw of the government is one wife for each man--no more. All over Utahpolygamists have been arrested. The Mormons are deeply concerned. Ibelieve they are a good, law-abiding people. But this law is a directblow at their religion. In my opinion they can't obey both. Andtherefore they have not altogether given up plural wives. Perhaps theywill some day. I have no proof, but I believe the Mormons of Stonebridgepay secret night visits to their sealed wives across the line in thelonely, hidden village. 

"Now once over in Stonebridge I overheard some Mormons talking about agirl who was named Fay Larkin. I never forgot the name. Later I heardthe name in this sealed-wife village. But, as I told you, I never heardof Lassiter or Jane Withersteen. Still, if Mormons had found them Iwould never have heard of it. And Deception Pass--that might be theSagi. .. . I'm not surprised at your rainbow-chasing adventure. It'sa great story. .. . This Fay Larkin I've heard of MIGHT be your FayLarkin--I almost believe so. Shefford, I'll help you find out. "

"Yes, yes--I must know, " replied Shefford. "Oh, I hope, I pray we canfind her! But--I'd rather she was dead--if she's not still hidden in thevalley. "

"Naturally. You've dreamed yourself into rescuing this lost FayLarkin. .. . But, Shefford, you're old enough to know life doesn't workout as you want it to. One way or another I fear you're in for a bitterdisappointment. "

"Withers, take me to the village. "

"Shefford, you're liable to get in bad out here, " said the trader, gravely. 

"I couldn't be any more ruined than I am now, " replied Shefford, passionately. 

"But there's risk in this--risk such as you never had, " persistedWithers. 

"I'll risk anything. "

"Reckon this is a funny deal for a sheep-trader to have on his hands, "continued Withers. "Shefford, I like you. I've a mind to see you throughthis. It's a damn strange story. .. . I'll tell you what--I will help you. I'll give you a job packing supplies in to the village. I meant to turnthat over to a Mormon cowboy--Joe Lake. The job shall be yours, and I'llgo with you first trip. Here's my hand on it. .. . Now, Shefford, I'm morecurious about you than I was before you told your story. What ruinedyou? As we're to be partners, you can tell me now. I'll keep yoursecret. Maybe I can do you good. "

Shefford wanted to confess, yet it was hard. Perhaps, had he not been soagitated, he would not have answered to impulse. But this trader was aman--a man of the desert--he would understand. 

"I told you I was a clergyman, " said Shefford in low voice. "I didn'twant to be one, but they made me one. I did my best. I failed. .. . I haddoubts of religion--of the Bible--of God, as my Church believed in them. As I grew older thought and study convinced me of the narrowness ofreligion as my congregation lived it. I preached what I believed. Ialienated them. They put me out, took my calling from me, disgraced me, ruined me. "

"So that's all!" exclaimed Withers, slowly. "You didn't believe in theGod of the Bible. .. . Well, I've been in the desert long enough to knowthere IS a God, but probably not the one your Church worships. . .. Shefford, go to the Navajo for a faith!"

Shefford had forgotten the presence of Nas Ta Bega, and perhaps Withershad likewise. At this juncture the Indian rose to his full height, andhe folded his arms to stand with the somber pride of a chieftain whilehis dark, inscrutable eyes were riveted upon Shefford. At that momenthe seemed magnificent. How infinitely more he seemed than just a commonIndian who had chanced to befriend a white man! The difference wasobscure to Shefford. But he felt that it was there in the Navajo'smind. Nas Ta Bega's strange look was not to be interpreted. Presently heturned and passed from the room. 

"By George!" cried Withers, suddenly, and he pounded his knee with hisfist. "I'd forgotten. "

"What?" ejaculated Shefford. 

"Why, that Indian understood every word we said. He knows English. He'seducated. Well, if this doesn't beat me. .. . Let me tell you about Nas TaBega. "

Withers appeared to be recalling something half forgotten. 

"Years ago, in fifty-seven, I think, Kit Carson with his soldiers chasedthe Navajo tribes and rounded them up to be put on reservations. But hefailed to catch all the members of one tribe. They escaped up into wildcanyon like the Sagi. The descendants of these fugitives live there nowand are the finest Indians on earth--the finest because unspoiled by thewhite man. Well, as I got the story, years after Carson's round-up oneof his soldiers guided some interested travelers in here. When theyleft they took an Indian boy with them to educate. From what I know ofNavajos I'm inclined to think the boy was taken against his parents'wish. Anyway, he was taken. That boy was Nas Ta Bega. The story goesthat he was educated somewhere. Years afterward, and perhaps not longbefore I came in here, he returned to his people. There have beenmissionaries and other interested fools who have given Indians a whiteman's education. In all the instances I know of, these educated Indiansreturned to their tribes, repudiating the white man's knowledge, habits, life, and religion. I have heard that Nas Ta Bega came back, laid downthe white man's clothes along with the education, and never again showedthat he had known either. 

"You have just seen how strangely he acted. It's almost certain he heardour conversation. Well, it doesn't matter. He won't tell. He can hardlybe made to use an English word. Besides, he's a noble red man, if thereever was one. He has been a friend in need to me. If you stay long outhere you'll learn something from the Indians. Nas Ta Bega has befriendedyou, too, it seems. I thought he showed unusual interest in you. "

"Perhaps that was because I saved his sister--well, to be charitable, from the rather rude advances of a white man, " said Shefford, and heproceeded to tell of the incident that occurred at Red Lake. 

"Willetts!" exclaimed Withers, with much the same expression thatPresbrey had used. "I never met him. But I know about him. He's--well, the Indians don't like him much. Most of the missionaries are goodmen--good for the Indians, in a way, but sometimes one drifts out herewho is bad. A bad missionary teaching religion to savages! Queer, isn'tit? The queerest part is the white people's blindness--the blindness ofthose who send the missionaries. Well, I dare say Willetts isn't verygood. When Presbrey said that was Willetts's way of teaching religion hemeant just what he said. If Willetts drifts over here he'll be riskingmuch. .. . This you told me explains Nas Ta Bega's friendliness towardyou, and also his bringing his sister Glen Naspa to live with relativesup in the pass. She had been living near Red Lake. "

"Do you mean Nas Ta Bega wants to keep his sister far removed fromWilletts?" inquired Shefford. 

"I mean that, " replied Withers, "and I hope he's not too late. "

Later Shefford went outdoors to walk and think. There was no moon, butthe stars made light enough to cast his shadow on the ground. The dark, illimitable expanse of blue sky seemed to be glittering with numberlesspoints of fire. The air was cold and still. A dreaming silence lay overthe land. Shefford saw and felt all these things, and their effect wascontinuous and remained with him and helped calm him. He was consciousof a burden removed from his mind. Confession of his secret had beenlike tearing a thorn from his flesh, but, once done, it afforded himrelief and a singular realization that out here it did not matter much. In a crowd of men all looking at him and judging him by their standardshe had been made to suffer. Here, if he were judged at all, it would beby what he could do, how he sustained himself and helped others. 

He walked far across the valley toward the low bluffs, but they didnot seem to get any closer. And, finally, he stopped beside a stone andlooked around at the strange horizon and up at the heavens. He did notfeel utterly aloof from them, nor alone in a waste, nor a useless atomamid incomprehensible forces. Something like a loosened mantle fell fromabout him, dropping down at his feet; and all at once he was consciousof freedom. He did not understand in the least why abasement lefthim, but it was so. He had come a long way, in bitterness, in despair, believing himself to be what men had called him. The desert and thestars and the wind, the silence of the night, the loneliness of thisvast country where there was room for a thousand cities--these somehowvaguely, yet surely, bade him lift his head. They withheld their secret, but they made a promise. The thing which he had been feeling every dayand every night was a strange enveloping comfort. And it was at thismoment that Shefford, divining whence his help was to come, embracedall that wild and speaking nature around and above him and surrenderedhimself utterly. 

"I am young. I am free. I have my life to live, " he said. "I'll be aman. I'll take what comes. Let me learn here!"

When he had spoken out, settled once and for ever his attitude towardhis future, he seemed to be born again, wonderfully alive to theinfluences around him, ready to trust what yet remained a mystery. 

Then his thoughts reverted to Fay Larkin. Could this girl be known tothe Mormons? It was possible. Fay Larkin was an unusual name. Deep intoShefford's heart had sunk the story Venters had told. Shefford foundthat he had unconsciously created a like romance--he had been loving awild and strange and lonely girl, like beautiful Bess Venters. It wasa shock to learn the truth, but, as it had been only a dream, it couldhardly be vital. 

Shefford retraced his steps toward the post. Halfway back he espied atall, dark figure moving toward him, and presently the shape and thestep seemed familiar. Then he recognized Nas Ta Bega. Soon they wereface to face. Shefford felt that the Indian had been trailing him overthe sand, and that this was to be a significant meeting. RememberingWithers's revelation about the Navajo, Shefford scarcely knew how toapproach him now. There was no difference to be made out in Nas TaBega's dark face and inscrutable eyes, yet there was a difference to befelt in his presence. But the Indian did not speak, and turned to walkby Shefford's side. Shefford could not long be silent. 

"Nas Ta Bega, were you looking for me?" he asked. 

"You had no gun, " replied the Indian. 

But for his very low voice, his slow speaking of the words, Sheffordwould have thought him a white man. For Shefford there was indeed aninstinct in this meeting, and he turned to face the Navajo. 

"Withers told me you had been educated, that you came back to thedesert, that you never showed your training. .. . Nas Ta Bega, did youunderstand all I told Withers?"

"Yes, " replied the Indian. 

"You won't betray me?"

"I am a Navajo. "

"Nas Ta Bega, you trail me--you say I had no gun. " Shefford wantedto ask this Indian if he cared to be the white man's friend, but thequestion was not easy to put, and, besides, seemed unnecessary. "I amalone and strange in this wild country. I must learn. "

"Nas Ta Bega will show you the trails and the water-holes and how tohide from Shadd. "

"For money--for silver you will do this?" inquired Shefford. 

Shefford felt that the Indian's silence was a rebuke. He rememberedWithers's singular praise of this red man. He realized he must changehis idea of Indians. 

"Nas Ta Bega, I know nothing. I feel like a child in the wilderness. When I speak it is out of the mouths of those who have taught me. I mustfind a new voice and a new life. .. . You heard my story to Withers. I aman outcast from my own people. If you will be my friend--be so. "

The Indian clasped Shefford's hand and held it in a response thatwas more beautiful for its silence. So they stood for a moment in thestarlight. 

"Nas Ta Bega, what did Withers mean when he said go to the Navajo for afaith?" asked Shefford. 

"He meant the desert is my mother. .. . Will you go with Nas Ta Bega intothe canyon and the mountains?"

"Indeed I will. "

They unclasped hands and turned toward the trading-post. 

"Nas Ta Bega, have you spoken my tongue to any other white man since youreturned to your home?" asked Shefford. 

"No. "

"Why do you--why are you different for me?"

The Indian maintained silence. 

"Is it because of--of Glen Naspa?" inquired Shefford. 

Nas Ta Bega stalked on, still silent, but Shefford divined that, although his service to Glen Naspa would never be forgotten, still itwas not wholly responsible for the Indian's subtle sympathy. 

"Bi Nai! The Navajo will call his white friend Bi Nai--brother, " saidNas Ta Bega, and he spoke haltingly, not as if words were hard to find, but strange to speak. "I was stolen from my mother's hogan and taken toCalifornia. They kept me ten years in a mission at San Bernardino andfour years in a school. They said my color and my hair were all thatwas left of the Indian in me. But they could not see my heart. They tookfourteen years of my life. They wanted to make me a missionary among myown people. But the white man's ways and his life and his God are notthe Indian's. They never can be. "

How strangely productive of thought for Shefford to hear the Indiantalk! What fatality in this meeting and friendship! Upon Nas Ta Bega hadbeen forced education, training, religion, that had made him somethingmore and something less than an Indian. It was something assimilatedfrom the white man which made the Indian unhappy and alien in his ownhome--something meant to be good for him and his kind that had ruinedhim. For Shefford felt the passion and the tragedy of this Navajo. 

"Bi Nai, the Indian is dying!" Nas Ta Bega's low voice was deep andwonderful with its intensity of feeling. "The white man robbed theIndian of lands and homes, drove him into the deserts, made him a gauntand sleepless spiller of blood. .. . The blood is all spilled now, forthe Indian is broken. But the white man sells him rum and seduces hisdaughters. .. . He will not leave the Indian in peace with his own God!. .. Bi Nai, the Indian is dying!"

. . . . . . . . . . . 

That night Shefford lay in his blankets out under the open sky and thestars. The earth had never meant much to him, and now it was a bed. Hehad preached of the heavens, but until now had never studied them. AnIndian slept beside him. And not until the gray of morning had blottedout the starlight did Shefford close his eyes. 

. . . . . . . . . . . 

With break of the next day came full, varied, and stirring incidentsto Shefford. He was strong, though unskilled at most kinds of outdoortasks. Withers had work for ten men, if they could have been found. Shefford dug and packed and lifted till he was so sore and tired thatrest was a blessing. 

He never succeeded in getting on a friendly footing with the MormonWhisner, though he kept up his agreeable and kindly advances. Helistened to the trader's wife as she told him about the Indians, andwhat he learned he did not forget. And his wonder and respect increasedin proportion to his knowledge. 

One day there rode into Kayenta the Mormon for whom Withers had beenwaiting. His name was Joe Lake. He appeared young, and slipped off hissuperb bay with a grace and activity that were astounding in one of hishuge bulk. He had a still, smooth face, with the color of red bronze andthe expression of a cherub; big, soft, dark eyes; and a winning smile. He was surprisingly different from Whisner or any Mormon character thatShefford had naturally conceived. His costume was that of the cowboy onactive service; and he packed a gun at his hip. The hand-shake he gaveShefford was an ordeal for that young man and left him with his wholeright side momentarily benumbed. 

"I sure am glad to meet you, " he said in a lazy, mild voice. And hewas taking friendly stock of Shefford when the bay mustang reachedwith vicious muzzle to bite at him. Lake gave a jerk on the bridle thatalmost brought the mustang to his knees. He reared then, snorted, andcame down to plant his forefeet wide apart, and watched his master withdefiant eyes. This mustang was the finest horse Shefford had ever seen. He appeared quite large for his species, was almost red in color, had aracy and powerful build, and a fine thoroughbred head with dark, fieryeyes. He did not look mean, but he had spirit. 

"Navvy, you've sure got bad manners, " said Lake, shaking the mustang'sbridle. He spoke as if he were chiding a refractory little boy. "Didn'tI break you better'n that? What's this gentleman goin' to think of you?Tryin' to bite my ear off!"

Lake had arrived about the middle of the forenoon, and Withers announcedhis intention of packing at once for the trip. Indians were sent out onthe ranges to drive in burros and mustangs. Shefford had his thrillingexpectancy somewhat chilled by what he considered must have been Lake'sreception of the trader's plan. Lake seemed to oppose him, and evidentlyit took vehemence and argument on Withers's part to make the Mormontractable. But Withers won him over, and then he called Shefford to hisside. 

"You fellows got to be good friends, " he said. "You'll have charge of mypack-trains. Nas Ta Bega wants to go with you. I'll feel safer about mysupplies and stock than I've ever been. .. . Joe, I'll back this strangerfor all I'm worth. He's square. .. . And, Shefford, Joe Lake is a Mormonof the younger generation. I want to start you right. You can trusthim as you trust me. He's white clean through. And he's the besthorse-wrangler in Utah. "

It was Lake who first offered his hand, and Shefford made haste to meetit with his own. Neither of them spoke. Shefford intuitively feltan alteration in Lake's regard, or at least a singular increase ofinterest. Lake had been told that Shefford had been a clergyman, was nowa wanderer, without any religion. Again it seemed to Shefford that heowed a forming of friendship to this singular fact. And it hurt him. Butstrangely it came to him that he had taken a liking to a Mormon. 

About one o'clock the pack-train left Kayenta. Nas Ta Bega led the wayup the slope. Following him climbed half a dozen patient, plodding, heavily laden burros. Withers came next, and he turned in his saddleto wave good-by to his wife. Joe Lake appeared to be busy keeping ared mule and a wild gray mustang and a couple of restive blacks in thetrail. Shefford brought up in the rear. 

His mount was a beautiful black mustang with three white feet, a whitespot on his nose, and a mane that swept to his knees. "His name'sNack-yal, " Withers had said. "It means two bits, or twenty-five cents. He ain't worth more. " To look at Nack-yal had pleased Shefford verymuch indeed, but, once upon his back, he grew dubious. The mustangacted queer. He actually looked back at Shefford, and it was a look ofspeculation and disdain. Shefford took exception to Nack-yal's mannerand to his reluctance to go, and especially to a habit the mustang hadof turning off the trail to the left. Shefford had managed some ratherspirited horses back in Illinois; and though he was willing and eager tolearn all over again, he did not enjoy the prospect of Lake and Withersseeing this black mustang make a novice of him. And he guessed that wasjust what Nack-yal intended to do. However, once up over the hill, withKayenta out of sight, Nack-yal trotted along fairly well, needing onlynow and then to be pulled back from his strange swinging to the left offthe trail. 

The pack-train traveled steadily and soon crossed the upland plain todescend into the valley again. Shefford saw the jagged red peaks withan emotion he could not name. The canyon between them were purple in theshadows, the great walls and slopes brightened to red, and the tips weregold in the sun. Shefford forgot all about his mustang and the trail. 

Suddenly with a pound of hoofs Nack-yal seemed to rise. He leapedsidewise out of the trail, came down stiff-legged. Then Shefford shotout of the saddle. He landed so hard that he was stunned for an instant. Sitting up, he saw the mustang bent down, eyes and ears showing fight, and his forefeet spread. He appeared to be looking at something in thetrail. Shefford got up and soon saw what had been the trouble. A long, crooked stick, rather thick and black and yellow, lay in the trail, andany mustang looking for an excuse to jump might have mistaken it fora rattlesnake. Nack-yal appeared disposed to be satisfied, and gaveShefford no trouble in mounting. The incident increased Shefford'sdubiousness. These Arizona mustangs were unknown quantities. 

Thereafter Shefford had an eye for the trail rather than the scenery, and this continued till the pack-train entered the mouth of the Sagi. Then those wonderful lofty cliffs, with their peaks and towers andspires, loomed so close and so beautiful that he did not care ifNack-yal did throw him. Along here, however, the mustang behaved well, and presently Shefford decided that if it had been otherwise he wouldhave walked. The trail suddenly stood on end and led down into the deepwash, where some days before he had seen the stream of reddish water. This day there appeared to be less water and it was not so red. Nack-yalsank deep as he took short and careful steps down. The burros and othermustangs were drinking, and Nack-yal followed suit. The Indian, with ahand clutching his mustang's mane, rode up a steep, sandy slope on theother side that Shefford would not have believed any horse could climb. The burros plodded up and over the rim, with Withers calling to them. Joe Lake swung his rope and cracked the flanks of the gray mare and thered mule; and the way the two kicked was a revelation and a warning toShefford. When his turn came to climb the trail he got off and walked, an action that Nack-yal appeared fully to appreciate. 

From the head of this wash the trail wound away up the widening canyon, through greasewood flats and over greasy levels and across sandystretches. The looming walls made the valley look narrow, yet it musthave been half a mile wide. The slopes under the cliffs were dotted withhuge stones and cedar-trees. There were deep indentations in the walls, running back to form box canyon, choked with green of cedar and spruceand pinyon. These notches haunted Shefford, and he was ever on thelookout for more of them. 

Withers came back to ride just in advance and began to talk. 

"Reckon this Sagi canyon is your Deception Pass, " he said. "It's surea queer hole. I've been lost more than once, hunting mustangs in here. I've an idea Nas Ta Bega knows all this country. He just pointed outa cliff-dwelling to me. See it?. .. There 'way up in that cave of thewall. "

Shefford saw a steep, rough slope leading up to a bulge of the cliff, and finally he made out strange little houses with dark, eyelikewindows. He wanted to climb up there. Withers called his attention tomore caves with what he believed were the ruins of cliff-dwellings. Andas they rode along the trader showed him remarkable formations ofrock where the elements were slowly hollowing out a bridge. They camepresently to a region of intersecting canyon, and here the breaking ofthe trail up and down the deep washes took Withers back to his task withthe burros and gave Shefford more concern than he liked with Nack-yal. The mustang grew unruly and was continually turning to the left. Sometimes he tried to climb the steep slope. He had to be pulled hardaway from the opening canyon on the left. It seemed strange to Sheffordthat the mustang never swerved to the right. This habit of Nack-yal'sand the increasing caution needed on the trail took all of Shefford'sattention. When he dismounted, however, he had a chance to look around, and more and more he was amazed at the increasing proportions andwildness of the Sagi. 

He came at length to a place where a fallen tree blocked the trail. Allof the rest of the pack-train had jumped the log. But Nack-yal balked. Shefford dismounted, pulled the bridle over the mustang's head, andtried to lead him. Nack-yal, however, refused to budge. WhereuponShefford got a stick and, remounting, he gave the balky mustang a cutacross the flank. Then something violent happened. Shefford received asudden propelling jolt, and then he was rising into the air, and thenfalling. Before he alighted he had a clear image of Nack-yal in the airabove him, bent double, and seemingly possessed of devils. Then Sheffordhit the ground with no light thud. He was thoroughly angry when he gotdizzily upon his feet, but he was not quick enough to catch the mustang. Nack-yal leaped easily over the log and went on ahead, dragging hisbridle. Shefford hurried after him, and the faster he went just by somuch the cunning Nack-yal accelerated his gait. As the pack-train wasout of sight somewhere ahead, Shefford could not call to his companionsto halt his mount, so he gave up trying, and walked on now with free andgrowing appreciation of his surroundings. 

The afternoon had waned. The sun blazed low in the west in a notch ofthe canyon ramparts, and one wall was darkening into purple shadow whilethe other shone through a golden haze. It was a weird, wild worldto Shefford, and every few strides he caught his breath and tried torealize actuality was not a dream. 

Nack-yal kept about a hundred paces to the fore and ever and anon helooked back to see how his new master was progressing. He varied theseoccasions by reaching down and nipping a tuft of grass. Evidently he wastoo intelligent to go on fast enough to be caught by Withers. Also hekept continually looking up the slope to the left as if seeking a way toclimb out of the valley in that direction. Shefford thought it waswell the trail lay at the foot of a steep slope that ran up to unbrokenbluffs. 

The sun set and the canyon lost its red and its gold and deepened itspurple. Shefford calculated he had walked five miles, and though he didnot mind the effort, he would rather have ridden Nack-yal into camp. He mounted a cedar ridge, crossed some sandy washes, turned a corner ofbold wall to enter a wide, green level. The mustangs were rolling andsnorting. He heard the bray of a burro. A bright blaze of camp-firegreeted him, and the dark figure of the Indian approached to interceptand catch Nack-yal. When he stalked into camp Withers wore a beamingsmile, and Joe Lake, who was on his knees making biscuit dough in a pan, stopped proceedings and drawled:

"Reckon Nack-yal bucked you off. "

"Bucked! Was that it? Well, he separated himself from me in a new andsomewhat painful manner--to me. "

"Sure, I saw that in his eye, " replied Lake; and Withers laughed withhim. 

"Nack-yal never was well broke, " he said. "But he's a good mustang, nothing like Joe's Navvy or that gray mare Dynamite. All this Indianstock will buck on a man once in a while. "

"I'll take the bucking along with the rest, " said Shefford. Both menliked his reply, and the Indian smiled for the first time. 

Soon they all sat round a spread tarpaulin and ate like wolves. Aftersupper came the rest and talk before the camp-fire. Joe Lake was droll;he said the most serious things in a way to make Shefford wonder ifhe was not joking. Withers talked about the canyon, the Indians, themustangs, the scorpions running out of the heated sand; and to Sheffordit was all like a fascinating book. Nas Ta Bega smoked in silence, hisbrooding eyes upon the fire. 

V. ON THE TRAIL

Shefford was awakened next morning by a sound he had never heardbefore--the plunging of hobbled horses on soft turf. It was cleardaylight, with a ruddy color in the sky and a tinge of red along thecanyon rim. He saw Withers, Lake, and the Indian driving the mustangstoward camp. 

The burros appeared lazy, yet willing. But the mustangs and the muleWithers called Red and the gray mare Dynamite were determined not to bedriven into camp. It was astonishing how much action they had, how muchground they could cover with their forefeet hobbled together. Theywere exceedingly skilful; they lifted both forefeet at once, and thenplunged. And they all went in different directions. Nas Ta Bega dartedin here and there to head off escape. 

Shefford pulled on his boots and went out to help. He got too close tothe gray mare and, warned by a yell from Withers, he jumped back just intime to avoid her vicious heels. Then Shefford turned his attention toNack-yal and chased him all over the flat in a futile effort to catchhim. Nas Ta Bega came to Shefford's assistance and put a rope overNack-yal's head. 

"Don't ever get behind one of these mustangs, " said Withers, warningly, as Shefford came up. "You might be killed. .. . Eat your bite now. We'llsoon be out of here. "

Shefford had been late in awakening. The others had breakfasted. Hefound eating somewhat difficult in the excitement that ensued. Nas TaBega held ropes which were round the necks of Red and Dynamite. The muleshowed his cunning and always appeared to present his heels to Withers, who tried to approach him with a pack-saddle. The patience of the traderwas a revelation to Shefford. And at length Red was cornered by thethree men, the pack-saddle was strapped on, and then the packs. Redpromptly bucked the packs off, and the work had to be done over again. Then Red dropped his long ears and seemed ready to be tractable. 

When Shefford turned his attention to Dynamite he decided that thiswas his first sight of a wild horse. The gray mare had fiery eyes thatrolled and showed the white. She jumped straight up, screamed, pawed, bit, and then plunged down to shoot her hind hoofs into the air as highas her head had been. She was amazingly agile and she seemed mad to killsomething. She dragged the Indian about, and when Joe Lake got a ropeon her hind foot she dragged them both. They lashed her with the endsof the lassoes, which action only made her kick harder. She plungedinto camp, drove Shefford flying for his life, knocked down two of theburros, and played havoc with the unstrapped packs. Withers ran tothe assistance of Lake, and the two of them hauled back with all theirstrength and weight. They were both powerful and heavy men. Dynamitecircled round and finally, after kicking the camp-fire to bits, felldown on her haunches in the hot embers. "Let--her--set--there!" pantedWithers. And Joe Lake shouted, "Burn up, you durn coyote!" Both menappeared delighted that she had brought upon herself just punishment. Dynamite sat in the remains of the fire long enough to get burnt, andthen she got up and meekly allowed Withers to throw a tarpaulin and aroll of blankets over her and tie them fast. 

Lake and Withers were sweating freely when this job was finished. 

"Say, is that a usual morning's task with the pack-animals?" askedShefford. 

"They're all pretty decent to-day, except Dynamite, " replied Withers. "She's got to be worked out. "

Shefford felt both amusement and consternation. The sun was just risingover the ramparts of the canyon, and he had already seen more difficultand dangerous work accomplished than half a dozen men of his type coulddo in a whole day. He liked the outlook of his new duty as Withers'sassistant, but he felt helplessly inefficient. Still, all he neededwas experience. He passed over what he anticipated would be pain andperil--the cost was of no moment. 

Soon the pack-train was on the move, with the Indian leading. Thismorning Nack-yal began his strange swinging off to the left, preciselyas he had done the day before. It got to be annoying to Shefford, andhe lost patience with the mustang and jerked him sharply round. This, however, had no great effect upon Nack-yal. 

As the train headed straight up the canyon Joe Lake dropped back to ridebeside Shefford. The Mormon had been amiable and friendly. 

"Flock of deer up that draw, " he said, pointing up a narrow side canyon. 

Shefford gazed to see a half-dozen small, brown, long-eared objects, very like burros, watching the pack-train pass. 

"Are they deer?" he asked, delightedly. 

"Sure are, " replied Joe, sincerely. "Get down and shoot one. There's arifle in your saddle-sheath. "

Shefford had already discovered that he had been armed this morning, amatter which had caused him reflection. These animals certainly lookedlike deer; he had seen a few deer, though not in their native wildhaunts; and he experienced the thrill of the hunter. Dismounting, hedrew the rifle out of the sheath and started toward the little canyon. 

"Hyar! Where you going with that gun?" yelled Withers. "That's a bunchof burros. .. . Joe's up to his old tricks. Shefford, look out for Joe!"

Rather sheepishly Shefford returned to his mustang and sheathed therifle, and then took a long look at the animals up the draw. They, resembled deer, but upon second glance they surely were burros. 

"Durn me! Now if I didn't think they sure were deer!" exclaimed Joe. Heappeared absolutely sincere and innocent. Shefford hardly knew how totake this likable Mormon, but vowed he would be on his guard in thefuture. 

Nas Ta Bega soon led the pack-train toward the left wall of the canyon, and evidently intended to scale it. Shefford could not see any trail, and the wall appeared steep and insurmountable. But upon nearing thecliff he saw a narrow broken trail leading zigzag up over smooth rock, weathered slope, and through cracks. 

"Spread out, and careful now!" yelled Withers. 

The need of both advices soon became manifest to Shefford. The burrosstarted stones rolling, making danger for those below. Shefforddismounted and led Nack-yal and turned aside many a rolling rock. TheIndian and the burros, with the red mule leading, climbed steadily. Butthe mustangs had trouble. Joe's spirited bay had to be coaxed to facethe ascent; Nack-yal balked at every difficult step; and Dynamiteslipped on a flat slant of rock and slid down forty feet. Withers andLake with ropes hauled the mare out of the dangerous position. Shefford, who brought up the rear, saw all the action, and it was exciting, buthis pleasure in the climb was spoiled by sight of blood and hair onthe stones. The ascent was crooked, steep, and long, and when Sheffordreached the top of the wall he was glad to rest. It made him gasp tolook down and see what he had surmounted. The canyon floor, green andlevel, lay a thousand feet below; and the wild burros which had followedon the trail looked like rabbits. 

Shefford mounted presently, and rode out upon a wide, smooth trailleading into a cedar forest. There were bunches of gray sage in the openplaces. The air was cool and crisp, laden with a sweet fragrance. He sawLake and Withers bobbing along, now on one side of the trail, now on theother, and they kept to a steady trot. Occasionally the Indian and hisbright-red saddle-blanket showed in an opening of the cedars. 

It was level country, and there was nothing for Shefford to see exceptcedar and sage, an outcropping of red rock in places, and the windingtrail. Mocking-birds made melody everywhere. Shefford seemed full ofa strange pleasure, and the hours flew by. Nack-yal still wanted to beeverlastingly turning off the trail, and, moreover, now he wanted to gofaster. He was eager, restless, dissatisfied. 

At noon the pack-train descended into a deep draw, well covered withcedar and sage. There was plenty of grass and shade, but no water. Shefford was surprised to see that every pack was removed; however, theroll of blankets was left on Dynamite. 

The men made a fire and began to cook a noonday meal. Shefford, tiredand warm, sat in a shady spot and watched. He had become all eyes. Hehad almost forgotten Fay Larkin; he had forgotten his trouble; andthe present seemed sweet and full. Presently his ears were filled by apattering roar and, looking up the draw, he saw two streams of sheepand goats coming down. Soon an Indian shepherd appeared, riding a finemustang. A cream-colored colt bounded along behind, and presently ashaggy dog came in sight. The Indian dismounted at the camp, and hisflock spread by in two white and black streams. The dog went with them. Withers and Joe shook hands with the Indian, whom Joe called "Navvy, "and Shefford lost no time in doing likewise. Then Nas Ta Bega came in, and he and the Navajo talked. When the meal was ready all of them satdown round the canvas. The shepherd did not tie his horse. 

Presently Shefford noticed that Nack-yal had returned to camp and wasacting strangely. Evidently he was attracted by the Indian's mustang orthe cream-colored colt. At any rate, Nack-yal hung around, tossed hishead, whinnied in a low, nervous manner, and looked strangely eager andwild. Shefford was at first amused, then curious. Nack-yal approachedtoo close to the mother of the colt, and she gave him a sounding kick inthe ribs. Nack-yal uttered a plaintive snort and backed away, to stand, crestfallen, with all his eagerness and fire vanished. 

Nas Ta Bega pointed to the mustang and said something in his own tongue. Then Withers addressed the visiting Indian, and they exchanged somewords, whereupon the trader turned to Shefford:

"I bought Nack-yal from this Indian three years ago. This mare isNack-yal's mother. He was born over here to the south. That's why healways swung left off the trail. He wanted to go home. Just now herecognized his mother and she whaled away and gave him a whack for hispains. She's got a colt now and probably didn't recognize Nack-yal. Buthe's broken-hearted. "

The trader laughed, and Joe said, "You can't tell what these durnmustangs will do. " Shefford felt sorry for Nack-yal, and when it cametime to saddle him again found him easier to handle than ever before. Nack-yal stood with head down, broken-spirited. 

Shefford was the first to ride up out of the draw, and once upon thetop of the ridge he halted to gaze, wide-eyed and entranced. A rolling, endless plain sloped down beneath him, and led him on to a distantround-topped mountain. To the right a red canyon opened its jagged jaws, and away to the north rose a whorled and strange sea of curved ridges, crags, and domes. 

Nas Ta Bega rode up then, leading the pack-train. 

"Bi Nai, that is Na-tsis-an, " he said, pointing to the mountain. "NavajoMountain. And there in the north are the canyon. "

Shefford followed the Indian down the trail and soon lost sight of thatwide green-and-red wilderness. Nas Ta Bega turned at an intersectingtrail, rode down into the canyon, and climbed out on the other side. Shefford got a glimpse now and then of the black dome of the mountain, but for the most part the distant points of the country were hidden. They crossed many trails, and went up and down the sides of many shallowcanyon. Troops of wild mustangs whistled at them, stood on ridge-tops towatch, and then dashed away with manes and tails flying. 

Withers rode forward presently and halted the pack-train. He had someconversation with Nas Ta Bega, whereupon the Indian turned his horse andtrotted back, to disappear in the cedars. 

"I'm some worried, " explained Withers. "Joe thinks he saw a bunch ofhorsemen trailing us. My eyes are bad and I can't see far. The Indianwill find out. I took a roundabout way to reach the village because I'malways dodging Shadd. "

This communication lent an added zest to the journey. Shefford couldhardly believe the truth that his eyes and his ears brought to hisconsciousness. He turned in behind Withers and rode down the roughtrail, helping the mustang all in his power. It occurred to him thatNack-yal had been entirely different since that meeting with his motherin the draw. He turned no more off the trail; he answered readily to therein; he did not look afar from every ridge. Shefford conceived a likingfor the mustang. 

Withers turned sidewise in his saddle and let his mustang pick the way. 

"Another time we'll go up round the base of the mountain, where you canlook down on the grandest scene in the world, " said he. "Two hundredmiles of wind-worn rock, all smooth and bare, without a single straightline--canyon, caves, bridges--the most wonderful country in the world!Even the Indians haven't explored it. It's haunted, for them, and theyhave strange gods. The Navajos will hunt on this side of the mountain, but not on the other. That north side is consecrated ground. My wifehas long been trying to get the Navajos to tell her the secret ofNonnezoshe. Nonnezoshe means Rainbow Bridge. The Indians worship it, butas far as she can find out only a few have ever seen it. I imagine it'dbe worth some trouble. "

"Maybe that's the bridge Venters talked about--the one overarching theentrance to Surprise Valley, " Said Shefford. 

"It might be, " replied the trader. "You've got a good chance of findingout. Nas Ta Bega is the man. You stick to that Indian. . .. Well, westart down here into this canyon, and we go down some, I reckon. Inhalf an hour you'll see sago-lilies and Indian paint-brush and vermilioncactus. "

. . . . . . . . . . . 

About the middle of the afternoon the pack-train and its drivers arrivedat the hidden Mormon village. Nas Ta Bega had not returned from hisscout back along the trail. 

Shefford's sensibilities had all been overstrained, but he had left inhim enthusiasm and appreciation that made the situation of this villagea fairyland. It was a valley, a canyon floor, so long that he couldnot see the end, and perhaps a quarter of a mile wide. The air was hot, still, and sweetly odorous of unfamiliar flowers. Pinyon and cedar treessurrounded the little log and stone houses, and along the walls of thecanyon stood sharp-pointed, dark-green spruce-trees. These walls weresingular of shape and color. They were not imposing in height, but theywaved like the long, undulating swell of a sea. Every foot of surfacewas perfectly smooth, and the long curved lines of darker tinge thatstreaked the red followed the rounded line of the slope at the top. Farabove, yet overhanging, were great yellow crags and peaks, and betweenthese, still higher, showed the pine-fringed slope of Navajo Mountainwith snow in the sheltered places, and glistening streams, like silverthreads, running down. 

All this Shefford noticed as he entered the valley from round a cornerof wall. Upon nearer view he saw and heard a host of children, who, looking up to see the intruders, scattered like frightened quail. Longgray grass covered the ground, and here and there wide, smooth pathshad been worn. A swift and murmuring brook ran through the middle of thevalley, and its banks were bordered with flowers. 

Withers led the way to one side near the wall, where a clump ofcedar-trees and a dark, swift spring boiling out of the rocks and banksof amber moss with purple blossoms made a beautiful camp site. Herethe mustangs were unsaddled and turned loose without hobbles. It wascertainly unlikely that they would leave such a spot. Some of the burroswere unpacked, and the others Withers drove off into the village. 

"Sure's pretty nice, " said Joe, wiping his sweaty face. "I'll neverwant to leave. It suits me to lie on this moss. .. . Take a drink of thatspring. "

Shefford complied with alacrity and found the water cool and sweet, and he seemed to feel it all through him. Then he returned to the mossybank. He did not reply to Joe. In fact, all his faculties were absorbedin watching and feeling, and he lay there long after Joe went off tothe village. The murmur of water, the hum of bees, the songs ofstrange birds, the sweet, warm air, the dreamy summer somnolence of thevalley--all these added drowsiness to Shefford's weary lassitude, and hefell asleep. When he awoke Nas Ta Bega was sitting near him and Joe wasbusy near a camp-fire. 

"Hello, Nas Ta Bega!" said Shefford. "Was there any one trailing us?"

The Navajo nodded. 

Joe raised his head and with forceful brevity said, "Shadd. "

"Shadd!" echoed Shefford, remembering the dark, sinister face of hisvisitor that night in the Sagi. "Joe, is it serious--his trailing us?"

"Well, I don't know how durn serious it is, but I'm scared to death, "replied Lake. "He and his gang will hold us up somewhere on the wayhome. "

Shefford regarded Joe with both concern and doubt. Joe's words were atvariance with his looks. 

"Say, pard, can you shoot a rifle?" queried Joe. 

"Yes. I'm a fair shot at targets. "

The Mormon nodded his head as if pleased. "That's good. Theseoutlaws are all poor shots with a rifle. So 'm I. But I can handle asix-shooter. I reckon we'll make Shadd sweat if he pushes us. "

Withers returned, driving the burros, all of which had been unpackeddown to the saddles. Two gray-bearded men accompanied him. One of themappeared to be very old and venerable, and walked with a stick. Theother had a sad-lined face and kind, mild blue eyes. Shefford observedthat Lake seemed unusually respectful. Withers introduced these Mormonsmerely as Smith and Henninger. They were very cordial and pleasant intheir greetings to Shefford. Presently another, somewhat younger, manjoined the group, a stalwart, jovial fellow with ruddy face. There wascertainly no mistaking his kindly welcome as he shook Shefford's hand. His name was Beal. The three stood round the camp-fire for a while, evidently glad of the presence of fellow-men and to hear news from theoutside. Finally they went away, taking Joe with them. Withers took upthe task of getting supper where Joe had been made to leave it. 

"Shefford, listen, " he said, presently, as he knelt before the fire. "Itold them right out that you'd been a Gentile clergyman--that you'd goneback on your religion. It impressed them and you've been well received. I'll tell the same thing over at Stonebridge. You'll get in right. Ofcourse I don't expect they'll make a Mormon of you. But they'll try to. Meanwhile you can be square and friendly all the time you're trying tofind your Fay Larkin. To-morrow you'll meet some of the women. They'regood souls, but, like any women, crazy for news. Think what it is to beshut up in here between these walls!"

"Withers, I'm intensely interested, " replied Shefford, "and excited, too. Shall we stay here long?"

"I'll stay a couple of days, then go to Stonebridge with Joe. He'llcome back here, and when you both feel like leaving, and if Nas Ta Begathinks it safe, you'll take a trail over to some Indian hogans and packme out a load of skins and blankets. .. . My boy, you've all the timethere is, and I wish you luck. This isn't a bad place to loaf. I alwaysget sentimental over here. Maybe it's the women. Some of them arepretty, and one of them--Shefford, they call her the Sago Lily. Herfirst name is Mary, I'm told. Don't know her last name. She's lovely. And I'll bet you forget Fay Larkin in a flash. Only--be careful. Youdrop in here with rather peculiar credentials, so to speak--as my helperand as a man with no religion! You'll not only be fully trusted, butyou'll be welcome to these lonely women. So be careful. Remember it'smy secret belief they are sealed wives and are visited occasionally atnight by their husbands. I don't know this, but I believe it. And you'renot supposed to dream of that. "

"How many men in the village?" asked Shefford. 

"Three. You met them. "

"Have they wives?" asked Shefford, curiously. 

"Wives! Well, I guess. But only one each that I know of. Joe Lake is theonly unmarried Mormon I've met. "

"And no men--strangers, cowboys, outlaws--ever come to this village?"

"Except to Indians, it seems to be a secret so far, " replied the trader, earnestly. "But it can't be kept secret. I've said that time after timeover in Stonebridge. With Mormons it's 'sufficient unto the day is theevil thereof. '"

"What'll happen when outsiders do learn and ride in here?"

"There'll be trouble--maybe bloodshed. Mormon women are absolutely good, but they're human, and want and need a little life. And, strange to say, Mormon men are pig-headedly jealous. .. . Why, if some of the cowboys Iknew in Durango would ride over here there'd simply be hell. But that'sa long way, and probably this village will be deserted before news of itever reaches Colorado. There's more danger of Shadd and his gang comingin. Shadd's half Piute. He must know of this place. And he's got somewhite outlaws in his gang. .. . Come on. Grub's ready, and I'm too hungryto talk. "

Later, when shadows began to gather in the valley and the lofty peaksabove were gold in the sunset glow, Withers left camp to look after thestraying mustangs, and Shefford strolled to and fro under the cedars. The lights and shades in the Sagi that first night had moved him toenthusiastic watchfulness, but here they were so weird and beautifulthat he was enraptured. He actually saw great shafts of gold and shadowsof purple streaming from the peaks down into the valley. It was day onthe heights and twilight in the valley. The swiftly changing colors werelike rainbows. 

While he strolled up and down several women came to the spring andfilled their buckets. They wore shawls or hoods and their garments weresomber, but, nevertheless, they appeared to have youth and comeliness. They saw him, looked at him curiously, and then, without speaking, went back on the well-trodden path. Presently down the path appeared awoman--a girl in lighter garb. It was almost white. She was shapely andwalked with free, graceful step, reminding him of the Indian girl, Glen Naspa. This one wore a hood shaped like a huge sunbonnet and itconcealed her face. She carried a bucket. When she reached the springand went down the few stone steps Shefford saw that she did not have onshoes. As she braced herself to lift the bucket her bare foot clung tothe mossy stone. It was a strong, sinewy, beautiful foot, instinct withyouth. He was curious enough, he thought, but the awakening artist inhim made him more so. She dragged at the full bucket and had difficultyin lifting it out of the hole. Shefford strode forward and took thebucket-handle from her. 

"Won't you let me help you?" he said, lifting the bucket. "Indeed--it'svery heavy. "

"Oh--thank you, " she said, without raising her head. Her voice seemedsingularly young and sweet. He had not heard a voice like it. She moveddown the path and he walked beside her. He felt embarrassed, yet morecurious than ever; he wanted to say something, to turn and look at her, but he kept on for a dozen paces without making up his mind. 

Finally he said: "Do you really carry this heavy bucket? Why, it makesmy arm ache. "

"Twice every day--morning and evening, " she replied. "I'm very strong. "

Then he stole a look out of the corner of his eye, and, seeing that herface was hidden from him by the hood, he turned to observe her at betteradvantage. A long braid of hair hung down her back. In the twilight itgleamed dull gold. She came up to his shoulder. The sleeve nearest himwas rolled up to her elbow, revealing a fine round arm. Her hand, likeher foot, was brown, strong, and well shaped. It was a hand that hadbeen developed by labor. She was full-bosomed, yet slender, and shewalked with a free stride that made Shefford admire and wonder. 

They passed several of the little stone and log houses, and womengreeted them as they went by and children peered shyly from the doors. He kept trying to think of something to say, and, failing in that, determined to have one good look under the hood before he left her. 

"You walk lame, " she said, solicitously. "Let me carry the bucketnow--please. My house is near. "

"Am I lame?. .. Guess so, a little, " he replied. "It was a hard ride forme. But I'll carry the bucket just the same. "

They went on under some pinyon-trees, down a path to a little houseidentical with the others, except that it had a stone porch. Sheffordsmelled fragrant wood-smoke and saw a column curling from the low, flat, stone chimney. Then he set the bucket down on the porch. "Thank you, Mr. Shefford, " she said. "You know my name?" he asked. "Yes. Mr. Withersspoke to my nearest neighbor and she told me. "

"Oh, I see. And you--"

He did not go on and she did not reply. When she stepped upon the porchand turned he was able to see under the hood. The face there was inshadow, and for that very reason he answered to ungovernable impulse andtook a step closer to her. Dark, grave, sad eyes looked down at him, andhe felt as if he could never draw his own glance away. He seemed notto see the rest of her face, and yet felt that it was lovely. Then adownward movement of the hood hid from him the strange eyes and theshadowy loveliness. 

"I--I beg your pardon, " he said, quickly, drawing back. "I'm rude. . .. Withers told me about a girl he called--he said looked like a sago-lily. That's no excuse to stare under your hood. But I--I was curious. Iwondered if--"

He hesitated, realizing how foolish his talk was. She stood a moment, probably watching him, but he could not be sure, for her face washidden. 

"They call me that, " she said. "But my name is Mary. "

"Mary--what?" he asked. 

"Just Mary, " she said, simply. "Good night. "

He did not say good night and could not have told why. She took up thebucket and went into the dark house. Shefford hurried away into thegathering darkness. 

VI. IN THE HIDDEN VALLEY

Shefford had hardly seen her face, yet he was more interested in a womanthan he had ever been before. Still, he reflected, as he returned tocamp, he had been under a long strain, he was unduly excited by this newand adventurous life, and these, with the mystery of this village, wereperhaps accountable for a state of mind that could not last. 

He rolled in his blankets on the soft bed of moss and he saw the starsthrough the needle-like fringe of the pinyons. It seemed impossibleto fall asleep. The two domed peaks split the sky, and back of them, looming dark and shadowy, rose the mountain. There was something cold, austere, and majestic in their lofty presence, and they made him feelalone, yet not alone. He raised himself to see the quiet forms ofWithers and Nas Ta Bega prone in the starlight, and their slow, deepbreathing was that of tired men. A bell on a mustang rang somewhere offin the valley and gave out a low, strange, reverberating echo fromwall to wall. When it ceased a silence set in that was deader thanany silence he had ever felt, but gradually he became aware of the lowmurmur of the brook. For the rest there was no sound of wind, no bark ofdog or yelp of coyote, no sound of voice in the village. 

He tried to sleep, but instead thought of this girl who was called theSago Lily. He recalled everything incident to their meeting and thewalk to her home. Her swift, free step, her graceful poise, her shapelyform--the long braid of hair, dull gold in the twilight, the beautifulbare foot and the strong round arm--these he thought of and recalledvividly. But of her face he had no idea except the shadowy, hauntingloveliness, and that grew more and more difficult to remember. The toneof her voice and what she had said--how the one had thrilled him and theother mystified! It was her voice that had most attracted him. There wassomething in it besides music--what, he could not tell--sadness, depth, something like that in Nas Ta Bega's beauty springing from disuse. Butthis seemed absurd. Why should he imagine her voice one that had notbeen used as freely as any other woman's? She was a Mormon; very likely, almost surely, she was a sealed wife. His interest, too, was absurd, andhe tried to throw it off, or imagine it one he might have felt in anyother of these strange women of the hidden village. 

But Shefford's intelligence and his good sense, which became operativewhen he was fully roused and set the situation clearly before his eyes, had no effect upon his deeper, mystic, and primitive feelings. He sawthe truth and he felt something that he could not name. He would not bea fool, but there was no harm in dreaming. And unquestionably, beyond all doubt, the dream and the romance that had lured him to thewilderness were here; hanging over him like the shadows of the greatpeaks. His heart swelled with emotion when he thought of how theblack and incessant despair of the past was gone. So he embraced anyattraction that made him forget and think and feel; some instinctstronger than intelligence bade him drift. 

. . . . . . . . . . . 

Joe's rolling voice awoke him next morning and he rose with a singularzest. When or where in his life had he awakened in such a beautifulplace? Almost he understood why Venters and Bess had been haunted bymemories of Surprise Valley. The morning was clear, cool, sweet; thepeaks were dim and soft in rosy cloud; shafts of golden sunlight shotdown into the purple shadows. Mocking-birds were singing. His body wassore and tired from the unaccustomed travel, but his heart was full, happy. His spirit wanted to run, and he knew there was something outthere waiting to meet it. The Indian and the trader and the Mormon allmeant more to him this morning. He had grown a little overnight. Nas TaBega's deep "Bi Nai" rang in his ears, and the smiles of Withers andJoe were greetings. He had friends; he had work; and there was rich, strange, and helpful life to live. There was even a difference inthe mustang Nack-yal. He came readily; he did not look wild; he had afriendly eye; and Shefford liked him more. 

"What is there to do?" asked Shefford, feeling equal to a hundred tasks. 

"No work, " replied the trader, with a laugh, and he drew Shefford aside, "I'm in no hurry. I like it here. And Joe never wants to leave. To-dayyou can meet the women. Make yourself popular. I've already made youthat. These women are most all young and lonesome. Talk to them. Makethem like you. Then some day you may be safe to ask questions. Lastnight I wanted to ask old Mother Smith if she ever heard the nameFay Larkin. But I thought better of it. If there's a girl here or atStonebridge of that name we'll learn it. If there's mystery we'd bettergo slow. Mormons are hell on secret and mystery, and to pry into theiraffairs is to queer yourself. My advice is--just be as nice as you canbe, and let things happen. "

Fay Larkin! All in a night Shefford had forgotten her. Why? He ponderedover the matter, and then the old thrill, the old desire, came back. 

"Shefford, what do you think Nas Ta Bega said to me last night?" askedWithers in lower voice. 

"Haven't any idea, " replied Shefford, curiously. 

"We were sitting beside the fire. I saw you walking under the cedars. You seemed thoughtful. That keen Indian watched you, and he said to mein Navajo, 'Bi Nai has lost his God. He has come far to find a wife. NasTa Bega is his brother. '. .. He meant he'll find both God and wife foryou. I don't know about that, but I say take the Indian as he thinks heis--your brother. Long before I knew Nas Ta Bega well my wife usedto tell me about him. He's a sage and a poet--the very spirit of thisdesert. He's worth cultivating for his own sake. But more--remember, if Fay Larkin is still shut in that valley the Navajo will find her foryou. "

"I shall take Nas Ta Bega as my brother--and be proud, " repliedShefford. 

"There's another thing. Do you intend to confide in Joe?"

"I hadn't thought of that. "

"Well, it might be a good plan. But wait until you know him better andhe knows you. He's ready to fight for you now. He's taken your troubleto heart. You wouldn't think Joe is deeply religious. Yet he is. He maynever breathe a word about religion to you. .. . Now, Shefford, go ahead. You've struck a trail. It's rough, but it'll make a man of you. It'lllead somewhere. "

"I'm singularly fortunate--I--who had lost all friends. Withers, I amgrateful. I'll prove it. I'll show--"

Withers's upheld hand checked further speech, and Shefford realized thatbeneath the rough exterior of this desert trader there was fine feeling. These men of crude toil and wild surroundings were beginning to loom uplarge in Shefford's mind. 

The day began leisurely. The men were yet at breakfast when the womenof the village began to come one by one to the spring. Joe Lake madefriendly and joking remarks to each. And as each one passed on down thepath he poised a biscuit in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other, and with his head cocked sidewise like an owl he said, "Reckon I've gotto get me a woman like her. "

Shefford saw and heard, yet he was all the time half unconsciouslywatching with strange eagerness for a white figure to appear. At lasthe saw her--the same girl with the hood, the same swift step. Alittle shock or quiver passed over him, and at the moment all that wasexplicable about it was something associated with regret. 

Joe Lake whistled and stared. 

"I haven't met her, " he muttered. 

"That's the Sago Lily, " said Withers. 

"Reckon I'm going to carry that bucket, " went on Joe. 

"And queer yourself with all the other women who've been to the spring?Don't do it, Joe, " advised the trader. 

"But her bucket's bigger, " protested Joe, weakly. 

"That's true. But you ought to know Mormons. If she'd come first, allright. As she didn't--why, don't single her out. "

Joe kept his seat. The girl came to the spring. A low "good morning"came from under the hood. Then she filled her bucket and started home. Shefford observed that this time she wore moccasins and she carried theheavy bucket with ease. When she disappeared he had again the vague, inexplicable sensation of regret. 

Joe Lake breathed heavily. "Reckon I've got to get me a woman likeher, " he said. But the former jocose tone was lacking and he appearedthoughtful. 

. . . . . . . . . . . 

Withers first took Shefford to the building used for a school. It wassomewhat larger than the other houses, had only one room with two doorsand several windows. It was full of children, of all sizes and ages, sitting on rude board benches. 

There were half a hundred of them, sturdy, healthy, rosy boys and girls, dad in home-made garments. The young woman teacher was as embarrassedas her pupils were shy, and the visitors withdrew without having heard aword of lessons. 

Withers then called upon Smith, Henninger, and Beal, and their wives. Shefford found himself cordially received, and what little he did sayshowed him how he would be listened to when he cared to talk. These folkwere plain and kindly, and he found that there was nothing about them todislike. The men appeared mild and quiet, and when not conversing seemedaustere. The repose of the women was only on the surface; underneath hefelt their intensity. Especially in many of the younger women, whomhe met in the succeeding hour, did he feel this power of restrainedemotion. This surprised him, as did also the fact that almost everyone of them was attractive and some of them were exceedingly pretty. He became so interested in them all as a whole that he could notindividualize one. They were as widely different in appearance andtemperament as women of any other class, but it seemed to Shefford thatone common trait united them--and it was a strange, checked yearning forsomething that he could not discover. Was it happiness? They certainlyseemed to be happy, far more so than those millions of women who werechasing phantoms. Were they really sealed wives, as Withers believed, and was this unnatural wife-hood responsible for the strange intensity?At any rate he returned to camp with the conviction that he had stumbledupon a remarkable situation. 

He had been told the last names of only three women, and their husbandswere in the village. The names of the others were Ruth, Rebecca, Joan--he could not recall them all. They were the mothers of thesebeautiful children. The fathers, as far as he was concerned, were asintangible as myths. Shefford was an educated clergyman, a man of theworld, and, as such, knew women in his way. Mormons might be strange anddifferent, yet the fundamental truth was that all over the world mothersof children were wives; there was a relation between wife and motherthat did not need to be named to be felt; and he divined from thisthat, whatever the situation of these lonely and hidden women, they knewthemselves to be wives. Shefford absolutely satisfied himself on thatscore. If they were miserable they certainly did not show it, and thequestion came to him how just was the criticism of uninformed men? Hisjudgment of Mormons had been established by what he had heard and read, rather than what he knew. He wanted now to have an open mind. He hadstudied the totemism and exogamy of the primitive races, and here washis opportunity to understand polygamy. One wife for one man--that wasthe law. Mormons broke it openly; Gentiles broke it secretly. Mormonsacknowledged all their wives and protected their children; Gentilesacknowledged one wife only. Unquestionably the Mormons were wrong, butwere not the Gentiles still more wrong?

 . . . . . . . . . . . 

The following day Joe Lake appeared reluctant to start for Stonebridgewith Withers. 

"Joe, you'd better come along, " said the trader, dryly. "I reckon you'veseen a little too much of the Sago Lily. "

Lake offered no reply, but it was evident from his sober face thatWithers had not hit short of the mark. Withers rode off, with a partingword to Shefford, and finally Joe somberly mounted his bay and trotteddown the valley. As Nas Ta Bega had gone off somewhere to visit Indians, Shefford was left alone. 

He went into the village and made himself useful and agreeable. Hemade friends with the children and he talked to the women until he washoarse. Their ignorance of the world was a spur to him, and never inhis life had he had such an attentive audience. And as he showed nocuriosity, asked no difficult questions, gradually what reserve he hadnoted wore away, and the end of the day saw him on a footing with themthat Withers had predicted. 

By the time several like days had passed it seemed from the interest andfriendliness of these women that he might have lived long among them. He was possessed of wit and eloquence and information, which he freelygave, and not with selfish motive. He liked these women; he liked to seethe somber shade pass from their faces, to see them brighten. He had metthe girl Mary at the spring and along the path, but he had not yetseen her face. He was always looking for her, hoping to meet her, andconfessed to himself that the best of the day for him were the morningand evening visits she made to the spring. Nevertheless, for some reasonhard to divine, he was reluctant to seek her deliberately. 

Always while he had listened to her neighbors' talk, he had hoped theymight let fall something about her. But they did not. He receivedan impression that she was not so intimate with the others as he hadsupposed. They all made one big family. Still, she seemed a littleoutside. He could bring no proofs to strengthen this idea. He merelyfelt it, and many of his feelings were independent of intelligentreason. Something had been added to curiosity, that was sure. 

It was his habit to call upon Mother Smith in the afternoons. From thefirst her talk to him hinted of a leaning toward thought of making him aMormon. Her husband and the other men took up her cue and spoke of theirreligion, casually at first, but gradually opening their minds tofree and simple discussion of their faith. Shefford lent respectfulattention. He would rather have been a Mormon than an atheist, andapparently they considered him the latter, and were earnest to save hissoul. Shefford knew that he could never be one any more than the other. He was just at sea. But he listened, and he found them simple in faith, blind, perhaps, but loyal and good. It was noteworthy that Mother Smithhappened to be the only woman in the village who had ever mentionedreligion to him. She was old, of a past generation; the young womenbelonged to the present. Shefford pondered the significant difference. 

Every day made more steadfast his impression of the great mystery thatwas like a twining shadow round these women, yet in the same time manylittle ideas shifted and many new characteristics became manifest. Thislast was of course the result of acquaintance; he was learning moreabout the villagers. He gathered from keen interpretation of subtlewords and looks that here in this lonely village, the same as in allthe rest of the world where women were together, there were cliques, quarrels, dislikes, loves, and jealousies. The truth, once known to him, made him feel natural and fortified his confidence to meet the demandsof an increasingly interesting position. He discovered, with a somewhatgrim amusement, that a clergyman's experience in a church full of womenhad not been entirely useless. 

One afternoon he let fall a careless remark that was a subtle questionin regard to the girl Mary, whom Withers called the Sago Lily. Inresponse he received an answer couched in the sweet poisoned honeyof woman's jealousy. He said no more. Certain ideas of his werestrengthened, and straightway he became thoughtful. 

That afternoon late, as he did his camp chores, he watched for her. But she did not come. Then he decided to go to see her. But eventhe decision and the strange thrill it imparted did not change hisreluctance. 

Twilight was darkening the valley when he reached her house, and theshadows were thick under the pinyons. There was no light in the door orwindow. He saw a white shape on the porch, and as he came down the pathit rose. It was the girl Mary, and she appeared startled. 

"Good evening, " he said. "It's Shefford. May I stay and talk a littlewhile?"

She was silent for so long that he began to feel awkward. 

"I'd be glad to have you, " she replied, finally. 

There was a bench on the porch, but he preferred to sit upon a blanketon the step. 

"I've been getting acquainted with everybody--except you, " he went on. 

"I have been here, " she replied. 

That might have been a woman's speech, but it certainly had been made ina girl's voice. She was neither shy nor embarrassed nor self-conscious. As she stood back from him he could not see her face in the densetwilight. 

"I've been wanting to call on you. "

She made some slight movement. Shefford felt a strange calm, yet he knewthe moment was big and potent. 

"Won't you sit here?" he asked. 

She complied with his wish, and then he saw her face, though dimly, inthe twilight. And it struck him mute. But he had no glimpse such as hadflashed upon him from under her hood that other night. He thought of awhite flower in shadow, and received his first impression of the rareand perfect lily Withers had said graced the wild canyon. She was only agirl. She sat very still, looking straight before her, and seemed to bewaiting, listening. Shefford saw the quick rise and fall of her bosom. 

"I want to talk, " he began, swiftly, hoping to put her at her ease. "Every one here has been good to me and I've talked--oh, for hours andhours. But the thing in my mind I haven't spoken of. I've never askedany questions. That makes my part so strange. I want to tell why I cameout here. I need some one who will keep my secret, and perhaps helpme. .. . Would you?"

"Yes, if I could, " she replied. 

"You see I've got to trust you, or one of these other women. You're allMormons. I don't mean that's anything against you. I believe you'reall good and noble. But the fact makes--well, makes a liberty of speechimpossible. What can I do?"

Her silence probably meant that she did not know. Shefford sensed lessstrain in her and more excitement. He believed he was on the right trackand did not regret his impulse. Even had he regretted it he would havegone on, for opposed to caution and intelligence was his driving mysticforce. 

Then he told her the truth about his boyhood, his ambition to bean artist, his renunciation to his father's hope, his career as aclergyman, his failure in religion, and the disgrace that had made him awanderer. 

"Oh--I'm sorry!" she said. The faint starlight shone on her face, in hereyes, and if he ever saw beauty and soul he saw them then. She seemeddeeply moved. She had forgotten herself. She betrayed girlhood then--allthe quick sympathy, the wonder, the sweetness of a heart innocent anduntutored. She looked at him with great, starry, questioning eyes, as ifthey had just become aware of his presence, as if a man had been strangeto her. 

"Thank you. It's good of you to be sorry, " he said. "My instinct guidedme right. Perhaps you'll be my friend. "

"I will be--if I can, " she said. 

"But CAN you be?"

"I don't know. I never had a friend. I. .. But, sir, I mustn't talk ofmyself. .. . Oh, I'm afraid I can't help you. "

How strange the pathos of her voice! Almost he believed she was in needof help or sympathy or love. But he could not wholly trust a judgmentformed from observation of a class different from hers. 

"Maybe you CAN help me. Let's see, " he said. "I don't seek to make youtalk of yourself. But--you're a human being--a girl--almost a woman. You're not dumb. But even a nun can talk. "

"A nun? What is that?"

"Well--a nun is a sister of mercy--a woman consecrated to God--who hasrenounced the world. In some ways you Mormon women here resemble nuns. It is sacrifice that nails you in this lonely valley. .. . You see--howI talk! One word, one thought brings another, and I speak what perhapsshould be unsaid. And it's hard, because I feel I could unburden myselfto you. "

"Tell me what you want, " she said. 

Shefford hesitated, and became aware of the rapid pound of his heart. More than anything he wanted to be fair to this girl. He saw that shewas warming to his influence. Her shadowy eyes were fixed upon him. Thestarlight, growing brighter, shone on her golden hair and white face. 

"I'll tell you presently, " he said. "I've trusted you. I'll trust youwith all. .. . But let me have my own time. This is so strange a thing, my wanting to confide in you. It's selfish, perhaps. I have my own axto grind. I hope I won't wrong you. That's why I'm going to be perfectlyfrank. I might wait for days to get better acquainted. But the impulseis on me. I've been so interested in all you Mormon women. The fact--themeaning of this hidden village is so--so terrible to me. But that's noneof my business. I have spent my afternoons and evenings with these womenat the different cottages. You do not mingle with them. They are lonely, but have not such loneliness as yours. I have passed here every night. No light--no sound. I can't help thinking. Don't censure me or be afraidor draw within yourself just because I must think. I may be all wrong. But I'm curious. I wonder about you. Who are you? Mary--Mary what? MaybeI really don't want to know. I came with selfish motive and now I'd liketo--to--what shall I say? Make your life a little less lonely for thewhile I'm here. That's all. It needn't offend. And if you accept it, howmuch easier I can tell you my secret. You are a Mormon and I--well, I amonly a wanderer in these wilds. But--we might help each other. .. . Have Imade a mistake?"

"No--no, " she cried, almost wildly. 

"We can be friends then. You will trust me, help me?"

"Yes, if I dare. "

"Surely you may dare what the other women would?"

She was silent. 

And the wistfulness of her silence touched him. He felt contrition. Hedid not stop to analyze his own emotions, but he had an inkling thatonce this strange situation was ended he would have food for reflection. What struck him most now was the girl's blanched face, the strong, nervous clasp of her hands, the visible tumult of her bosom. Excitementalone could not be accountable for this. He had not divined the causefor such agitation. He was puzzled, troubled, and drawn irresistibly. Hehad not said what he had planned to say. The moment had given birth tohis speech, and it had flowed. What was guiding him?

"Mary, " he said, earnestly, "tell me--have you mother, father, sister, brother? Something prompts me to ask that. "

"All dead--gone--years ago, " she answered. 

"How old are you?"

"Eighteen, I think. I'm not sure. "

"You ARE lonely. "

His words were gentle and divining. 

"O God!" she cried. "Lonely!"

Then as a man in a dream he beheld her weeping. There was in her theunconsciousness of a child and the passion of a woman. He gazed out intothe dark shadows and up at the white stars, and then at the bowed headwith its mass of glinting hair. But her agitation was no longer strangeto him. A few gentle and kind words had proved her undoing. He knewthen that whatever her life was, no kindness or sympathy entered it. Presently she recovered, and sat as before, only whiter of face itseemed, and with something tragic in her dark eyes. She was growing coldand still again, aloof, more like those other Mormon women. 

"I understand, " he said. "I'm not sorry I spoke. I felt your trouble, whatever it is. .. . Do not retreat into your cold shell, I beg of you. .. . Let me trust you with my secret. "

He saw her shake out of the cold apathy. She wavered. He felt aninexplicable sweetness in the power his voice seemed to have upon her. She bowed her head in acquiescence. And Shefford began his story. Didshe grow still, like stone, or was that only his vivid imagination?He told her of Venters and Bess--of Lassiter and Jane--of little FayLarkin--of the romance, and then the tragedy of Surprise Valley. 

"So, when my Church disowned me, " he concluded, "I conceived the ideaof wandering into the wilds of Utah to save Fay Larkin from that canyonprison. It grew to be the best and strongest desire of my life. I thinkif I could save her that it would save me. I never loved any girl. I can't say that I love Fay Larkin. How could I when I've never seenher--when she's only a dream girl? But I believe if she were to become areality--a flesh-and-blood girl--that I would love her. "

That was more than Shefford had ever confessed to any one, and itstirred him to his depths. Mary bent her head on her hands in strange, stonelike rigidity. 

"So here I am in the canyon country, " he continued. "Withers tells meit is a country of rainbows, both in the evanescent air and in thechangeless stone. Always as a boy there had been for me some hauntingpromise, some treasure at the foot of the rainbow. I shall expect thecurve of a rainbow to lead me down into Surprise Valley. A dreamer, youwill call me. But I have had strange dreams come true. .. . Mary, do youthink THIS dream will come true?"

She was silent so long that he repeated his question. 

"Only--in heaven, " she whispered. 

He took her reply strangely and a chill crept over him. 

"You think my plan to seek to strive, to find--you think that idle, vain?"

"I think it noble. .. . Thank God I've met a man like you!"

"Don't praise me!" he exclaimed, hastily. "Only help me. .. . Mary, willyou answer a few little questions, if I swear by my honor I'll neverreveal what you tell me?"

"I'll try. "

He moistened his lips. Why did she seem so strange, so far away? Thehovering shadows made him nervous. Always he had been afraid of thedark. His mood now admitted of unreal fancies. 

"Have you ever heard of Fay Larkin?" he asked, very low. 

"Yes. "

"Was there only one Fay Larkin?"

"Only one. "

"Did you--ever see her?"

"Yes, " came the faint reply. 

He was grateful. How she might be breaking faith with creed or duty!He had not dared to hope so much. All his inner being trembled at theportent of his next query. He had not dreamed it would be so hard toput, or would affect him so powerfully. A warmth, a glow, a happinesspervaded his spirit; and the chill, the gloom were as if they had neverbeen. 

"Where is Fay Larkin now?" he asked, huskily. 

He bent over her, touched her, leaned close to catch her whisper. 

"She is--dead!"

Slowly Shefford rose, with a sickening shock, and then in bitter pain hestrode away into the starlight. 

VII. SAGO-LILIES

The Indian returned to camp that night, and early the next day, whichwas Sunday, Withers rode in, accompanied by a stout, gray-beardedpersonage wearing a long black coat. 

"Bishop Kane, this is my new man, John Shefford, " said the trader. 

Shefford acknowledged the introduction with the respectful courtesyevidently in order, and found himself being studied intently by clearblue eyes. The bishop appeared old, dry, and absorbed in thought; hespoke quaintly, using in every speech some Biblical word or phrase; andhe had an air of authority. He asked Shefford to hear him preach at themorning service, and then he went off into the village. 

"Guess he liked your looks, " remarked Withers. 

"He certainly sized me up, " replied Shefford. 

"Well, what could you expect? Sure I never heard of a deal like this--ahandsome young fellow left alone with a lot of pretty Mormon women!You'll understand when you learn to know Mormons. Bishop Kane's a squareold chap. Crazy on religion, maybe, but otherwise he's a good fellow. I made the best stand I could for you. The Mormons over at Stonebridgewere huffy because I hadn't consulted them before fetching you overhere. If I had, of course you'd never have gotten here. It was Joe Lakewho made it all right with them. Joe's well thought of, and he certainlystood up for you. "

"I owe him something, then, " replied Shefford. "Hope my obligationsdon't grow beyond me. Did you leave Joe at Stonebridge?"

"Yes. He wanted to stay, and I had work there that'll keep him awhile. Shefford, we got news of Shadd--bad news. The half-breed's cutting uprough. His gang shot up some Piutes over here across the line. Then hegot run out of Durango a few weeks ago for murder. A posse of cowboystrailed him. But he slipped them. He's a fox. You know he was trailingus here. He left the trail, Nas Ta Bega said. I learned at Stonebridgethat Shadd is well disposed toward Mormons. It takes the Mormons tohandle Indians. Shadd knows of this village and that's why he shuntedoff our trail. But he might hang down in the pass and wait for us. Ithink I'd better go back to Kayenta alone, across country. You stay heretill Joe and the Indian think it safe to leave. You'll be going up onthe slope of Navajo to load a pack-train, and from there it may be wellto go down West Canyon to Red Lake, and home over the divide, the wayyou came. Joe'll decide what's best. And you might as well buckle on agun and get used to it. Sooner or later you'll have to shoot your waythrough. "

Shefford did not respond with his usual enthusiasm, and the omissioncaused the trader to scrutinize him closely. 

"What's the matter?" he queried. "There's no light in your eye to-day. You look a little shady. "

"I didn't rest well last night, " replied Shefford. "I'm depressed thismorning. But I'll cheer up directly. "

"Did you get along with the women?"

"Very well indeed. And I've enjoyed myself. It's a strange, beautifulplace. "

"Do you like the women?"

"Yes. "

"Have you seen much of the Sago Lily?"

"No. I carried her bucket one night--and saw her only once again. I'vebeen with the other women most of the time. "

"It's just as well you didn't run often into Mary. Joe's sick over her. I never saw a girl with a face and form to equal hers. There's dangerhere for any man, Shefford. Even for you who think you've turned yourback on the world! Any of these Mormon women may fall in love with you. They CAN'T love their husbands. That's how I figure it. Religion holdsthem, not love. And the peculiar thing is this: they're second, third, or fourth wives, all sealed. That means their husbands are old, havepicked them out for youth and physical charms, have chosen the veryopposite to their first wives, and then have hidden them here in thislonely hole. .. . Did you ever imagine so terrible a thing?"

"No, Withers, I did not. "

"Maybe that's what depressed you. Anyway, my hunch is worth taking. Beas nice as you can, Shefford. Lord knows it would be good for these poorwomen if every last one of them fell in love with you. That won't hurtthem so long as you keep your head. Savvy? Perhaps I seem rough andcoarse to a man of your class. Well, that may be. But human nature ishuman nature. And in this strange and beautiful place you might lovean Indian girl, let alone the Sago Lily. That's all. I sure feel betterwith that load off my conscience. Hope I don't offend. "

"No indeed. I thank you, Withers, " replied Shefford, with his handon the trader's shoulder. "You are right to caution me. I seem to bewild--thirsting for adventure--chasing a gleam. In these unstable daysI can't answer for my heart. But I can for my honor. These unfortunatewomen are as safe with me as--as they are with you and Joe. "

Withers uttered a blunt laugh. 

"See here, son, look things square in the eye. Men of violent, lonely, toilsome lives store up hunger for the love of woman. Love of a STRANGEwoman, if you want to put it that way. It's nature. It seems all thebeautiful young women in Utah are corralled in this valley. When Icome over here I feel natural, but I'm not happy. I'd like to make loveto--to that flower-faced girl. And I'm not ashamed to own it. I've toldMolly, my wife, and she understands. As for Joe, it's much harder forhim. Joe never has had a wife or sweetheart. I tell you he's sick, andif I'd stay here a month I'd be sick. "

Withers had spoken with fire in his eyes, with grim humor on his lips, with uncompromising brutal truth. What he admitted was astounding toShefford, but, once spoken, not at all strange. The trader was a man whospoke his inmost thought. And what he said suddenly focused Shefford'smental vision clear and whole upon the appalling significance of thetragedy of those women, especially of the girl whose life was lonelier, sadder, darker than that of the others. 

"Withers, trust me, " replied Shefford. 

"All right. Make the best of a bad job, " said the trader, and went offabout his tasks. 

Shefford and Withers attended the morning service, which was held in theschool-house. Exclusive of the children every inhabitant of the villagewas there. The women, except the few eldest, were dressed in white andlooked exceedingly well. Manifestly they had bestowed care upon thisSabbath morning's toilet. One thing surely this dress occasion broughtout, and it was evidence that the Mormon women were not poor, whatevertheir misfortunes might be. Jewelry was not wanting, nor fine lace. Andthey all wore beautiful wild flowers of a kind unknown to Shefford. Hereceived many a bright smile. He looked for Mary, hoping to see her facefor the first time in the daylight, but she sat far forward and did notturn. He saw her graceful white neck, the fine lines of her throat, andher colorless cheek. He recognized her, yet in the light she seemed astranger. 

The service began with a short prayer and was followed by the singing ofa hymn. Nowhere had Shefford heard better music or sweeter voices. How deeply they affected him! Had any man ever fallen into a strangeradventure than this? He had only to shut his eyes to believe it all acreation of his fancy--the square log cabin with its red mud betweenthe chinks and a roof like an Indian hogan--the old bishop in his blackcoat, standing solemnly, his hand beating time to the tune--the few oldwomen, dignified and stately--the many young women, fresh and handsome, lifting their voices. 

Shefford listened intently to the bishop's sermon. In some respectsit was the best he had ever heard. In others it was impossible for anintelligent man to regard seriously. It was very long, lasting an hourand a half, and the parts that were helpful to Shefford came from theexperience and wisdom of a man who had grown old in the desert. Thephysical things that had molded characters of iron, the obstacles thatonly strong, patient men could have overcome, the making of homes in awilderness, showed the greatness of this alien band of Mormons. Sheffordconceded greatness to them. But the strange religion--the narrowing downof the world to the soil of Utah, the intimations of prophets on earthwho had direct converse with God, the austere self-conscious omnipotenceof this old bishop--these were matters that Shefford felt he mustunderstand better, and see more favorably, if he were not to considerthem impossible. 

Immediately after the service, forgetting that his intention had been toget the long-waited-for look at Mary in the light of the sun, Sheffordhurried back to camp and to a secluded spot among the cedars. Strikinglyit had come to him that the fault he had found in Gentile religion henow found in the Mormon religion. An old question returned to haunthim--were all religions the same in blindness? As far as he could see, religion existed to uphold the founders of a Church, a creed. The Churchof his own kind was a place where narrow men and women went to think oftheir own salvation. They did not go there to think of others. And nowShefford's keen mind saw something of Mormonism and found it wanting. Bishop Kane was a sincere, good, mistaken man. He believed what hepreached, but that would not stand logic. He taught blindness and mostlyit appeared to be directed at the women. Was there no religion divorcedfrom power, no religion as good for one man as another, no religion inthe spirit of brotherly love? Nas Ta Bega's "Bi Nai" (brother)--that waslove, if not religion, and perhaps the one and the other were the same. Shefford kept in mind an intention to ask Nas Ta Bega what he thought ofthe Mormons. 

Later, when opportunity afforded, he did speak to the Indian. NasTa Bega threw away his cigarette and made an impressive gesture thatconveyed as much sorrow as scorn. 

"The first Mormon said God spoke to him and told him to go to a certainplace and dig. He went there and found the Book of Mormon. It saidfollow me, marry many wives, go into the desert and multiply, send yoursons out into the world and bring us young women, many young women. Andwhen the first Mormon became strong with many followers he said again:Give to me part of your labor--of your cattle and sheep--of yoursilver--that I may build me great cathedrals for you to worship in. AndI will commune with God and make it right and good that you have morewives. That is Mormonism. "

"Nas Ta Bega, you mean the Mormons are a great and good people blindlyfollowing a leader?"

"Yes. And the leader builds for himself--not for them. "

"That is not religion. He has no God but himself. "

"They have no God. They are blind like the Mokis who have the creepinggrowths on their eyes. They have no God they can see and hear and feel, who is with them day and night. "

It was late in the afternoon when Bishop Kane rode through the camp andhalted on his way to speak to Shefford. He was kind and fatherly. "Youngman, are you open to faith?" he questioned gravely. 

"I think I am, " replied Shefford, thankful he could answer readily. 

"Then come into the fold. You are a lost sheep. 'Away on the desertI heard its cry. '. .. God bless you. Visit me when you ride toStonebridge. "

He flicked his horse with a cedar branch and trotted away beside thetrader, and presently the green-choked neck of the valley hid them fromview. Shefford could not have said that he was glad to be left behind, and yet neither was he sorry. 

That Sabbath evening as he sat quietly with Nas Ta Bega, watching thesunset gilding the peaks, he was visited by three of the young Mormonwomen--Ruth, Joan, and Hester. They deliberately sought him and merrilyled him off to the village and to the evening service of singing andprayer. Afterward he was surrounded and made much of. He had beenpopular before, but this was different. When he thoughtfully wended hisway campward under the quiet stars he realized that the coming of BishopKane had made a subtle change in the women. That change was at firsthard to define, but from every point by which he approached it he cameto the same conclusion--the bishop had not objected to his presence inthe village. The women became natural, free, and unrestrained. A dozenor twenty young and attractive women thrown much into companionship withone man. He might become a Mormon. The idea made him laugh. But uponreflection it was not funny; it sobered him. What a situation! He feltinstinctively that he ought to fly from this hidden valley. But he couldnot have done it, even had he not been in the trader's employ. The thingwas provokingly seductive. It was like an Arabian Nights' tale. Whatcould these strange, fatally bound women do? Would any one of thembecome involved in sweet toils such as were possible to him? He was nofool. Already eyes had flashed and lips had smiled. 

A thousand like thoughts whirled through his mind. And when he hadcalmed down somewhat two things were not lost upon him--an intricate andfascinating situation, with no end to its possibilities, threatened andattracted him--and the certainty that, whatever change the bishop hadinaugurated, it had made these poor women happier. The latter factweighed more with Shefford than fears for himself. His word was given toWithers. He would have felt just the same without having bound himself. Still, in the light of the trader's blunt philosophy, and of his ownassurance that he was no fool, Shefford felt it incumbent upon him toaccept a belief that there were situations no man could resist withoutan anchor. The ingenuity of man could not have devised a stranger, amore enticing, a more overpoweringly fatal situation. Fatal in that itcould not be left untried! Shefford gave in and clicked his teeth as helet himself go. And suddenly he thought of her whom these bitter womencalled the Sago Lily. 

The regret that had been his returned with thought of her. The saddestdisillusion of his life, the keenest disappointment, the strangest pain, would always be associated with her. He had meant to see her face once, clear in the sunlight, so that he could always remember it, and thennever go near her again. And now it came to him that if he did seemuch of her these other women would find him like the stone wall in thevalley. Folly! Perhaps it was, but she would be safe, maybe happier. When he decided, it was certain that he trembled. 

Then he buried the memory of Fay Larkin. 

Next day Shefford threw himself with all the boy left in him into thework and play of the village. He helped the women and made games for thechildren. And he talked or listened. In the early evening he called onRuth, chatted awhile, and went on to see Joan, and from her to another. When the valley became shrouded in darkness he went unseen down the pathto Mary's lonely home. 

She was there, a white shadow against the black. 

When she replied to his greeting her voice seemed full, broken, eager toexpress something that would not come. She was happier to see him thanshe should have been, Shefford thought. He talked, swiftly, eloquently, about whatever he believed would interest her. He stayed long, andfinally left, not having seen her face except in pale starlight andshadow; and the strong clasp of her hand remained with him as he wentaway under the pinyons. 

Days passed swiftly. Joe Lake did not return. The Indian rode in and outof camp, watered and guarded the pack-burros and the mustangs. Sheffordgrew strong and active. He made gardens for the women; he cut cords offire-wood; he dammed the brook and made an irrigation ditch; he learnedto love these fatherless children, and they loved him. 

In the afternoons there was leisure for him and for the women. He had nofavorites, and let the occasion decide what he should do and with whomhe should be. They had little parties at the cottages and picnics underthe cedars. He rode up and down the valley with Ruth, who could ridea horse as no other girl he had ever seen. He climbed with Hester. Hewalked with Joan. Mostly he contrived to include several at once in thelittle excursions, though it was not rare for him to be out alone withone. 

It was not a game he was playing. More and more, as he learned to knowthese young women, he liked them better, he pitied them, he was good forthem. It shamed him, hurt him, somehow, to see how they tried to forgetsomething when they were with him. Not improbably a little of it wascoquetry, as natural as a laugh to any pretty woman. But that was notwhat hurt him. It was to see Ruth or Rebecca, as the case might be, fullof life and fun, thoroughly enjoying some jest or play, all of a suddenbe strangely recalled from the wholesome pleasure of a girl to becomea deep and somber woman. The crimes in the name of religion! How hethought of the blood and the ruin laid at the door of religion! Hewondered if that were so with Nas Ta Bega's religion, and he meantto find out some day. The women he liked best he imagined the leastreligious, and they made less effort to attract him. 

Every night in the dark he went to Mary's home and sat with her on theporch. He never went inside. For all he knew, his visits were unknown toher neighbors. Still, it did not matter to him if they found out. To herhe could talk as he had never talked to any one. She liberated all histhought and fancy. He filled her mind. 

As there had been a change in the other women, so was there in Mary;however, it had no relation to the bishop's visit. The time came whenShefford could not but see that she lived and dragged through the longday for the sake of those few hours in the shadow of the stars withhim. She seldom spoke. She listened. Wonderful to him--sometimes shelaughed--and it seemed the sound was a ghost of childhood pleasure. Whenhe stopped to consider that she might fall in love with him he drove thethought from him. When he realized that his folly had become sweetand that the sweetness imperiously drew him, he likewise cast off thatthought. The present was enough. And if he had any treasures of mind andheart he gave them to her. 

She never asked him to stay, but she showed that she wanted him to. Thatmade it hard to go. Still, he never stayed late. The moment of partingwas like a break. Her good-by was sweet, low music; it lingered on hisear; it bade him come to-morrow night; and it sent him away into thevalley to walk under the stars, a man fighting against himself. 

One night at parting, as he tried to see her face in the wan glow of aclouded moon, he said:

"I've been trying to find a sago-lily. "

"Have you never seen one?" she asked. 

"No. " He meant to say something with a double meaning, in reference toher face and the name of the flower, but her unconsciousness made himhold his tongue. She was wholly unlike the other women. 

"I'll show you where the lilies grow, " she said. 

"When?"

"To-morrow. Early in the afternoon I'll come to the spring. Then I'lltake you. "

. . . . . . . . . . . 

Next morning Joe Lake returned and imparted news that was perturbingto Shefford. Reports of Shadd had come in to Stonebridge from differentIndian villages; Joe was not inclined to linger long at the camp, andfavored taking the trail with the pack-train. 

Shefford discovered that he did not want to leave the valley, and theknowledge made him reflective. That morning he did not go into thevillage, and stayed in camp alone. A depression weighed upon him. Itwas dispelled, however, early in the afternoon by the sight of a slenderfigure in white swiftly coming down the path to the spring. He had anappointment with Mary to go to see the sago lilies; everything elseslipped his mind. 

Mary wore the long black hood that effectually concealed her face. Itmade of her a woman, a Mormon woman, and strangely belied the lithe formand the braid of gold hair. 

"Good day, " she said, putting down her bucket. "Do you still want togo--to see the lilies?"

"Yes, " replied Shefford, with a short laugh. 

"Can you climb?"

"I'll go where you go. "

Then she set off under the cedars and Shefford stalked at her side. Hewas aware that Nas Ta Bega watched them walk away. This day, so far, atleast, Shefford did not feel talkative; and Mary had always been one whomostly listened. They came at length to a place where the wall rose inlow, smooth swells, not steep, but certainly at an angle Shefford wouldnot of his own accord have attempted to scale. 

Light, quick, and sure as a mountain-sheep Mary went up the first swellto an offset above. Shefford, in amaze and admiration, watched thelittle moccasins as they flashed and held on to the smooth rock. 

When he essayed to follow her he slipped and came to grief. A secondattempt resulted in like failure. Then he backed away from the wall, torun forward fast and up the slope, only to slip, halfway up, and fallagain. 

He made light of the incident, but she was solicitous. When he assuredher he was unhurt she said he had agreed to go where she went. 

"But I'm not a--a bird, " he protested. 

"Take off your boots. Then you can climb. When we get over the wallit'll be easy, " she said. 

In his stocking-feet he had no great difficulty walking up the firstbulge of the walls. And from there she led him up the strange waves ofwind-worn rock. He could not attend to anything save the red, polishedrock under him, and so saw little. The ascent was longer than he wouldhave imagined, and steep enough to make him pant, but at last a hugeround summit was reached. 

From here he saw down into the valley where the village lay. But for thelazy columns of blue smoke curling up from the pinyons the place wouldhave seemed uninhabited. The wall on the other side was about level withthe one upon which he stood. Beyond rose other walls and cliffs, upand up to the great towering peaks between which the green-and-blackmountain loomed. Facing the other way, Shefford had only a restrictedview. There were low crags and smooth stone ridges, between which wereaisles green with cedar and pinyon. Shefford's companion headed towardone of these, and when he had followed her a few steps he could nolonger see down into the valley. The Mormon village where she lived wasas if it were lost, and when it vanished Shefford felt a difference. Scarcely had the thought passed when Mary removed the dark hood. Hersmall head glistened like gold in the sunlight. 

Shefford caught up with her and walked at her side, but could not bringhimself at once deliberately to look at her. They entered a narrow, low-walled lane where cedars and pinyons grew thickly, their fragranceheavy in the warm air, and flowers began to show in the grassy patches. 

"This is Indian paint-brush, " she said, pointing to little, low, scarletflowers. A gray sage-bush with beautiful purple blossoms she calledpurple sage; another bush with yellow flowers she named buck-brush, and there were vermilion cacti and low, flat mounds of lavender daisieswhich she said had no name. A whole mossy bank was covered with lacelike green leaves and tiny blossoms the color of violets, which shecalled loco. 

"Loco? Is this what makes the horses go crazy when they eat it?" heasked. 

"It is, indeed, " she said, laughing. 

When she laughed it was impossible not to look at her. She walked alittle in advance. Her white cheek and temple seemed framed in the goldof her hair. How white her skin! But it was like pearl, faintly veinedand flushed. The profile, clear-cut and pure, appeared cold, almoststern. He knew now that she was singularly beautiful, though he had yetto see her full face. 

They walked on. Quite suddenly the lane opened out between two roundedbluffs, and Shefford looked down upon a grander and more awe-inspiringscene than ever he had viewed in his dreams. 

What appeared to be a green mountainside sloped endlessly down toa plain, and that rolled and billowed away to a boundless region ofstrangely carved rock. The greatness of the scene could not be graspedin a glance. The slope was long; the plain not as level as it seemedto be on first sight; here and there round, red rocks, isolated andstrange, like lonely castles, rose out of the green. Beyond the greenall the earth seemed naked, showing smooth, glistening bones. It wasa formidable wall of rock that flung itself up in the distance, carvedinto a thousand canyon and walls and domes and peaks, and there wasnot a straight nor a broken nor a jagged line in all that wildness. Thecolor low down was red, dark blue, and purple in the clefts, yellowupon the heights, and in the distance rainbow-hued. A land of curves andcolor!

Shefford uttered an exclamation. 

"That's Utah, " said Mary. "I come often to sit here. You see thatwinding blue line. There. .. . That's San Juan Canyon. And the other darkline, that's Escalante Canyon. They wind down into this great purplechasm--'way over here to the left--and that's the Grand Canyon. They saynot even the Indians have been in there. "

Shefford had nothing to say. The moment was one of subtle and vitalassimilation. Such places as this to be unknown to men! What strength, what wonder, what help, what glory, just to sit there an hour, slowlyand appallingly to realize! Something came to Shefford from thedistance, out of the purple canyon and from those dim, wind-worn peaks. He resolved to come here to this promontory again and again, alone andin humble spirit, and learn to know why he had been silenced, why peacepervaded his soul. 

It was with this emotion upon him that he turned to find his companionwatching him. Then for the first time he saw her face fully, and wasthrilled that chance had reserved the privilege for this moment. It wasa girl's face he saw, flower-like, lovely and pure as a Madonna's, andstrangely, tragically sad. The eyes were large, dark gray, the color ofthe sage. They were as clear as the air which made distant things close, and yet they seemed full of shadows, like a ruffled pool under midnightstars. They disturbed him. Her mouth had the sweet curves and redness ofyouth, but it showed bitterness, pain, and repression. 

"Where are the sago-lilies?" he asked, suddenly. 

"Farther down. It's too cold up here for them. Come, " she said. 

He followed her down a winding trail--down and down till the green plainrose to blot out the scrawled wall of rock, down into a verdant canyonwhere a brook made swift music over stones, where the air was sultryand hot, laden with the fragrant breath of flower and leaf. This was acanyon of summer, and it bloomed. 

The girl bent and plucked something from the grass. 

"Here's a white lily, " she said. "There are three colors. The yellow andpink ones are deeper down in the canyon. "

Shefford took the flower and regarded it with great interest. He hadnever seen such an exquisite thing. It had three large petals, curvingcuplike, of a whiteness purer than new-fallen snow, and a heart of rich, warm gold. Its fragrance was so faint as to be almost indistinguishable, yet of a haunting, unforgettable sweetness. And even while he looked atit the petals drooped and their whiteness shaded and the gold paled. Ina moment the flower was wilted. 

"I don't like to pluck the lilies, " said Mary. "They die so swiftly. "

Shefford saw the white flowers everywhere in the open, sunny placesalong the brook. They swayed with stately grace in the slow, warm wind. They seemed like three-pointed stars shining out of the green. He bentover one with a particularly lofty stem, and after a close survey of ithe rose to look at her face. His action was plainly one of comparison. She laughed and said it was foolish for the women to call her the SagoLily. She had no coquetry; she spoke as she would have spoken of thestones at her feet; she did not know that she was beautiful. Sheffordimagined there was some resemblance in her to the lily--the samewhiteness, the same rich gold, and, more striking than either, astrange, rare quality of beauty, of life, intangible as somethingfleeting, the spirit that had swiftly faded from the plucked flower. Where had the girl been born--what had her life been? Shefford wasintensely curious about her. She seemed as different from any otherwomen he had known as this rare canyon lily was different from the tameflowers at home. 

On the return up the slope she outstripped him. She climbed lightly andtirelessly. When he reached her upon the promontory there was a stain ofred in her cheeks and her expression had changed. 

"Let's go back up over the rocks, " she said. "I've not climbed for--forso long. "

"I'll go where you go, " he replied. 

Then she was off, and he followed. She took to the curves of thebare rocks and climbed. He sensed a spirit released in her. It was sostrange, so keen, so wonderful to be with her, and when he did catchher he feared to speak lest he break this mood. Her eyes grew dark anddaring, and often she stopped to look away across the wavy sea of stonesto something beyond the great walls. When they got high the wind blewher hair loose and it flew out, a golden stream, with the sun brightupon it. He saw that she changed her direction, which had been in linewith the two peaks, and now she climbed toward the heights. They cameto a more difficult ascent, where the stone still held to the smoothcurves, yet was marked by steep bulges and slants and crevices. Here shebecame a wild thing. She ran, she leaped, she would have left him farbehind had he not called. Then she appeared to remember him and waited. 

Her face had now lost its whiteness; it was flushed, rosy, warm. 

"Where--did you--ever learn--to run over rocks--this way?" he panted. 

"All my life I've climbed, " she said. "Ah! it's so good to be up on thewalls again--to feel the wind--to see!"

Thereafter he kept close to her, no matter what the effort. He wouldnot miss a moment of her, if he could help it. She was wonderful. Heimagined she must be like an Indian girl, or a savage who loved thelofty places and the silence. When she leaped she uttered a strange, low, sweet cry of wildness and exultation. Shefford guessed she was agirl freed from her prison, forgetting herself, living again youthfulhours. Still she did not forget him. She waited for him at the badplaces, lent him a strong hand, and sometimes let it stay long in hisclasp. Tireless and agile, sure-footed as a goat, fleet and wildshe leaped and climbed and ran until Shefford marveled at her. Thisadventure was indeed fulfilment of a dream. Perhaps she might lead himto the treasure at the foot of the rainbow. But that thought, sad withmemory daring forth from its grave, was irrevocably linked with agirl who was dead. He could not remember her, in the presence ofthis wonderful creature who was as strange as she was beautiful. WhenShefford reached for the brown hand stretched forth to help him in aleap, when he felt its strong clasp, the youth and vitality and life ofit, he had the fear of a man who was running towards a precipice and whocould not draw back. This was a climb, a lark, a wild race to theMormon girl, bound now in the village, and by the very freedom of it shebetrayed her bonds. To Shefford it was also a wild race, but toward onesure goal he dared not name. 

They went on, and at length, hand in hand, even where no steep step orwide fissure gave reason for the clasp. But she seemed unconscious. Theywere nearing the last height, a bare eminence, when she broke from himand ran up the smooth stone. When he surmounted it she was standing onthe very summit, her arms wide, her full breast heaving, her slenderbody straight as an Indian's, her hair flying in the wind and blazing inthe sun. She seemed to embrace the west, to reach for something afar, to offer herself to the wind and distance. Her face was scarlet from theexertion of the climb, and her broad brow was moist. Her eyes hadthe piercing light of an eagle's, though now they were dark. Sheffordinstinctively grasped the essence of this strange spirit, primitiveand wild. She was not the woman who had met him at the spring. Shehad dropped some side of her with that Mormon hood, and now she stoodtotally strange. 

She belonged up here, he divined. She was a part of that wildness. Shemust have been born and brought up in loneliness, where the wind blewand the peaks loomed and silence held dominion. The sinking sun touchedthe rim of the distant wall, and as if in parting regret shone withrenewed golden fire. And the girl was crowned as with a glory. 

Shefford loved her then. Realizing it, he thought he might have lovedher before, but that did not matter when he was certain of it now. He trembled a little, fearfully, though without regret. Everythingpertaining to his desert experience had been strange--this the strangestof all. 

The sun sank swiftly, and instantly there was a change in the goldenlight. Quickly it died out. The girl changed as swiftly. She seemedto remember herself, and sat down as if suddenly weary. Shefford wentcloser and seated himself beside her. 

"The sun has set. We must go, " she said. But she made no movement. 

"Whenever you are ready, " replied he. 

Just as the blaze had died out of her eyes, so the flush faded out ofher face. The whiteness stole back, and with it the sadness. He hadto bite his tongue to keep from telling her what he felt, to keep frompouring out a thousand questions. But the privilege of having seen her, of having been with her when she had forgotten herself--that he believedwas enough. It had been wonderful; it had made him love her But itneed not add to the tragedy of her life, whatever that was. He tried toeliminate himself. And he watched her. 

Her eyes were fixed upon the gold-rimmed ramparts of the distant wall inthe west. Plain it was how she loved that wild upland. And there seemedto be some haunting memory of the past in her gaze--some happy part oflife, agonizing to think of now. 

"We must go, " she said, and rose. 

Shefford rose to accompany her. She looked at him, and her haunting eyesseemed to want him to know that he had helped her to forget the present, to remember girlhood, and that somehow she would always associate awonderful happy afternoon with him. He divined that her silence then wasa Mormon seal on lips. 

"Mary, this has been the happiest, the best, the most revealing day ofmy life, " he said, simply. 

Swiftly, as if startled, she turned and faced down the slope. At the topof the wall above the village she put on the dark hood, and with it thatsomber something which was Mormon. 

Twilight had descended into the valley, and shadows were so thickShefford had difficulty in finding Mary's bucket. He filled it at thespring, and made offer to carry it home for her, which she declined. 

"You'll come to-night--later?" she asked. 

"Yes, " he replied, hurriedly promising. Then he watched her white formslowly glide down the path to disappear in the shadows. 

Nas Ta Bega and Joe were busy at the camp-fire. Shefford joined them. This night he was uncommunicative. Joe peered curiously at him inthe flare of the blaze. Later, after the meal, when Shefford appearedrestless and strode to and fro, Joe spoke up gruffly:

"Better hang round camp to-night. "

Shefford heard, but did not heed. Nevertheless, the purport of theremark, which was either jealousy or admonition, haunted him with thepossibility of its meaning. 

He walked away from the camp-fire, under the dark pinyons, out into thestarry open; and every step was hard to take, unless it pointed towardthe home of the girl whose beauty and sadness and mystery had bewitchedhim. After what seemed hours he took the well-known path toward hercabin, and then every step seemed lighter. He divined he was rushing tosome fate--he knew not what. 

The porch was in shadow. He peered in vain for the white form againstthe dark background. In the silence he seemed to hear his heart-beatsthick and muffled. 

Some distance down the path he heard the sound of hoofs. Withdrawinginto the gloom of a cedar, he watched. Soon he made out moving horseswith riders. They filed past him to the number of half a score. Likea flash of fire the truth burned him. Mormons come for one of thosemysterious night visits to sealed wives!

Shefford stalked far down the valley, into the lonely silence and thenight shadows under the walls. 

VIII. THE HOGAN OF NAS TA BEGA

The home of Nas Ta Bega lay far up the cedared slope, with the craggyyellow cliffs and the black canyon and the pine-fringed top of NavajoMountain behind, and to the fore the vast, rolling descent of cedargroves and sage flats and sandy washes. No dim, dark range made boldoutline along the horizon; the stretch of gray and purple and greenextended to the blue line of sky. 

Down the length of one sage level Shefford saw a long lane where thebrush and the grass had been beaten flat. This, the Navajo said, was atrack where the young braves had raced their mustangs and had strivenfor supremacy before the eyes of maidens and the old people of thetribe. 

"Nas Ta Bega, did you ever race here?" asked Shefford. 

"I am a chief by birth. But I was stolen from my home, and now I cannotride well enough to race the braves of my tribe, " the Indian replied, bitterly. 

In another place Joe Lake halted his horse and called Shefford'sattention to a big yellow rock lying along the trail. And then he spokein Navajo to the Indian. 

"I've heard of this stone--Isende Aha, " said Joe, after Nas Ta Bega hadspoken. "Get down, and let's see. " Shefford dismounted, but the Indiankept his seat in the saddle. 

Joe placed a big hand on the stone and tried to move it. According toShefford's eye measurement the stone was nearly oval, perhaps three feethigh, by a little over two in width. Joe threw off his sombrero, took adeep breath, and, bending over, clasped the stone in his arms. He was anexceedingly heavy and powerful man, and it was plain to Shefford thathe meant to lift the stone if that were possible. Joe's broad shouldersstrained, flattened; his arms bulged, his joints cracked, his neckcorded, and his face turned black. By gigantic effort he lifted thestone and moved it about six inches. Then as he released his hold hefell, and when he sat up his face was wet with sweat. 

"Try it, " he said to Shefford, with his lazy smile. "See if you canheave it. "

Shefford was strong, and there had been a time when he took pride inhis strength. Something in Joe's supreme effort and in the gloom of theIndian's eyes made Shefford curious about this stone. He bent over andgrasped it as Joe had done. He braced himself and lifted with all hispower, until a red blur obscured his sight and shooting stars seemed toexplode in his head. But he could not even stir the stone. 

"Shefford, maybe you'll be able to heft it some day, " observed Joe. Thenhe pointed to the stone and addressed Nas Ta Bega. 

The Indian shook his head and spoke for a moment. 

"This is the Isende Aha of the Navajos, " explained Joe. "The youngbraves are always trying to carry this stone. As soon as one of them cancarry it he is a man. He who carries it farthest is the biggest man. Andjust so soon as any Indian can no longer lift it he is old. Nas TaBega says the stone has been carried two miles in his lifetime. His ownfather carried it the length of six steps. "

"Well! It's plain to me that I am not a man, " said Shefford, "or else Iam old. "

Joe Lake drawled his lazy laugh and, mounting, rode up the trail. ButShefford lingered beside the Indian. 

"Bi Nai, " said Nas Ta Bega, "I am a chief of my tribe, but I have neverbeen a man. I never lifted that stone. See what the pale-face educationhas done for the Indian!"

The Navajo's bitterness made Shefford thoughtful. Could greater injurybe done to man than this--to rob him of his heritage of strength?

Joe drove the bobbing pack-train of burros into the cedars where thesmoke of the hogans curled upward, and soon the whistling of mustangs, the barking of dogs, the bleating of sheep, told of his reception. Andpresently Shefford was in the midst of an animated scene. Great, woolly, fierce dogs, like wolves, ran out to meet the visitors. Sheep and goatswere everywhere, and little lambs scarcely able to walk, with othersfrisky and frolicsome. There were pure-white lambs, and some thatappeared to be painted, and some so beautiful with their fleecy whiteall except black faces or ears or tails or feet. They ran right underNack-yal's legs and bumped against Shefford, and kept bleating theirthin-piped welcome. Under the cedars surrounding the several hogans weremustangs that took Shefford's eye. He saw an iron-gray with white maneand tail sweeping to the ground; and a fiery black, wilder than anyother beast he had ever seen; and a pinto as wonderfully painted as thelittle lambs; and, most striking of all, a pure, cream-colored mustangwith grace and fine lines and beautiful mane and tail, and, strangeto see, eyes as blue as azure. This albino mustang came right up toShefford, an action in singular contrast with that of the others, andshowed a tame and friendly spirit toward him and Nack-yal. Indeed, Shefford had reason to feel ashamed of Nack-yal's temper or jealousy. 

The first Indians to put in an appearance were a flock of children, halfnaked, with tangled manes of raven-black hair and skin like gold bronze. They appeared bold and shy by turns. Then a little, sinewy man, oldand beaten and gray, came out of the principal hogan. He wore a blanketround his bent shoulders. His name was Hosteen Doetin, and it meantgentle man. His fine, old, wrinkled face lighted with a smile of kindlyinterest. His squaw followed him, and she was as venerable as he. Shefford caught a glimpse of the shy, dark Glen Naspa, Nas Ta Bega'ssister, but she did not come out. Other Indians appeared, coming fromadjacent hogans. 

Nas Ta Bega turned the mustangs loose among those Shefford had noticed, and presently there rose a snorting, whistling, kicking, plunging melee. A cloud of dust hid them, and then a thudding of swift hoofs told of arun through the cedars. Joe Lake began picking over stacks of goat-skinsand bags of wool that were piled against the hogan. 

"Reckon we'll have one grand job packing out this load, " he growled. "It's not so heavy, but awkward to pack. "

It developed, presently, from talk with the old Navajo, that this pilewas only a half of the load to be packed to Kayenta, and the other halfwas round the corner of the mountain in the camp of Piutes. HosteenDoetin said he would send to the camp and have the Piutes bring theirshare over. The suggestion suited Joe, who wanted to save his burros asmuch as possible. Accordingly, a messenger was despatched to the Piutecamp. And Shefford, with time on his hands and poignant memory tocombat, decided to recall his keen interest in the Navajo, and learn, if possible, what the Indian's life was like. What would a day of hisnatural life be?

In the gray of dawn, when the hush of the desert night still lay deepover the land, the Navajo stirred in his blanket and began to chant tothe morning light. It began very soft and low, a strange, broken murmur, like the music of a brook, and as it swelled that weird and mournfultone was slowly lost in one of hope and joy. The Indian's soul wascoming out of night, blackness, the sleep that resembled death, into theday, the light that was life. 

Then he stood in the door of his hogan, his blanket around him, andfaced the east. 

Night was lifting out of the clefts and ravines; the rolling cedarridges and the sage flats were softly gray, with thin veils like smokemysteriously rising and vanishing; the colorless rocks were changing. Along, horizon-wide gleam of light, rosiest in the center, lay low downin the east and momentarily brightened. One by one the stars inthe deep-blue sky paled and went out and the blue dome changed andlightened. Night had vanished on invisible wings and silence broke tothe music of a mockingbird. The rose in the east deepened; a wisp ofcloud turned gold; dim distant mountains showed dark against the red;and low down in a notch a rim of fire appeared. Over the soft ridges andvalleys crept a wondrous transfiguration. It was as if every blade ofgrass, every leaf of sage, every twig of cedar, the flowers, the trees, the rocks came to life at sight of the sun. The red disk rose, and agolden fire burned over the glowing face of that lonely waste. 

The Navajo, dark, stately, inscrutable, faced the sun--his god. This washis Great Spirit. The desert was his mother, but the sun was his life. To the keeper of the winds and rains, to the master of light, to themaker of fire, to the giver of life the Navajo sent up his prayer:

 Of all the good things of the Earth let me always have plenty. Of all the beautiful things of the Earth let me always have plenty. Peacefully let my horses go and peacefully let my sheep go. God of the Heavens, give me many sheep and horses. God of the Heavens, help me to talk straight. Goddess of the Earth, my Mother, let me walk straight. Now all is well, now all is well, now all is well, now all is well. 

Hope and faith were his. 

A chief would be born to save the vanishing tribe of Navajos. A bridewould rise from a wind--kiss of the lilies in the moonlight. 

He drank from the clear, cold spring bubbling from under mossy rocks. He went into the cedars, and the tracks in the trails told him of thevisitors of night. His mustangs whistled to him from the ridge-tops, standing clear with heads up and manes flying, and then trooped downthrough the sage. The shepherd-dogs, guardians of the flocks, barked hima welcome, and the sheep bleated and the lambs pattered round him. 

In the hogan by the warm, red fire his women baked his bread and cookedhis meat. And he satisfied his hunger. Then he took choice meat to thehogan of a sick relative, and joined in the song and the dance and theprayer that drove away the evil spirit of illness. Down in the valley, in a sandy, sunny place, was his corn-field, and here he turned in thewater from the ditch, and worked awhile, and went his contented way. 

He loved his people, his women, and his children. To his son he said:"Be bold and brave. Grow like the pine. Work and ride and play thatyou may be strong. Talk straight. Love your brother. Give half to yourfriend. Honor your mother that you may honor your wife. Pray and listento your gods. "

Then with his gun and his mustang he climbed the slope of the mountain. He loved the solitude, but he was never alone. There were voices on thewind and steps on his trail. The lofty pine, the lichened rock, the tinybluebell, the seared crag--all whispered their secrets. For him theirspirits spoke. In the morning light Old Stone Face, the mountain, was ared god calling him to the chase. He was a brother of the eagle, at homeon the heights where the winds swept and the earth lay revealed below. 

In the golden afternoon, with the warm sun on his back and the bluecanyon at his feet, he knew the joy of doing nothing. He did not needrest, for he was never tired. The sage-sweet breath of the open wasthick in his nostrils, the silence that had so many whisperings wasall about him, the loneliness of the wild was his. His falcon eye sawmustang and sheep, the puff of dust down on the cedar level, the Indianriding on a distant ridge, the gray walls, and the blue clefts. Here washome, still free, still wild, still untainted. He saw with the eyes ofhis ancestors. He felt them around him. They had gone into the elementsfrom which their voices came on the wind. They were the watchers on histrails. 

At sunset he faced the west, and this was his prayer:

 Great Spirit, God of my Fathers, Keep my horses in the night. Keep my sheep in the night. Keep my family in the night. Let me wake to the day. Let me be worthy of the light. Now all is well, now all is well, Now all is well, now all is well. 

And he watched the sun go down and the gold sink from the peaks and thered die out of the west and the gray shadows creep out of the canyonto meet the twilight and the slow, silent, mysterious approach of nightwith its gift of stars. 

Night fell. The white stars blinked. The wind sighed in the cedars. Thesheep bleated. The shepherd-dogs bayed the mourning coyotes. And theIndian lay down in his blankets with his dark face tranquil in thestarlight. All was well in his lonely world. Phantoms hovered, illnesslingered, injury and pain and death were there, the shadow of astrange white hand flitted across the face of the moon--but now all waswell--the Navajo had prayed to the god of his Fathers. Now all was well!

. . . . . . . . . . . 

And this, thought Shefford in revolt, was what the white man had killedin the Indian tribes, was reaching out now to kill in this wild remnantof the Navajos. The padre, the trapper, the trader, the prospector, andthe missionary--so the white man had come, some of him good, no doubt, but more of him evil; and the young brave learned a thirst that couldnever be quenched at the cold, sweet spring of his forefathers, andthe young maiden burned with a fever in her blood, and lost the sweet, strange, wild fancies of her tribe. 

. . . . . . . . . . . 

Joe Lake came to Shefford and said, "Withers told me you had a mix-upwith a missionary at Red Lake. "

"Yes, I regret to say, " replied Shefford. 

"About Glen Naspa?"

"Yes, Nas Ta Bega's sister. "

"Withers just mentioned it. Who was the missionary?"

"Willetts, so Presbrey, the trader, said. "

"What'd he look like?"

Shefford recalled the smooth, brown face, the dark eyes, the weak chin, the mild expression, and the soft, lax figure of the missionary. 

"Can't tell by what you said, " went on Joe. "But I'll bet a peso to ahorse-hair that's the fellow who's been here. Old Hosteen Doetin justtold me. First visits he ever had from the priest with the long gown. That's what he called the missionary. These old fellows will neverforget what's come down from father to son about the Spanish padres. Well, anyway, Willetts has been here twice after Glen Naspa. The oldchap is impressed, but he doesn't want to let the girl go. I'm inclinedto think Glen Naspa would as lief go as stay. She may be a Navajo, butshe's a girl. She won't talk much. "

"Where's Nas Ta Bega?" asked Shefford. 

"He rode off somewhere yesterday. Perhaps to the Piute camp. TheseIndians are slow. They may take a week to pack that load over here. Butif Nas Ta Bega or some one doesn't come with a message to-day I'll rideover there myself. "

"Joe, what do you think about this missionary?" queried Shefford, bluntly. 

"Reckon there's not much to think, unless you see him or find outsomething. I heard of Willetts before Withers spoke of him. He'sfriendly with Mormons. I understand he's worked for Mormon interests, someway or other. That's on the quiet. Savvy? This matter of him comingafter Glen Naspa, reckon that's all right. The missionaries all go afterthe young people. What'd be the use to try to convert the old Indians?No, the missionary's work is to educate the Indian, and, of course, theyounger he is the better. "

"You approve of the missionary?"

"Shefford, if you understood a Mormon you wouldn't ask that. Did youever read or hear of Jacob Hamblin?. .. Well, he was a Mormon missionaryamong the Navajos. The Navajos were as fierce as Apaches till Hamblinworked among them. He made them friendly to the white man. "

"That doesn't prove he made converts of them, " replied Shefford, stillbluntly. 

"No. For the matter of that, Hamblin let religion alone. He madepresents, then traded with them, then taught them useful knowledge. Mormon or not, Shefford, I'll admit this: a good man, strong withhis body, and learned in ways with his hands, with some knowledge ofmedicine, can better the condition of these Indians. But just as soonas he begins to preach his religion, then his influence wanes. That'snatural. These heathen have their ideals, their gods. "

"Which the white man should leave them!" replied Shefford, feelingly. 

"That's a matter of opinion. But don't let's argue. .. . Willetts is afterGlen Naspa. And if I know Indian girls he'll persuade her to go to hisschool. "

"Persuade her!" Then Shefford broke off and related the incident thathad occurred at Red Lake. 

"Reckon any means justifies the end, " replied Joe, imperturbably. "Lethim talk love to her or rope her or beat her, so long as he makes aChristian of her. "

Shefford felt a hot flush and had difficulty in controlling himself. From this single point of view the Mormon was impossible to reason with. 

"That, too, is a matter of opinion. We won't discuss it, " continuedShefford. "But--if old Hosteen Doetin objects to the girl leaving, andif Nas Ta Bega does the same, won't that end the matter?"

"Reckon not. The end of the matter is Glen Naspa. If she wants to goshe'll go. "

Shefford thought best to drop the discussion. For the first time he hadoccasion to be repelled by something in this kind and genial Mormon, and he wanted to forget it. Just as he had never talked about men to thesealed wives in the hidden valley, so he could not talk of women to JoeLake. 

Nas Ta Bega did not return that day, but, next morning a messenger camecalling Lake to the Piute camp. Shefford spent the morning high on theslope, learning more with every hour in the silence and loneliness, thathe was stronger of soul than he had dared to hope, and that the addedpain which had come to him could be borne. 

Upon his return toward camp, in the cedar grove, he caught sight of GlenNaspa with a white man. They did not see him. When Shefford recognizedWilletts an embarrassment as well as an instinct made him halt and stepinto a bushy, low-branched cedar. It was not his intention to spy onthem. He merely wanted to avoid a meeting. But the missionary's handon the girl's arm, and her up-lifted head, her pretty face, strange, intent, troubled, struck Shefford with an unusual and irresistiblecuriosity. Willetts was talking earnestly; Glen Naspa was listeningintently. Shefford watched long enough to see that the girl loved themissionary, and that he reciprocated or was pretending. His mannerscarcely savored of pretense, Shefford concluded, as he slipped awayunder the trees. 

He did not go at once into camp. He felt troubled, and wished that hehad not encountered the two. His duty in the matter, of course, was totell Nas Ta Bega what he had seen. Upon reflection Shefford decided togive the missionary the benefit of a doubt; and if he really cared forthe Indian girl, and admitted or betrayed it, to think all the better ofhim for the fact. Glen Naspa was certainly pretty enough, and probablylovable enough, to please any lonely man in this desert. The pain andthe yearning in Shefford's heart made him lenient. He had to fighthimself--not to forget, for that was impossible--but to keep rationaland sane when a white flower-like face haunted him and a voice called. 

The cracking of hard hoofs on stones caused him to turn toward camp, and as he emerged from the cedar grove he saw three Indian horsemen rideinto the cleared space before the hogans. They were superbly mounted andwell armed, and impressed him as being different from Navajos. Perhapsthey were Piutes. They dismounted and led the mustangs down to the poolbelow the spring. Shefford saw another mustang, standing bridle downand carrying a pack behind the saddle. Some squaws with children hangingbehind their skirts were standing at the door of Hosteen Doetin's hogan. Shefford glanced in to see Glen Naspa, pale, quiet, almost sullen. Willetts stood with his hands spread. The old Navajo's seamed faceworked convulsively as he tried to lift his bent form to some semblanceof dignity, and his voice rolled out, sonorously: "Me no savvy JesusChrist! Me hungry! . .. Me no eat Jesus Christ!"

Shefford drew back as if he had received a blow. That had been HosteenDoetin's reply to the importunities of the missionary. The old Navajocould work no longer. His sons were gone. His squaw was worn out. Hehad no one save Glen Naspa to help him. She was young, strong. He washungry. What was the white man's religion to him?

With long, swift stride Shefford entered the hogan. Willetts, seeinghim, did not look so mild as Shefford had him pictured in memory, nordid he appear surprised. Shefford touched Hosteen Doetin's shoulder andsaid, "Tell me. "

The aged Navajo lifted a shaking hand. 

"Me no savvy Jesus Christ! Me hungry!. .. Me no eat Jesus Christ!"

Shefford then made signs that indicated the missionary's intention totake the girl away. "Him come--big talk--Jesus--all Jesus. .. . Me no wantGlen Naspa go, " replied the Indian. 

Shefford turned to the missionary. 

"Willetts, is he a relative of the girl?"

"There's some blood tie, I don't know what. But it's not close, " repliedWilletts. 

"Then don't you think you'd better wait till Nas Ta Bega returns? He'sher brother. "

"What for?" demanded Willetts. "That Indian may be gone a week. She'swilling to accompany the missionary. "

Shefford looked at the girl. 

"Glen Naspa, do you want to go?"

She was shy, ashamed, and silent, but manifestly willing to accompanythe missionary. Shefford pondered a moment. How he hoped Nas Ta Begawould come back! It was thought of the Indian that made Sheffordstubborn. What his stand ought to be was hard to define, unless heanswered to impulse; and here in the wilds he had become imbued with theidea that his impulses and instincts were no longer false. 

"Willetts, what do you want with the girl?" queried Shefford, coolly, and at the question he seemed to find himself. He peered deliberatelyand searchingly into the other's face. The missionary's gaze shifted anda tinge of red crept up from under his collar. 

"Absurd thing to ask a missionary!" he burst out, impatiently. 

"Do you care for Glen Naspa?"

"I care as God's disciple--who cares to save the soul of heathen, " hereplied, with the lofty tone of prayer. 

"Has Glen Naspa no--no other interest in you--except to be taughtreligion?"

The missionary's face flamed, and his violent tremor showed that underhis exterior there was a different man. 

"What right have you to question me?" he demanded. "You're anadventurer--an outcast. I've my duty here. I'm a missionary with Churchand state and government behind me. "

"Yes, I'm an outcast, " replied Shefford, bitterly. "And you may be allyou say. But we're alone now out here on the desert. And this girl'sbrother is absent. You haven't answered me yet. .. . Is there anythingbetween you and Glen Naspa except religion?"

"No, you insulting beggar?"

Shefford had forced the reply that he had expected and which damned themissionary beyond any consideration. 

"Willetts, you are a liar!" said Shefford, steadily. 

"And what are you?" cried Willetts, in shrill fury. "I've heard allabout you. Heretic! Atheist! Driven from your Church! Hated and scornedfor your blasphemy!"

Then he gave way to ungovernable rage, and cursed Shefford as areligious fanatic might have cursed the most debased sinners. Sheffordheard with the blood beating, strangling the pulse in his ears. Somehowthis missionary had learned his secret--most likely from the Mormonsin Stonebridge. And the terms of disgrace were coals of fire uponShefford's head. Strangely, however, he did not bow to them, as hadbeen his humble act in the past, when his calumniators had arraigned andflayed him. Passion burned in him now, for the first time in his life, made a tiger of him. And these raw emotions, new to him, were difficultto control. 

"You can't take the girl, " he replied, when the other had ceased. "Notwithout her brother's consent. "

"I will take her!"

Shefford threw him out of the hogan and strode after him. Willetts hadstumbled. When he straightened up he was white and shaken. He groped forthe bridle of his horse while keeping his eyes upon Shefford, and whenhe found it he whirled quickly, mounted, and rode off. Shefford saw himhalt a moment under the cedars to speak with the three strange Indians, and then he galloped away. It came to Shefford then that he had beenunconscious of the last strained moment of that encounter. He seemed allcold, tight, locked, and was amazed to find his hand on his gun. Verilythe wild environment had liberated strange instincts and impulses, whichhe had answered. That he had no regrets proved how he had changed. 

Shefford heard the old woman scolding. Peering into the hogan, he sawGlen Naspa flounce sullenly down, for all the world like any otherthwarted girl. Hosteen Doetin came out and pointed down the slope at thedeparting missionary. 

"Heap talk Jesus--all talk--all Jesus!" he exclaimed, contemptuously. Then he gave Shefford a hard rap on the chest. "Small talk--heap man!"

The matter appeared to be adjusted for the present. But Shefford feltthat he had made a bitter enemy, and perhaps a powerful one. 

He prepared and ate his supper alone that evening, for Joe Lake and NasTa Bega did not put in an appearance. He observed that the three strangeIndians, whom he took for Piutes, kept to themselves, and, so far as heknew, had no intercourse with any one at the camp. This would not haveseemed unusual, considering the taciturn habit of Indians, had he notremembered seeing Willetts speak to the trio. What had he to do withthem? Shefford was considering the situation with vague doubts when, tohis relief, the three strangers rode off into the twilight. Then he wentto bed. 

He was awakened by violence. It was the gray hour before dawn. Darkforms knelt over him. A cloth pressed down hard over his mouth: Stronghands bound it while other strong hands held him. He could not cry out. He could not struggle. A heavy weight, evidently a man, held down hisfeet. Then he was rolled over, securely bound, and carried, to be thrownlike a sack over the back of a horse. 

All this happened so swiftly as to be bewildering. He was too astoundedto be frightened. As he hung head downward he saw the legs of a horseand a dim trail. A stirrup swung to and fro, hitting him in the face. He began to feel exceedingly uncomfortable, with a rush of blood to hishead, and cramps in his arms and legs. This kept on and grew worse forwhat seemed a long time. Then the horse was stopped and a rude handtumbled him to the ground. Again he was rolled over on his face. Strongfingers plucked at his clothes, and he believed he was being searched. His captors were as silent as if they had been dumb. He felt when theytook his pocketbook and his knife and all that he had. Then they cut, tore, and stripped off all his clothing. He was lifted, carried a fewsteps, and dropped upon what seemed a soft, low mound, and left lyingthere, still tied and naked. Shefford heard the rustle of sage and thedull thud of hoofs as his assailants went away. 

His first sensation was one of immeasurable relief. He had not beenmurdered. Robbery was nothing. And though roughly handled, he had notbeen hurt. He associated the assault with the three strange visitorsof the preceding day. Still, he had no proof of that. Not the slightestclue remained to help him ascertain who had attacked him. 

It might have been a short while or a long one, his mind was so filledwith growing conjectures, but a time came when he felt cold. As he layface down, only his back felt cold at first. He was grateful that hehad not been thrown upon the rocks. The ground under him appeared soft, spongy, and gave somewhat as he breathed. He had really sunk down alittle in this pile of soft earth. The day was not far off, as he couldtell by the brightening of the gray. He began to suffer with the cold, and then slowly he seemed to freeze and grow numb. In an effort to rollover upon his back he discovered that his position, or his being bound, or the numbness of his muscles was responsible for the fact that hecould not move. Here was a predicament. It began to look serious. Whatwould a few hours of the powerful sun do to his uncovered skin? Somebodywould trail and find him: still, he might not be found soon. 

He saw the sky lighten, turn rosy and then gold. The sun shone upon him, but some time elapsed before he felt its warmth. All of a sudden a pain, like a sting, shot through his shoulder. He could not see what causedit; probably a bee. Then he felt another upon his leg, and aboutsimultaneously with it a tiny, fiery stab in his side. A sickeningsensation pervaded his body, slowly moving, as if poison had enteredthe blood of his veins. Then a puncture, as from a hot wire, entered theskin of his breast. Unmistakably it was a bite. By dint of great efforthe twisted his head to see a big red ant on his breast. Then he hearda faint sound, so exceedingly faint that he could not tell what it waslike. But presently his strained ears detected a low, swift, rustling, creeping sound, like the slipping rattle of an infinite number oftiny bits of moving gravel. Then it was a sound like the seeping ofwind-blown sand. Several hot bites occurred at once. And then with hishead twisted he saw a red stream of ants pour out of the mound and spillover his quivering flesh. 

In an instant he realized his position. He had been droppedintentionally upon an ant-heap, which had sunk with his weight, wedginghim between the crusts. At the mercy of those terrible desert ants! Afrantic effort to roll out proved futile, as did another and another. His violent muscular contractions infuriated the ants, and in an instanthe was writhing in pain so horrible and so unendurable that he nearlyfainted. But he was too strong to faint suddenly. A bath of vitriol, a stripping of his skin and red embers of fire thrown upon raw flesh, could not have equaled this. There was fury in the bites and poison inthe fangs of these ants. Was this an Indian's brutal trick or was it themissionary's revenge? Shefford realized that it would kill him soon. Hesweat what seemed blood, although perhaps the blood came from the bites. A strange, hollow, buzzing roar filled his ears, and it must have beenthe pouring of the angry ants from their mound. 

Then followed a time that was hell--worse than fire, for fire wouldhave given merciful death--agony under which his physical being beganspasmodically to jerk and retch--and his eyeballs turned and his breastcaved in. 

A cry rang through the roar in his ears. "Bi Nai! Bi Nai!"

His fading sight seemed to shade round the dark face of Nas Ta Bega. 

Then powerful hands dragged him from the mound, through the grassand sage, rolled him over and over, and brushed his burning skin withstrong, swift sweep. 

IX. IN THE DESERT CRUCIBLE

That hard experience was but the beginning of many cruel trials for JohnShefford. 

He never knew who his assailants were, nor their motive other thanrobbery; and they had gotten little, for they had not found the largesum of money sewed in the lining of his coat. Joe Lake declared it wasShadd's work, and the Mormon showed the stern nature that lay hiddenunder his mild manner. Nas Ta Bega shook his head and would not tellwhat he thought. But a somber fire burned in his eyes. 

The three started with a heavily laden pack-train and went down themountain slope into West Canyon. The second day they were shot at fromthe rim of the walls. Lake was wounded, hindering the swift flightnecessary to escape deeper into the canyon. Here they hid for days, while the Mormon recovered and the Indian took stealthy trips to try tolocate the enemy. Lack of water and grass for the burros drove themon. They climbed out of a side canyon, losing several burros on a roughtrail, and had proceeded to within half a day's journey of Red Lakewhen they were attacked while making camp in a cedar grove. Sheffordsustained an exceedingly painful injury to his leg, but, fortunately, the bullet went through without breaking a bone. With that burning painthere came to Shefford the meaning of fight, and his rifle grew hot inhis hands. Night alone saved the trio from certain fatality. Under thecover of darkness the Indian helped Shefford to escape. Joe Lake lookedout for himself. The pack-train was lost, and the mustangs, exceptNack-yal. 

Shefford learned what it meant to lie out at night, listening forpursuit, cold to his marrow, sick with dread, and enduring frightfulpain from a ragged bullet-hole. Next day the Indian led him down intothe red basin, where the sun shone hot and the sand reflected the heat. They had no water. A wind arose and the valley became a place of flyingsand. Through a heavy, stifling pall Nas Ta Bega somehow got Shefford tothe trading-post at Red Lake. Presbrey attended to Shefford's injuryand made him comfortable. Next day Joe Lake limped in, surly and somber, with the news that Shadd and eight or ten of his outlaw gang had gottenaway with the pack-train. 

In short time Shefford was able to ride, and with his companions wentover the pass to Kayenta. Withers already knew of his loss, and all hesaid was that he hoped to meet Shadd some day. 

Shefford showed a reluctance to go again to the hidden village in thesilent canyon with the rounded walls. The trader appeared surprised, butdid not press the point. And Shefford meant sooner or later to tell him, yet never quite reached the point. The early summer brought more workfor the little post, and Shefford toiled with the others. He liked theoutdoor tasks, and at night was grateful that he was too tired to think. Then followed trips to Durango and Bluff and Monticello. He rode fiftymiles a day for many days. He knew how a man fares who packs light andrides far and fast. When the Indian was with him he got along well, but Nas Ta Bega would not go near the towns. Thus many mishaps wereShefford's fortune. 

Many and many a mile he trailed his mustang, for Nack-yal never forgotthe Sagi, and always headed for it when he broke his hobbles. Sheffordaccompanied an Indian teamster in to Durango with a wagon and four wildmustangs. Upon the return, with a heavy load of supplies, accident putShefford in charge of the outfit. In despair he had to face the hardesttask that could have been given him--to take care of a crippled Indian, catch, water, feed, harness, and drive four wild mustangs that did notknow him and tried to kill him at every turn, and to get that preciousload of supplies home to Kayenta. That he accomplished it proved to hintthe possibilities of a man, for both endurance and patience. From thattime he never gave up in the front of any duty. 

In the absence of an available Indian he rode to Durango and back inrecord time. Upon one occasion he was lost in a canyon for days, with nofood and little water. Upon another he went through a sand-storm in theopen desert, facing it for forty miles and keeping to the trail; When herode in to Kayenta that night the trader, in grim praise, said therewas no worse to endure. At Monticello Shefford stood off a band ofdesperadoes, and this time Shefford experienced a strange, sickeningshock in the wounding of a man. Later he had other fights, but in noneof them did he know whether or not he had shed blood. 

The heat of midsummer came, when the blistering sun shone, and a hotblast blew across the sand, and the furious storms made floods in thewashes. Day and night Shefford was always in the open, and any one whohad ever known him in the past would have failed to recognize him now. 

In the early fall, with Nas Ta Bega as companion, he set out to thesouth of Kayenta upon long-neglected business of the trader. Theyvisited Red Lake, Blue Canyon, Keams Canyon, Oribi, the Moki villages, Tuba, Moencopie, and Moen Ave. This trip took many weeks and gaveShefford all the opportunity he wanted to study the Indians, and theconditions nearer to the border of civilization. He learned the truthabout the Indians and the missionaries. 

Upon the return trip he rode over the trail he had followed alone toRed Lake and thence on to the Sagi, and it seemed that years had passedsince he first entered this wild region which had come to be home, yearsthat had molded him in the stern and fiery crucible of the desert. 

X. STONEBRIDGE

In October Shefford arranged for a hunt in the Cresaw Mountains with JoeLake and Nas Ta Bega. The Indian had gone home for a short visit, andupon his return the party expected to start. But Nas Ta Bega did notcome back. Then the arrival of a Piute with news that excited Withersand greatly perturbed Lake convinced Shefford that something was wrong. 

The little trading-post seldom saw such disorder; certainly Sheffordhad never known the trader to neglect work. Joe Lake threw a saddle ona mustang he would have scorned to notice in an ordinary moment, andwithout a word of explanation or farewell rode hard to the north on theStonebridge trail. 

Shefford had long since acquired patience. He was curious, but he didnot care particularly what was in the wind. However, when Withers cameout and sent an Indian to drive up the horses Shefford could not refrainfrom a query. 

"I hate to tell you, " replied the trader. 

"Go on, " added Shefford, quickly. 

"Did I tell you about the government sending a Supreme Court judge outto Utah to prosecute the polygamists?"

"No, " replied Shefford. 

"I forgot to, I reckon. You've been away a lot. Well, there's been hellup in Utah for six months. Lately this judge and his men have workeddown into southern Utah. He visited Bluff and Monticello a few weeksago. .. . Now what do you think?"

"Withers! Is he coming to Stonebridge?"

"He's there now. Some one betrayed the whereabouts of the hidden villageover in the canyon. All the women have been arrested and taken toStonebridge. The trial begins to-day. "

"Arrested!" echoed Shefford, blankly. "Those poor, lonely, good women?What on earth for?"

"Sealed wives!" exclaimed Withers, tersely. "This judge is after thepolygamists. They say he's absolutely relentless. "

"But--women can't be polygamists. Their husbands are the ones wanted. "

"Sure. But the prosecutors have got to find the sealed wives--the secondwives--to find the law-breaking husbands. That'll be a job, or I don'tknow Mormons. .. . Are you going to ride over to Stonebridge with me?"

Shefford shrank at the idea. Months of toil and pain and travail had notbeen enough to make him forget the strange girl he had loved. But he hadremembered only at poignant intervals, and the lapse of time had madethought of her a dream like that sad dream which had lured him into thedesert. With the query of the trader came a bitter-sweet regret. 

"Better come with me, " said Withers. "Have you forgotten the Sago Lily?She'll be put on trial. .. . That girl--that child!. .. Shefford, you knowshe hasn't any friends. And now no Mormon man are protect her, for fearof prosecution. "

"I'll go, " replied Shefford, shortly. 

The Indian brought up the horses. Nack-yal was thin from his longtravel during the hot summer, but he was as hard as iron, and the way hepointed his keen nose toward the Sagi showed how he wanted to make forthe upland country, with its clear springs and valleys of grass. Withersmounted his bay and with a hurried farewell to his wife spurred themustang into the trail. Shefford took time to get his weapons and thelight pack he always carried, and then rode out after the trader. 

The pace Withers set was the long, steady lope to which these Indianmustangs had been trained all their lives. In an hour they reached themouth of the Sagi, and at sight of it it seemed to Shefford that thehard half-year of suffering since he had been there had disappeared. Withers, to Shefford's regret, did not enter the Sagi. He turned off tothe north and took a wild trail into a split of the red wall, and woundin and out, and climbed a crack so narrow that the light was obscuredand the cliffs could be reached from both sides of a horse. 

Once up on the wild plateau, Shefford felt again in a different worldfrom the barren desert he had lately known. The desert had crucifiedhim and had left him to die or survive, according to his spirit and hisstrength. If he had loved the glare, the endless level, the deceivingdistance, the shifting sand, it had certainly not been as he loved thissofter, wilder, more intimate upland. With the red peaks shining up intothe blue, and the fragrance of cedar and pinyon, and the purple sageand flowers and grass and splash of clear water over stones--with thesethere came back to him something that he had lost and which had hauntedhim. 

It seemed he had returned to this wild upland of color and canyon andlofty crags and green valleys and silent places with a spirit gainedfrom victory over himself in the harsher and sterner desert below. And, strange to him, he found his old self, the dreamer, the artist, thelover of beauty, the searcher for he knew not what, come to meet him onthe fragrant wind. 

He felt this, saw the old wildness with glad eyes, yet the greater partof his mind was given over to the thought of the unfortunate women heexpected to see in Stonebridge. 

Withers was harder to follow, to keep up with, than an Indian. For onething he was a steady and tireless rider, and for another there weretimes when he had no mercy on a horse. Then an Indian always foundeasier steps in a trail and shorter cuts. Withers put his mount to somebad slopes, and Shefford had no choice but to follow. But they crossedthe great broken bench of upland without mishap, and came out upon apromontory of a plateau from which Shefford saw a wide valley and thedark-green alfalfa fields of Stonebridge. 

Stonebridge lay in the center of a fertile valley surrounded by pinkcliffs. It must have been a very old town, certainly far older thanBluff or Monticello, though smaller, and evidently it had been built tolast. There was one main street, very wide, that divided the town andwas crossed at right angles by a stream spanned by a small natural stonebridge. A line of poplar-trees shaded each foot-path. The little logcabins and stone houses and cottages were half hidden in foliage nowtinted with autumn colors. Toward the center of the town the houses andstores and shops fronted upon the street and along one side of agreen square, or plaza. Here were situated several edifices, themost prominent of which was a church built of wood, whitewashed, andremarkable, according to Withers, for the fact that not a nail had beenused in its construction. Beyond the church was a large, low structureof stone, with a split-shingle roof, and evidently this was the townhall. 

Shefford saw, before he reached the square, that this day in Stonebridgewas one of singular action and excitement for a Mormon village. The townwas full of people and, judging from the horses hitched everywhere andthe big canvas-covered wagons, many of the people were visitors. Acrowd surrounded the hall--a dusty, booted, spurred, shirt-sleeved andsombreroed assemblage that did not wear the hall-mark Shefford had cometo associate with Mormons. They were riders, cowboys, horse-wranglers, and some of them Shefford had seen in Durango. Navajos and Piutes werepresent, also, but they loitered in the background. 

Withers drew Shefford off to the side where, under a tree, they hitchedtheir horses. 

"Never saw Stonebridge full of a riffraff gang like this to-day, " saidWithers. "I'll bet the Mormons are wild. There's a tough outfitfrom Durango. If they can get anything to drink--or if they've gotit--Stonebridge will see smoke to-day!. .. Come on. I'll get in thathall. "

But before Withers reached the hall he started violently and pulledup short, then, with apparent unconcern, turned to lay a hand uponShefford. The trader's face had blanched and his eyes grew hard andshiny, like flint. He gripped Shefford's arm. 

"Look! Over to your left!" he whispered. "See that gang of Indiansthere--by the big wagon. See the short Indian with the chaps. He's got aface big as a ham, dark, fierce. That's Shadd!. .. You ought to know him. Shadd and his outfit here! How's that for nerve? But he pulls a reinwith the Mormons. "

Shefford's keen eye took in a lounging group of ten or twelve Indiansand several white men. They did not present any great contrast tothe other groups except that they were isolated, appeared quiet andwatchful, and were all armed. A bunch of lean, racy mustangs, restiveand spirited, stood near by in charge of an Indian. Shefford had to takea second and closer glance to distinguish the half-breed. At once herecognized in Shadd the broad-faced squat Indian who had paid him athreatening visit that night long ago in the mouth of the Sagi. A fireran along Shefford's veins and seemed to concentrate in his breast. Shadd's dark, piercing eyes alighted upon Shefford and rested there. Then the half-breed spoke to one of his white outlaws and pointed atShefford. His action attracted the attention of others in the gang, andfor a moment Shefford and Withers were treated to a keen-eyed stare. 

The trader cursed low. "Maybe I wouldn't like to mix it with that damnedbreed, " he said. "But what chance have we with that gang? Besides, we're here on other and more important business. All the same, before Iforget, let me remind you that Shadd has had you spotted ever since youcame out here. A friendly Piute told me only lately. Shefford, didany Indian between here and Flagstaff ever see that bunch of money youpersist in carrying?"

"Why, yes, I suppose so--'way back in Tuba, when I first came out, "replied Shefford. 

"Huh! Well, Shadd's after that. .. . Come on now, let's get inside thehall. "

The crowd opened for the trader, who appeared to be known to everybody. 

A huge man with a bushy beard blocked the way to a shut door. 

"Hello, Meade!" said Withers. "Let us in. "

The man opened the door, permitted Withers and Shefford to enter, andthen closed it. 

Shefford, coming out of the bright glare of sun into the hall, could notsee distinctly at first. His eyes blurred. He heard a subdued murmurof many voices. Withers appeared to be affected with the same kind ofblindness, for he stood bewildered a moment. But he recovered soonerthan Shefford. Gradually the darkness shrouding many obscure formslifted. Withers drew him through a crowd of men and women to one sideof the hall, and squeezed along a wall to a railing where progress wasstopped. 

Then Shefford raised his head to look with bated breath and strangecuriosity. 

The hall was large and had many windows. Men were in consultation upon aplatform. Women to the number of twenty sat close together upon benches. Back of them stood another crowd. But the women on the benches heldShefford's gaze. They were the prisoners. They made a somber group. Somewere hooded, some veiled, all clad in dark garments except one on thefront bench, and she was dressed in white. She wore a long hood thatconcealed her face. Shefford recognized the hood and then the slendershape. She was Mary--she whom her jealous neighbors had named the SagoLily. At sight of her a sharp pain pierced Shefford's breast. His eyeswere blurred when he forced them away from her, and it took a moment forhim to see clearly. 

Withers was whispering to him or to some one near at hand, but Shefforddid not catch the meaning of what was said. He paid more attention;however, Withers ceased speaking. Shefford gazed upon the crowd backof him. The women were hooded and it was not possible to see what theylooked like. There were many stalwart, clean-cut, young Mormons of JoeLake's type, and these men appeared troubled, even distressed and at aloss. There was little about them resembling the stern, quiet, somberausterity of the more matured men, and nothing at all of the strange, aloof, serene impassiveness of the gray-bearded old patriarchs. Thesevenerable men were the Mormons of the old school, the sons of thepioneers, the ruthless fanatics. Instinctively Shefford felt that it wasin them that polygamy was embodied; they were the husbands of the sealedwives. He conceived an absorbing curiosity to learn if his instinct wascorrect; and hard upon that followed a hot, hateful eagerness to seewhich one was the husband of Mary. 

"There's Bishop Kane, " whispered Withers, nudging Shefford. "And there'sWaggoner with him. "

Shefford saw the bishop, and then beside him a man of striking presence. 

"Who's Waggoner?" asked Shefford, as he looked. 

"He owns more than any Mormon in southern Utah, " replied the trader. "He's the biggest man in Stonebridge, that's sure. But I don't know hisrelation to the Church. They don't call him elder or bishop. But I'llbet he's some pumpkins. He never had any use for me or any Gentile. Aclose-fisted, tight-lipped Mormon--a skinflint if I ever saw one! Justlook him over. "

Shefford had been looking, and considered it unlikely that he would everforget this individual called Waggoner. He seemed old, sixty at least, yet at that only in the prime of a wonderful physical life. Unlike mostof the others, he wore his grizzled beard close-cropped, so close thatit showed the lean, wolfish line of his jaw. All his features were ofstriking sharpness. His eyes, of a singularly brilliant blue, were yetcold and pale. The brow had a serious, thoughtful cast; long furrowssloped down the cheeks. It was a strange, secretive face, full of apower that Shefford had not seen in another man's, full of intelligenceand thought that had not been used as Shefford had known them usedamong men. The face mystified him. It had so much more than the strangealoofness so characteristic of his fellows. 

"Waggoner had five wives and fifty-five children before the law wentinto effect, " whispered Withers. "Nobody knows and nobody will ever knowhow many he's got now. That's my private opinion. "

Somehow, after Withers told that, Shefford seemed to understand thestrange power in Waggoner's face. Absolutely it was not the force, thestrength given to a man from his years of control of men. Shefford, longschooled now in his fair-mindedness, fought down the feelings of otheryears, and waited with patience. Who was he to judge Waggoner or anyother Mormon? But whenever his glance strayed back to the quiet, slenderform in white, when he realized again and again the appalling nature ofthis court, his heart beat heavy and labored within his breast. 

Then a bustle among the men upon the platform appeared to indicate thatproceedings were about to begin. Some men left the platform; several satdown at a table upon which were books and papers, and others remainedstanding. These last were all roughly garbed, in riding-boots and spurs, and Shefford's keen eye detected the bulge of hidden weapons. Theylooked like deputy-marshals upon duty. 

Somebody whispered that the judge's name was Stone. The name fitted him. He was not young, and looked a man suited to the prosecution of thesesecret Mormons. He had a ponderous brow, a deep, cavernous eye thatemitted gleams but betrayed no color or expression. His mouth was thesaving human feature of his stony face. 

Shefford took the man upon the judge's right hand to be a lawyer, andthe one on his left an officer of court, perhaps a prosecuting attorney. Presently this fellow pounded upon the table and stood up as if toaddress a court-room. Certainly he silenced that hallful of people. Thenhe perfunctorily and briefly stated that certain women had been arrestedupon suspicion of being sealed wives of Mormon polygamists, and were tobe herewith tried by a judge of the United States Court. Shefford felthow the impressive words affected that silent hall of listeners, buthe gathered from the brief preliminaries that the trial could not beotherwise than a crude, rapid investigation, and perhaps for that themore sinister. 

The first woman on the foremost bench was led forward by a deputy to avacant chair on the platform just in front of the judge's table. She wastold to sit down, and showed no sign that she had heard. Then the judgecourteously asked her to take the chair. She refused. And Stone noddedhis head as if he had experienced that sort of thing before. He strokedhis chin wearily, and Shefford conceived an idea that he was a kind man, if he was a relentless judge. 

"Please remove your veil, " requested the prosecutor. 

The woman did so, and proved to be young and handsome. Shefford hada thrill as he recognized her. She was Ruth, who had been one of hisbest-known acquaintances in the hidden village. She was pale, angry, almost sullen, and her breast heaved. She had no shame, but she seemedto be outraged. Her dark eyes, scornful and blazing, passed over thejudge and his assistants, and on to the crowd behind the railing. Shefford, keen as a blade, with all his faculties absorbed, fancied hesaw Ruth stiffen and change slightly as her glance encountered someone in that crowd. Then the prosecutor in deliberate and chosen wordsenjoined her to kiss the Bible handed to her and swear to tell thetruth. How strange for Shefford to see her kiss the book which he hadstudied for so many years! Stranger still to hear the low murmur fromthe listening audience as she took the oath!

"What is your name?" asked Judge Stone, leaning back and fixing thecavernous eyes upon her. 

"Ruth Jones, " was the cool reply. 

"How old are you?"

"Twenty. "

"Where were you born?" went on the judge. He allowed time for the clerkto record her answers. 

"Panguitch, Utah. "

"Were your parents Mormons?"

"Yes. "

"Are you a Mormon?"

"Yes. "

"Are you a married woman?"

"No. "

The answer was instant, cold, final. It seemed to the truth. AlmostShefford believed she spoke truth. The judge stroked his chin and waiteda moment, and then hesitatingly he went on. 

"Have you--any children?"

"No. " And the blazing eyes met the cavernous ones. 

That about the children was true enough, Shefford thought, and he couldhave testified to it. 

"You live in the hidden village near this town?"

"Yes. "

"What is the name of this village?"

"It has none. "

"Did you ever hear of Fre-donia, another village far west of here?"

"Yes. "

"It is in Arizona, near the Utah line. There are few men there. Is itthe same kind of village as this one in which you live?"

"Yes. "

"What does Fre-donia mean? The name--has it any meaning?"

"It means free women. "

The judge maintained silence for a moment, turned to whisper to hisassistants, and presently, without glancing up, said to the woman:

"That will do. "

Ruth was led back to the bench, and the woman next to her broughtforward. This was a heavier person, with the figure and step of amatured woman. Upon removing her bonnet she showed the plain face ofa woman of forty, and it was striking only in that strange, stonyaloofness noted in the older men. Here, Shefford thought, was the realMormon, different in a way he could not define from Ruth. This womanseated herself in the chair and calmly faced her prosecutors. Shemanifested no emotion whatever. Shefford remembered her and could notsee any change in her deportment. This trial appeared to be of littlemoment to her and she took the oath as if doing so had been a habit allher life. 

"What is your name?" asked Judge Stone, glancing up from a paper heheld. 

"Mary Danton. "

"Family or married name?"

"My husband's name was Danton. "

"Was. Is he living?"

"No. "

"Where did you live when you were married to him?"

"In St. George, and later here in Stonebridge. "

"You were both Mormons?"

"Yes. "

"Did you have any children by him?"

"Yes. "

"How many?"

"Two. "

"Are they living?"

"One of them is living. "

Judge Stone bent over his paper and then slowly raised his eyes to herface. 

"Are you married now?"

"No. "

Again the judge consulted his notes, and held a whispered colloquy withthe two men at his table. 

"Mrs. Danton, when you were arrested there were five children found inyour home. To whom do they belong?"

"Me. "

"Are you their mother?"

"Yes. "

"Your husband Danton is the father of only one, the eldest, according toyour former statement. Is that correct?"

"Yes. "

"Who, then, is the father--or who are the fathers, of your otherchildren?"

"I do not know. "

She said it with the most stony-faced calmness, with utter disregardof what significance her words had. A strong, mystic wall of cold flintinsulated her. Strangely it came to Shefford how impossible either todoubt or believe her. Yet he did both! Judge Stone showed a little heat. 

"You don't know the father of one or all of these children?" he queried, with sharp rising inflection of voice. 

"I do not. "

"Madam, I beg to remind you that you are under oath. "

The woman did not reply. 

"These children are nameless, then--illegitimate?"

"They are. "

"You swear you are not the sealed wife of some Mormon?"

"I swear. "

"How do you live--maintain yourself?"

"I work. "

"What at?"

"I weave, sew, bake, and work in my garden. "

"My men made note of your large and comfortable cabin, even luxurious, considering this country. How is that?"

"My husband left me comfortable. "

Judge Stone shook a warning finger at the defendant. 

"Suppose I were to sentence you to jail for perjury? For a year? Farfrom your home and children! Would you speak--tell the truth?"

"I am telling the truth. I can't speak what I don't know. .. . Send me tojail. "

Baffled, with despairing, angry impatience, Judge Stone waved the womanaway. 

"That will do for her. Fetch the next one, " he said. 

One after another he examined three more women, and arrived, by variousquestions and answers different in tone and temper, at precisely thesame point as had been made in the case of Mrs. Danton. Thereupon theproceedings rested a few moments while the judge consulted with hisassistants. 

Shefford was grateful for this respite. He had been worked up to anunusual degree of interest, and now, as the next Mormon woman to beexamined was she whom he had loved and loved still, he felt rise inhim emotion that threatened to make him conspicuous unless it couldbe hidden. The answers of these Mormon women had been not altogetherunexpected by him, but once spoken in cold blood under oath, how tragic, how appallingly significant of the shadow, the mystery, the yoke thatbound them! He was amazed, saddened. He felt bewildered. He needed tothink out the meaning of the falsehoods of women he knew to be good andnoble. Surely religion, instead of fear and loyalty, was the foundationand the strength of this disgrace, this sacrifice. Absolutely, shame wasnot in these women, though they swore to shameful facts. They had beencoached to give these baffling answers, every one of which seemedto brand them, not the brazen mothers of illegitimate offspring, butfaithful, unfortunate sealed wives. To Shefford the truth was not intheir words, but it sat upon their somber brows. 

Was it only his heightened imagination, or did the silence andthe suspense grow more intense when a deputy led that dark-hooded, white-clad, slender woman to the defendant's chair? She did not walkwith the poise that had been manifest in the other women, and she sankinto the chair as if she could no longer stand. 

"Please remove your hood, " requested the prosecutor. 

How well Shefford remembered the strong, shapely hands! He saw themtremble at the knot of ribbon, and that tremor was communicated to himin a sympathy which made his pulses beat. He held his breath while sheremoved the hood. And then there was revealed, he thought, the loveliestand the most tragic face that ever was seen in a court-room. 

A low, whispering murmur that swelled like a wave ran through the hall. And by it Shefford divined, as clearly as if the fact had been blazonedon the walls, that Mary's face had been unknown to these villagers. Butthe name Sago Lily had not been unknown; Shefford heard it whispered onall sides. 

The murmuring subsided. The judge and his assistants stared at Mary. As for Shefford, there was no need of his personal feeling to make thesituation dramatic. Not improbably Judge Stone had tried many Mormonwomen. But manifestly this one was different. Unhooded, Mary appearedto be only a young girl, and a court, confronted suddenly with her youthand the suspicion attached to her, could not but have been shocked. Then her beauty made her seem, in that somber company, indeed the whiteflower for which she had been named. But, more likely, it was heragony that bound the court into silence which grew painful. Perhaps thethought that flashed into Shefford's mind was telepathic; it seemed tohim that every watcher there realized that in this defendant the judgehad a girl of softer mold, of different spirit, and from her the bittertruth could be wrung. 

Mary faced the court and the crowd on that side of the platform. Unlikethe other women, she did not look at or seem to see any one behind therailing. Shefford was absolutely sure there was not a man or a woman whocaught her glance. She gazed afar, with eyes strained, humid, fearful. 

When the prosecutor swore her to the oath her lips were seen to move, but no one heard her speak. 

"What is your name?" asked the judge. 

"Mary. " Her voice was low, with a slight tremor. 

"What's your other name?"

"I won't tell. "

Her singular reply, the tones of her voice, her manner before the judge, marked her with strange simplicity. It was evident that she was notaccustomed to questions. 

"What were your parents' names?"

"I won't tell, " she replied, very low. 

Judge Stone did not press the point. Perhaps he wanted to make theexamination as easy as possible for her or to wait till she showed morecomposure. 

"Were your parents Mormons?" he went on. 

"No, sir. " She added the sir with a quaint respect, contrasting markedlywith the short replies of the women before her. 

"Then you were not born a Mormon?"

"No, sir. "

"How old are you?"

"Seventeen or eighteen. I'm not sure. "

"You don't know your exact age?"

"No. "

"Where were you born?"

"I won't tell. "

"Was it in Utah?"

"Yes, sir. "

"How long have you lived in this state?"

"Always--except last year. "

"And that's been over in the hidden village where you were arrested?"

"Yes. "

"But you often visited here--this town Stonebridge?"

"I never was here--till yesterday. "

Judge Stone regarded her as if his interest as a man was running counterto his duty as an officer. Suddenly he leaned forward. 

"Are you a Mormon NOW?" he queried, forcibly. 

"No, sir, " she replied, and here her voice rose a little clearer. 

It was an unexpected reply. Judge Stone stared at her. The low buzz ranthrough the listening crowd. And as for Shefford, he was astounded. Whenhis wits flashed back and he weighed her words and saw in her face truthas clear as light, he had the strangest sensation of joy. Almost itflooded away the gloom and pain that attended this ordeal. 

The judge bent his head to his assistants as if for counsel. All of themwere eager where formerly they had been weary. Shefford glanced aroundat the dark and somber faces, and a slow wrath grew within him. Then hecaught a glimpse of Waggoner. The steel-blue, piercing intensity of theMormon's gaze impressed him at a moment when all that older generationof Mormons looked as hard and immutable as iron. Either Shefford wasover-excited and mistaken or the hour had become fraught with greatersuspense. The secret, the mystery, the power, the hate, the religion ofa strange people were thick and tangible in that hall. For Shefford thefeeling of the presence of Withers on his left was entirely differentfrom that of the Mormon on his other side. If there was not a shadowthere, then the sun did not shine so brightly as it had shone when heentered. The air seemed clogged with nameless passion. 

"I gather that you've lived mostly in the country--away from people?"the judge began. 

"Yes, sir, " replied the girl. 

"Do you know anything about the government of the United States?"

"No, sir. "

He pondered again, evidently weighing his queries, leading up to thefatal and inevitable question. 

Still, his interest in this particular defendant had become visible. 

"Have you any idea of the consequences of perjury?"

"No, sir. "

"Do you understand what perjury is?"

"It's to lie. "

"Do you tell lies?"

"No, sir. "

"Have you ever told a single lie?"

"Not--yet, " she replied, almost whispering. 

It was the answer of a child and affected the judge. He fussed with hispapers. Perhaps his task was not easy; certainly it was not pleasant. Then he leaned forward again and fixed those deep, cavernous eyes uponthe sad face. 

"Do you understand what a sealed wife is?"

"I've never been told. "

"But you know there are sealed wives in Utah?"

"Yes, sir; I've been told that. "

Judge Stone halted there, watching her. The hall was silent except forfaint rustlings and here and there deep breaths drawn guardedly. Thevital question hung like a sword over the white-faced girl. Perhaps shedivined its impending stroke, for she sat like a stone with dilating, appealing eyes upon her executioner. 

"Are you a sealed wife?" he flung at her. 

She could not answer at once. She made effort, but the words would notcome. He flung the question again, sternly. 

"No!" she cried. 

And then there was silence. That poignant word quivered in Shefford'sheart. He believed it was a lie. It seemed he would have known it ifthis hour was the first in which he had ever seen the girl. He heard, he felt, he sensed the fatal thing. The beautiful voice had lacked somequality before present. And the thing wanting was something subtle, anessence, a beautiful ring--the truth. What a hellish thing to make thatpure girl a liar--a perjurer! The heat deep within Shefford kindled tofire. 

"You are not married?" went on Judge Stone. 

"No, sir, " she answered, faintly. 

"Have you ever been married?"

"No, sir. "

"Do you expect ever to be married?"

"Oh! No, sir. "

She was ashen pale now, quivering all over, with her strong handsclasping the black hood, and she could no longer meet the judge'sglance. 

"Have you--any--any children?" the judge asked, haltingly. It was a hardquestion to get out. 

"No. "

Judge Stone leaned far over the table, and that his face was purpleshowed Shefford he was a man. His big fist clenched. 

"Girl, you're not going to swear you, too, were visited--over there bymen. .. You're not going to swear that?"

"Oh--no, sir!"

Judge Stone settled back in his chair, and while he wiped his moist facethat same foreboding murmur, almost a menace, moaned through the hall. 

Shefford was sick in his soul and afraid of himself. He did not knowthis spirit that flamed up in him. His helplessness was a most hatefulfact. 

"Come--confess you are a sealed wife, " called her interrogator. 

She maintained silence, but shook her head. 

Suddenly he seemed to leap forward. 

"Unfortunate child! Confess. "

That forced her to lift her head and face him, yet still she did notspeak. It was the strength of despair. She could not endure much more. 

"Who is your husband?" he thundered at her. 

She rose wildly, terror-stricken. It was terror that dominated her, notof the stern judge, for she took a faltering step toward him, liftinga shaking hand, but of some one or of some thing far more terrible thanany punishment she could have received in the sentence of a court. Stillshe was not proof against the judge's will. She had weakened, and theterror must have been because of that weakening. 

"Who is the Mormon who visits you?" he thundered, relentlessly. 

"I--never--knew--his--name. 

"But you'd know his face. I'll arrest every Mormon in this country andbring him before you. You'd know his face?"

"Oh, I wouldn't. I COULDN'T TELL!. .. _I_--NEVER--SAW HIS FACE--IN THELIGHT!"

The tragic beauty of her, the certainty of some monstrous crime to youthand innocence, the presence of an agony and terror that unfathomablyseemed not to be for herself--these transfixed the court and theaudience, and held them silenced, till she reached out blindly and thensank in a heap to the floor. 

XI. AFTER THE TRIAL

Shefford might have leaped over the railing but for Withers'srestraining hand, and when there appeared to be some sign of kindness inthose other women for the unconscious girl Shefford squeezed through thecrowd and got out of the hall. 

The gang outside that had been denied admittance pressed upon Shefford, with jest and curious query, and a good nature that jarred upon him. Hewas far from gentle as he jostled off the first importuning fellows; theothers, gaping at him, opened a lane for him to pass through. 

Then there was a hand laid on his shoulder that he did not shake off. Nas Ta Bega loomed dark and tall beside him. Neither the trader nor JoeLake nor any white man Shefford had met influenced him as this Navajo. 

"Nas Ta Bega! you here, too. I guess the whole country is here. Wewaited at Kayenta. What kept you so long?"

The Indian, always slow to answer, did not open his lips till he drewShefford apart from the noisy crowd. 

"Bi Nai, there is sorrow in the hogan of Hosteen Doetin, " he said. 

"Glen Naspa!" exclaimed Shefford. 

"My sister is gone from the home of her brother. She went away alone inthe summer. "

"Blue Canyon! She went to the missionary. Nas Ta Bega, I thought I sawher there. But I wasn't sure. I didn't want to make sure. I was afraidit might be true. "

"A brave who loved my sister trailed her there. "

"Nas Ta Bega, will you--will we go find her, take her home?"

"No. She will come home some day. "

What bitter sadness and wisdom in his words!

"But, my friend, that damned missionary--" began Shefford, passionately. The Indian had met him at a bad hour. 

"Willetts is here. I saw him go in there, " interrupted Nas Ta Bega, andhe pointed to the hall. 

"Here! He gets around a good deal, " declared Shefford. "Nas Ta Bega, what are you going to do to him?"

The Indian held his peace and there was no telling from his inscrutableface what might be in his mind. He was dark, impassive. He seemed a wiseand bitter Indian, beyond any savagery of his tribe, and the sufferingShefford divined was deep. 

"He'd better keep out of my sight, " muttered Shefford, more to himselfthan to his companion. 

"The half-breed is here, " said Nas Ta Bega. 

"Shadd? Yes, we saw him. There! He's still with his gang. Nas Ta Bega, what are they up to?"

"They will steal what they can. "

"Withers says Shadd is friendly with the Mormons. "

"Yes, and with the missionary, too. "

"With Willetts?"

"I saw them talk together--strong talk. "

"Strange. But maybe it's not so strange. Shadd is known well inMonticello and Bluff. He spends money there. They are afraid of him, buthe's welcome just the same. Perhaps everybody knows him. It'd be likehim to ride into Kayenta. But, Nas Ta Bega, I've got to look out forhim, because Withers says he's after me. "

"Bi Nai wears a scar that is proof, " said the Indian. 

"Then it must be he found out long ago I had a little money. "

"It might be. But, Bi Nai, the half-breed has a strange step on yourtrail. "

"What do you mean?" demanded Shefford. 

"Nas Ta Bega cannot tell what he does not know, " replied the Navajo. "Let that be. We shall know some day. Bi Nai, there is sorrow to tellthat is not the Indian's. .. . Sorrow for my brother!"

Shefford lifted his eyes to the Indian's, and if he did not see sadnessthere he was much deceived. 

"Bi Nai, long ago you told a story to the trader. Nas Ta Bega sat beforethe fire that night. You did not know he could understand your language. He listened. And he learned what brought you to the country of theIndian. That night he made you his brother. .. . All his lonely rides intothe canyon have been to find the little golden-haired child, the lostgirl--Fay Larkin. .. . Bi Nai, I have found the girl you wanted for yoursweetheart. "

Shefford was bereft of speech. He could not see steadily, and the lastsolemn words of the Indian seemed far away. 

"Bi Nai, I have found Fay Larkin, " repeated Nas Ta Bega. 

"Fay Larkin!" gasped Shefford, shaking his head. "But--she's dead. "

"It would be less sorrow for Bi Nai if she were dead. "

Shefford clutched at the Indian. There was something terrible to berevealed. Like an aspen-leaf in the wind he shook all over. He divinedthe revelation--divined the coming blow--but that was as far as his mindgot. 

"She's in there, " said the Indian, pointing toward hall. 

"Fay Larkin?" whispered Shefford. 

"Yes, Bi Nai. "

"My God! HOW do you know? Oh, I could have seen. I've been blind. . .. Tell me, Indian. Which one?"

"Fay Larkin is the Sago Lily. "

. . . . . . . . . . 

Shefford strode away into a secluded corner of the Square, where inthe shade and quiet of the trees he suffered a storm of heart and mind. During that short or long time--he had no idea how long--the Indianremained with him. He never lost the feeling of Nas Ta Bega close besidehim. When the period of acute pain left him and some order beganto replace the tumult in his mind he felt in Nas Ta Bega the samequality--silence or strength or help--that he had learned to feel in thedeep canyon and the lofty crags. He realized then that the Indian wasindeed a brother. And Shefford needed him. What he had to fight was morefatal than suffering and love--it was hate rising out of the unsuspecteddark gulf of his heart--the instinct to kill--the murder in his soul. Only now did he come to understand Jane Withersteen's tragic story andthe passion of Venters and what had made Lassiter a gun-man. The deserthad transformed Shefford. The elements had entered into his muscle andbone, into the very fiber of his heart. Sun, wind, sand, cold, storm, space, stone, the poison cactus, the racking toil, the terribleloneliness--the iron of the desert man, the cruelty of the desertsavage, the wildness of the mustang, the ferocity of hawk and wolf, thebitter struggle of every surviving thing--these were as if they had beenmelted and merged together and now made a dark and passionate streamthat was his throbbing blood. He realized what he had become and gloriedin it, yet there, looking on with grave and earnest eyes, was his oldself, the man of reason, of intellect, of culture, who had been a goodman despite the failure and shame of his life. And he gave heed to thevoice of warning, of conscience. Not by revengefully seeking the Mormonwho had ruined Fay Larkin and blindly dealing a wild justice could hehelp this unfortunate girl. This fierce, newborn strength and passionmust be tempered by reason, lest he become merely elemental, a mananswering wholly to primitive impulses. In the darkness of that hour hemined deep into his heart, understood himself, trembled at the thing hefaced, and won his victory. He would go forth from that hour a man. Hemight fight, and perhaps there was death in the balance, but hate wouldnever overthrow him. 

Then when he looked at future action he felt a strange, unalterablepurpose to save Fay Larkin. She was very young--seventeen or eighteen, she had said--and there could be, there must be some happinessbefore her. It had been his dream to chase a rainbow--it had been hisdetermination to find her in the lost Surprise Valley. Well, he hadfound her. It never occurred to him to ask Nas Ta Bega how he haddiscovered that the Sago Lily was Fay Larkin. The wonder was, Sheffordthought, that he had so long been blind himself. How simply everythingworked out now! Every thought, every recollection of her was proof. Herstrange beauty like that of the sweet and rare lily, her low voice thatshowed the habit of silence, her shapely hands with the clasp strong asa man's, her lithe form, her swift step, her wonderful agility upon thesmooth, steep trails, and the wildness of her upon the heights, andthe haunting, brooding shadow of her eyes when she gazed across thecanyon--all these fitted so harmoniously the conception of a childlost in a beautiful Surprise Valley and growing up in its wildness andsilence, tutored by the sad love of broken Jane and Lassiter. Yes, tosave her had been Shefford's dream, and he had loved that dream. Hehad loved the dream and he had loved the child. The secret of herhiding-place as revealed by the story told him and his slow growth fromdream to action--these had strangely given Fay Larkin to him. Thenhad come the bitter knowledge that she was dead. In the light of thissubsequent revelation how easy to account for his loving Mary, too. Never would she be Mary again to him! Fay Larkin and the Sago Lily wereone and the same. She was here, near him, and he was powerless for thepresent to help her or to reveal himself. She was held back there inthat gloomy hall among those somber Mormons, alien to the women, boundin some fatal way to one of the men, and now, by reason of her weaknessin the trial, surely to be hated. Thinking of her past and her present, of the future, and that secret Mormon hose face she had never seen, Shefford felt a sinking of his heart, a terrible cold pang in hisbreast, a fainting of his spirit. She had sworn she was no sealed wife. But had she not lied? So, then, how utterly powerless he was!

But here to save him, to uplift him, came that strange mystic insightwhich had been the gift of the desert to him. She was not dead. He hadfound her. What mattered obstacles, even that implacable creed to whichshe had been sacrificed, in the face of this blessed and overwhelmingtruth? It was as mighty as the love suddenly dawning upon him. A strongand terrible and deathly sweet wind seemed to fill his soul with thelove of her. It was her fate that had drawn him; and now it was heragony, her innocence, her beauty, that bound him for all time. Patienceand cunning and toil, passion and blood, the unquenchable spirit of aman to save--these were nothing to give--life itself were little, couldhe but free her. 

Patience and cunning! His sharpening mind cut these out as his greatestassets for the present. And his thoughts flashed like light through hisbrain. .. . Judge Stone and his court would fail to convict any Mormonin Stonebridge, just the same as they had failed in the northern towns. They would go away, and Stonebridge would fall to the slow, sleepy tenorof its former way. The hidden village must become known to all men, honest and outlawed, in that country, but this fact would hardly makeany quick change in the plans of the Mormons. They did not soon change. They would send the sealed wives back to the canyon and, after theexcitement had died down, visit them as usual. Nothing, perhaps, wouldever change these old Mormons but death. 

Shefford resolved to remain in Stonebridge and ingratiate himself deeperinto the regard of the Mormons. He would find work there, if the sealedwives were not returned to the hidden village. In case the women wentback to the valley Shefford meant to resume his old duty of drivingWithers's pack-trains. Wanting that opportunity, he would find someother work, some excuse to take him there. In due time he would revealto Fay Larkin that he knew her. How the thought thrilled him! She mightdeny, might persist in her fear, might fight to keep her secret. But hewould learn it--hear her story--hear what had become of Jane Withersteenand Lassiter--and if they were alive, which now he believed he wouldfind them--and he would take them and Fay out of the country. 

The duty, the great task, held a grim fascination for him. He had aforeboding of the cost; he had a dark realization of the force he meantto oppose. There were duty here and pity and unselfish love, but thesealone did not actuate Shefford. Mystically fate seemed again to comelike a gleam and bid him follow. 

When Shefford and Nas Ta Bega returned to the town hall the trial hadbeen ended, the hall was closed, and only a few Indians and cowboysremained in the square, and they were about to depart. On the street, however, and the paths and in the doorways of stores were knots ofpeople, talking earnestly. Shefford walked up and down, hoping to meetWithers or Joe Lake. Nas Ta Bega said he would take the horses to waterand feed and then return. 

There were indications that Stonebridge might experience some of theexcitement and perhaps violence common to towns like Monticello andDurango. There was only one saloon in Stonebridge, and it was fullof roystering cowboys and horse-wranglers. Shefford saw the bunch ofmustangs, in charge of the same Indian, that belonged to Shadd andhis gang. The men were inside, drinking. Next door was a tavern calledHopewell House, a stone structure of some pretensions. There wereIndians lounging outside. Shefford entered through a wide door andfound himself in a large bare room, boarded like a loft, with noceiling except the roof. The place was full of men and noise. Here heencountered Joe Lake talking to Bishop Kane and other Mormons. Sheffordgot a friendly greeting from the bishop, and then was well received bythe strangers, to whom Joe introduced him. 

"Have you seen Withers?" asked Shefford. 

"Reckon he's around somewhere, " replied Joe. "Better hang up here, forhe'll drop in sooner or later. "

"When are you going back to Kayenta?" went on Shefford. 

"Hard to say. We'll have to call off our hunt. Nas Ta Bega is here, too. "

"Yes, I've been with him. "

The older Mormons drew aside, and then Joe mentioned the fact that hewas half starved. Shefford went with him into another clapboard room, which was evidently a dining-room. There were half a dozen men at thelong table. The seat at the end was a box, and scarcely large enough orsafe enough for Joe and Shefford, but they risked it. 

"Saw you in the hall, " said Joe. "Hell--wasn't it?"

"Joe, I never knew how much I dared say to you, so I don't talk much. But, it was hell, " replied Shefford. 

"You needn't be so scared of me, " spoke up Joe, testily. 

That was the first time Shefford had heard the Mormon speak that way. 

"I'm not scared, Joe. But I like you--respect you. I can't say so muchof--of your people. "

"Did you stick out the whole mix?" asked Joe. 

"No. I had enough when--when they got through with Mary. " Shefford spokelow and dropped his head. He heard the Mormon grind his teeth. There wassilence for a little space while neither man looked at the other. 

"Reckon the judge was pretty decent, " presently said Joe. 

"Yes, I thought so. He might have--" But Shefford did not finish thatsentence. "How'd the thing end?"

"It ended all right. "

"Was there no conviction--no sentence?" Shefford felt a curiouseagerness. 

"Naw, " he snorted. "That court might have saved its breath. "

"I suppose. Well, Joe, between you and me, as old friends now, thattrial established one fact, even if it couldn't be proved. .. . Thosewomen are sealed wives. "

Joe had no reply for that. He looked gloomy, and there was a stern linein his lips. To-day he seemed more like a Mormon. 

"Judge Stone knew that as well as I knew, " went on Shefford. "Any man ofpenetration could have seen it. What an ordeal that was for good womento go through! I know they're good. And there they were swearing to--"

"Didn't it make me sick?" interrupted Joe in a kind of growl. "Reckonit made Judge Stone sick, too. After Mary went under he conducted thattrial like a man cuttin' out steers at a round-up. He wanted to get itover. He never forced any question. .. . Bad job to ride down Stonebridgeway! It's out of creation. There's only six men in the party, with apoor lot of horses. Really, government officers or not, they're notsafe. And they've taken a hunch. "

"Have they left already?" inquired Shefford. 

"Were packed an hour ago. I didn't see them go, but somebody said theywent. Took the trail for Bluff, which sure is the only trail they couldtake, unless they wanted to go to Colorado by way of Kayenta. That mighthave been the safest trail. "

"Joe, what might happen to them?" asked Shefford, quietly, with eyes onthe Mormon. 

"Aw, you know that rough trail. Bad on horses. Weatheredslopes--slipping ledges--a rock might fall on you any time. Then Shadd'shere with his gang. And bad Piutes. "

"What became of the women?" Shefford asked, 'presently. 

"They're around among friends. "

"Where are their children?"

"Left over there with the old women. Couldn't be fetched over. But thereare some pretty young babies in that bunch--need their mothers. "

"I should--think so, " replied Shefford, constrainedly. "When will theirmothers get back to them?"

"To-night, maybe, if this mob of cow-punchers and wranglers get out oftown. .. . It's a bad mix, Shefford, here's a hunch on that. These fellowswill get full of whisky. And trouble might come if they--approach thewomen. "

"You mean they might get drunk enough to take the oaths of those poorwomen--take the meaning literally--pretend to believe the women whatthey swore they were?"

"Reckon you've got the hunch, " replied Joe, gloomily. 

"My God! man, that would be horrible!" exclaimed Shefford. 

"Horrible or not, it's liable to happen. The women can be kept here yetawhile. Reckon there won't be any trouble here. It'll be over there inthe valley. Shefford, getting the women over there safe is a job that'sbeen put to me. I've got a bunch of fellows already. Can I count on you?I'm glad to say you're well thought of. Bishop Kane liked you, and whathe says goes. "

"Yes, Joe, you can count on me, " replied Shefford. 

They finished their meal then and repaired to the big office-room ofthe house. Several groups of men were there and loud talk was goingon outside. Shefford saw Withers talking to Bishop Kane and two otherMormons, both strangers to Shefford. The trader appeared to be speakingwith unwonted force, emphasizing his words with energetic movements ofhis hands. 

"Reckon something's up, " whispered Joe, hoarsely. "It's been in the airall day. "

Withers must have been watching for Shefford. 

"Here's Shefford now, " he said to the trio of Mormons, as Joe andShefford reached the group. "I want you to hear him speak for himself. "

"What's the matter?" asked Shefford. 

"Give me a hunch and I'll put in my say-so, " said Joe Lake. 

"Shefford, it's the matter of a good name more than a job, " replied thetrader. "A little while back I told the bishop I meant to put you on thepack job over to the valley--same as when you first came to me. Well, the bishop was pleased and said he might put something in your way. Just now I ran in here to find you--not wanted. When I kicked I got thestraight hunch. Willetts has said things about you. One of them--the onethat sticks in my craw--was that you'd do anything, even pretend tobe inclined toward Mormonism, just to be among those Mormon women overthere. Willetts is your enemy. And he's worse than I thought. Now I wantyou to tell Bishop Kane why this missionary is bitter toward you. "

"Gentlemen, I knocked him down, " replied Shefford, simply. 

"What for?" inquired the bishop, in surprise and curiosity. 

Shefford related the incident which had occurred at Red Lake and thatnow seemed again to come forward fatefully. 

"You insinuate he had evil intent toward the Indian girl?" queried Kane. 

"I insinuate nothing. I merely state what led to my acting as I did. "

"Principles of religion, sir?"

"No. A man's principles. "

Withers interposed in his blunt way, "Bishop, did you ever see GlenNaspa?"

"No. "

"She's the prettiest Navajo in the country. Willetts was after her, that's all. "

"My dear man, I can't believe that of a Christian missionary. We'veknown Willetts for years. He's a man of influence. He has money back ofhim. He's doing a good work. You hint of a love relation. "

"No, I don't hint, " replied Withers, impatiently. "I know. It's not thefirst time I've known a missionary to do this sort of thing. Nor is itthe first time for Willetts. Bishop Kane, I live among the Indians. Isee a lot I never speak of. My work is to trade with the Indians, that'sall. But I'll not have Willetts or any other damned hypocrite run downmy friend here. John Shefford is the finest young man that ever came tome in the desert. And he's got to be put right before you all or I'llnot set foot in Stonebridge again. .. . Willetts was after Glen Naspa. Shefford punched him. And later threw him out of the old Indian's hoganup on the mountain. That explains Willetts's enmity. He was after thegirl. "

"What's more, gentlemen, he GOT her, " added Shefford. "Glen Naspa hasnot been home for six months. I saw her at Blue Canyon. .. . I would liketo face this Willetts before you all. "

"Easy enough, " replied Withers, with a grim chuckle. "He's justoutside. "

The trader went out; Joe Lake followed at his heels and the threeMormons were next; Shefford brought up the rear and lingered in the doorwhile his eye swept the crowd of men and Indians. His feeling was indirect contrast to his movements. He felt the throbbing of fierce anger. But it seemed a face came between him and his passion--a sweet andtragic face that would have had power to check him in a vastly morecritical moment than this. And in an instant he had himself in hand, and, strangely, suddenly felt the strength that had come to him. 

Willetts stood in earnest colloquy with a short, squat Indian--thehalf-breed Shadd. They leaned against a hitching-rail. Other Indianswere there, and outlaws. It was a mixed group, rough and hard-looking. 

"Hey, Willetts!" called the trader, and his loud, ringing voice, notpleasant, stilled the movement and sound. 

When Willetts turned, Shefford was half-way across the wide walk. Themissionary not only saw him, but also Nas Ta Bega, who was stridingforward. Joe Lake was ahead of the trader, the Mormons followed withdecision, and they all confronted Willetts. He turned pale. Shadd hadcautiously moved along the rail, nearer to his gang, and then they, withthe others of the curious crowd, drew closer. 

"Willetts, here's Shefford. Now say it to his face!" declared thetrader. He was angry and evidently wanted the fact known, as well as thesituation. 

Willetts had paled, but he showed boldness. For an instant Sheffordstudied the smooth face, with its sloping lines, the dark, wine-coloredeyes. 

"Willetts, I understand you've maligned me to Bishop Kane and others, "began Shefford, curtly. 

"I called you an atheist, " returned the missionary, harshly. 

"Yes, and more than that. And I told these men WHY you vented your spiteon me. "

Willetts uttered a half-laugh, an uneasy, contemptuous expression ofscorn and repudiation. 

"The charges of such a man as you are can't hurt me, " he said. 

The man did not show fear so much as disgust at the meeting. He seemedto be absorbed in thought, yet no serious consideration of the situationmade itself manifest. Shefford felt puzzled. Perhaps there was no fireto strike from this man. The desert had certainly not made him flint. Hehad not toiled or suffered or fought. 

"But _I_ can hurt you, " thundered Shefford, with startling suddenness. "Here! Look at this Indian! Do you know him? Glen Naspa's brother. Lookat him. Let us see you face him while I accuse you. .. . You made love toGlen Naspa--took her from her home!"

"Harping infidel!" replied Willetts, hoarsely. "So that's your game. Well, Glen Naspa came to my school of her own accord and she will sayso. "

"Why will she? Because you blinded the simple Indian girl. .. . Willetts, I'll waste little more time on you. "

And swift and light as a panther Shefford leaped upon the man and, fastening powerful hands round the thick neck, bore him to his kneesand bent back his head over the rail. There was a convulsive struggle, a hard flinging of arms, a straining wrestle, and then Willetts was in adreadful position. Shefford held him in iron grasp. 

"You damned, white-livered hypocrite--I'm liable to kill you!" criedShefford. "I watched you and Glen Naspa that day up on the mountain. I saw you embrace her. I saw that she loved you. Tell THAT, you liar!That'll be enough. "

The face of the missionary turned purple as Shefford forced his headback over the rail. 

"I'll kill you, man, " repeated Shefford, piercingly. "Do you want to goto your God unprepared? Say you made love to Glen Naspa--tell that youpersuaded her to leave her home. Quick!"

Willetts raised a shaking hand and then Shefford relaxed the paralyzinggrip and let his head come forward. The half-strangled man gasped out afew incoherent words that his livid, guilty face made unnecessary. 

Shefford gave him a shove and he fell into the dust at the feet of theNavajo. 

"Gentlemen, I leave him to Nas Ta Bega, " said Shefford, with a strangechange from passion to calmness. 

Late that night, when the roystering visitors had gone or were deepin drunken slumber, a melancholy and strange procession filed out ofStonebridge. Joe Lake and his armed comrades were escorting the Mormonwomen back to the hidden valley. They were mounted on burros andmustangs, and in all that dark and somber line there was only one figurewhich shone white under the pale moon. 

At the starting, until that white-clad figure had appeared, Shefford'sheart had seemed to be in his throat; and thereafter its beat wasmuffled and painful in his breast. Yet there was some sad sweetness inthe knowledge that he could see her now, be near her, watch over her. 

By and by the overcast clouds drifted and the moon shone bright. Thenight was still; the great dark mountain loomed to the stars; thenumberless waves of rounded rock that must be crossed and circled laydeep in shadow. There was only a steady pattering of light hoofs. 

Shefford's place was near the end of the line, and he kept well back, riding close to one woman and then another. No word was spoken. Thesesealed wives rode where their mounts were led or driven, as blind intheir hoods as veiled Arab women in palanquins. And their heads droopedwearily and their shoulders bent, as if under a burden. It took an hourof steady riding to reach the ascent to the plateau, and here, with thebeginning of rough and smooth and shadowed trail, the work of the escortbegan. The line lengthened out and each man kept to the several womenassigned to him. Shefford had three, and one of them was the girl heloved. She rode as if the world and time and life were naught to her. As soon as he dared trust his voice and his control he meant to let herknow the man whom perhaps she had not forgotten was there with her, afriend. Six months! It had been a lifetime to him. Surely eternity toher! Had she forgotten? He felt like a coward who had basely desertedher. Oh--had he only known!

She rode a burro that was slow, continually blocking the passage forthose behind, and eventually it became lame. Thus the other women forgedahead. Shefford dismounted and stopped her burro. It was a moment beforeshe noted the halt, and twice in that time Shefford tried to speak andfailed. What poignant pain, regret, love made his utterance fail!

"Ride my horse, " he finally said, and his voice was not like his own. 

Obediently and wearily she dismounted from the burro and got up onNack-yal. The stirrups were long for her and he had to change them. Hisfingers were all thumbs as he fumbled with the buckles. 

Suddenly he became aware that there had been a subtle change in her. Heknew it without looking up and he seemed to be unable to go on with histask. If his life had depended upon keeping his head lowered he couldnot have done it. The listlessness of her drooping form was no longermanifest. The peak of the dark hood pointed toward him. He knew thenthat she was gazing at him. 

Never so long as he lived would that moment be forgotten! They werealone. The others had gotten so far ahead that no sound came back. Thestillness was so deep it could be felt. The moon shone with white, coldradiance and the shining slopes of smooth stone waved away, crossed byshadows of pinyons. 

Then she leaned a little toward him. One swift hand flew up to tear theblack hood back so that she could see. In its place flashed her whiteface. And her eyes were like the night. 

"YOU!" she whispered. 

His blood came leaping to sting neck and cheek and temple. What daredhe interpret from that single word? Could any other word have meant somuch?

"No--one--else, " he replied, unsteadily. 

Her white hand flashed again to him, and he met it with his own. Hefelt himself standing cold and motionless in the moonlight. He saw her, wonderful, with the deep, shadowy eyes, and a silver sheen on her hair. And as he looked she released her hand and lifted it, with the other, to her hood. He saw the shiny hair darken and disappear--and then thelovely face with its sad eyes and tragic lips. 

He drew Nack-yal's bridle forward, and led him up the moonlit trail. 

XII. THE REVELATION

The following afternoon cowboys and horse-wranglers, keen-eyed asIndians for tracks and trails, began to arrive in the quiet valley towhich the Mormon women had been returned. 

Under every cedar clump there were hobbled horses, packs, and rolledbedding in tarpaulins. Shefford and Joe Lake had pitched camp in the oldsite near the spring. The other men of Joe's escort went to the homes ofthe women; and that afternoon, as the curious visitors began to arrive, these homes became barred and dark and quiet, as if they had been closedand deserted for the winter. Not a woman showed herself. 

Shefford and Joe, by reason of the location of their camp and theiralertness, met all the new-comers. The ride from Stonebridge was a longand hard one, calculated to wear off the effects of the whiskyimbibed by the adventure-seekers. This fact alone saved the situation. Nevertheless, Joe expected trouble. Most of the visitors were decent, good-natured fellows, merely curious, and simple enough to believe thatthis really was what the Mormons had claimed--a village of free women. But there were those among them who were coarse, evil-minded, anddangerous. 

By supper-time there were two dozen or more of these men in the valley, camped along the west wall. Fires were lighted, smoke curled up over thecedars, gay songs disturbed the usual serenity of the place. Later inthe early twilight the curious visitors, by twos and threes, walkedabout the village, peering at the dark cabins and jesting amongthemselves. Joe had informed Shefford that all the women had been put ina limited number of cabins, so that they could be protected. So far asShefford saw or heard there was no unpleasant incident in the village;however, as the sauntering visitors returned toward their camps theyloitered at the spring, and here developments threatened. 

In spite of the fact that the majority of these cowboys and theircomrades were decent-minded and beginning to see the real relationof things, they were not disposed to be civil to Shefford. They werecertainly not Mormons. And his position, apparently as a Gentile, amongthese Mormons was one open to criticism. They might have been jealous, too; at any rate, remarks were passed in his hearing, meant for hisears, that made it exceedingly trying for him not to resent. Moreover, Joe Lake's increasing impatience rendered the situation more difficult. Shefford welcomed the arrival of Nas Ta Bega. The Indian listened to theloud talk of several loungers round the camp-fire; and thereafter he waslike Shefford's shadow, silent, somber, watchful. 

Nevertheless, it did not happen to be one of the friendly and sarcasticcowboys that precipitated the crisis. A horse-wrangler named Hurley, aman of bad repute, as much outlaw as anything, took up the bantering. 

"Say, Shefford, what in the hell's your job here, anyway?" he queriedas he kicked a cedar branch into the camp-fire. The brightening blazeshowed him swarthy, unshaven, a large-featured, ugly man. 

"I've been doing odd jobs for Withers, " replied Shefford. "Expect todrive pack-trains in here for a while. "

"You must stand strong with these Mormons. Must be a Mormon yerself?"

"No, " replied Shefford, briefly. 

"Wal, I'm stuck on your job. Do you need a packer? I can throw adiamond-hitch better 'n any feller in this country. "

"I don't need help. "

"Mebbe you'll take me over to see the ladies, " he went on, with a coarselaugh. 

Shefford did not show that he had heard. Hurley waited, leering aslooked from the keen listeners to Shefford. 

"Want to have them all yerself, eh?" he jeered. 

Shefford struck him--sent him tumbling heavily, like a log. Hurley, cursing as he half rose, jerked his gun out. Nas Ta Bega, swift aslight, kicked the gun out of his hand. And Joe Lake picked it up. 

Deliberately the Mormon cocked the weapon and stood over Hurley. 

"Get up!" he ordered, and Shefford heard the ruthless Mormon in himthen. 

Hurley rose slowly. Then Joe prodded him in the middle with the cockedgun. Shefford startled, expected the gun to go off. So did the others, especially Hurley, who shrank in panic from the dark Mormon. 

"Rustle!" said Joe, and gave the man a harder prod. Assuredly the gundid not have a hair-trigger. 

"Joe, mebbe it's loaded!" protested one of the cowboys. 

Hurley shrank back, and turned to hurry away, with Joe close after him. They disappeared in the darkness. A constrained silence was maintainedaround the camp-fire for a while. Presently some of the men walked offand others began to converse. Everybody heard the sound of hoofs passingdown the trail. The patter ceased, and in a few moments Lake returned. He still carried Hurley's gun. 

The crowd dispersed then. There was no indication of further trouble. However, Shefford and Joe and Nas Ta Bega divided the night in watches, so that some one would be wide awake. 

Early next morning there was an exodus from the village of the betterelement among the visitors. "No fun hangin' round hyar, " one of themexpressed it, and as good-naturedly as they had come they rode away. Sixor seven of the desperado class remained behind, bent on mischief; andthey were reinforced by more arrivals from Stonebridge. They avoided thecamp by the spring, and when Shefford and Lake attempted to go to themthey gave them a wide berth. This caused Joe to assert that they wereup to some dirty work. All morning they lounged around under the cedars, keeping out of sight, and evidently the reinforcement from Stonebridgehad brought liquor. When they gathered together at their camp, halfdrunk, all noisy, some wanting to swagger off into the village andothers trying to hold them back, Joe Lake said, grimly, that somebodywas going to get shot. Indeed, Shefford saw that there was everylikelihood of bloodshed. 

"Reckon we'd better take to one of the cabins, " said Joe. 

Thereupon the three repaired to the nearest cabin, and, entering, keptwatch from the windows. During a couple of hours, however, they did notsee or hear anything of the ruffians. Then came a shot from over inthe village, a single yell, and, after that, a scattering volley. Thesilence and suspense which followed were finally broken by hoof-beats. Nas Ta Bega called Joe and Shefford to the window he had been stationedat. From here they saw the unwelcome visitors ride down the trail, todisappear in the cedars toward the outlet of the valley. Joe, who hadnumbered them, said that all but one of them had gone. 

"Reckon he got it, " added Joe. 

So indeed it turned out; one of the men, a well-known rustler namedHarker, had been killed, by whom no one seemed to know. He had brazenlytried to force his way into one of the houses, and the act had cost himhis life. Naturally Shefford, never free from his civilized habit ofthought, remarked apprehensively that he hoped this affair would notcause the poor women to be arrested again and haled before some rudecourt. 

"Law!" grunted Joe. "There ain't any. The nearest sheriff is in Durango. That's Colorado. And he'd give us a medal for killing Harker. It was agood job, for it'll teach these rowdies a lesson. "

Next day the old order of life was resumed in the village. And thearrival of a heavily laden pack-train, under the guidance of Withers, attested to the fact that the Mormons meant not only to continue to livein the valley, but also to build and plant and enlarge. This was goodnews to Shefford. At least the village could be made less lonely. And there was plenty of work to give him excuse for staying there. Furthermore, Withers brought a message form Bishop Kane to the effectthat the young man was offered a place as teacher in the school, inco-operation with the Mormon teachers. Shefford experienced no twinge ofconscience when he accepted. 

It was the fourth evening after the never-to-be-forgotten moonlight rideto the valley that Shefford passed under the dark pinyon-trees on hisway to Fay Larkin's cottage. He paused in the gloom and memory besethim. The six months were annihilated, and it was the night he had fled. But now all was silent. He seemed to be trying to drag himself back. A beginning must be made. Only how to meet her--what to say--what toconceal!

He tapped on the door and she came out. After all, it was a meetingvastly different from what his feeling made him imagine it might havebeen. She was nervous, frightened, as were all the other women, forthat matter. She was alone in the cottage. He made haste to reassure herabout the improbability of any further trouble such as had befallenthe last week. As he had always done on those former visits to her, he talked rapidly, using all his wit, and here his emotion made himeloquent; he avoided personalities, except to tell about his prospectsof work in the village, and he sought above all to lead her mind fromthought of herself and her condition. Before he left her he had thegladness of knowing he had succeeded. 

When he said good night he felt the strange falsity of his position. Hedid not expect to be able to keep up the deception for long. That rousedhim, and half the night he lay awake, thinking. Next day he was the lifeof the work and study and play in that village. Kindness and good-willdid not need inspiration, but it was keen, deep passion that made him aplotter for influence and friendship. Was there a woman in the villagewhom he might trust, in case he needed one? And his instinct guided himto her whom he had liked well--Ruth. Ruth Jones she had called herselfat the trial, and when Shefford used the name she laughed mockingly. Ruth was not very religious, and sometimes she was bitter and hard. She wanted life, and here she was a prisoner in a lonely valley. Shewelcomed Shefford's visits. He imagined that she had slightly changed, and whether it was the added six months with its trouble and pain ora growing revolt he could not tell. After a time he divined that theinevitable retrogression had set in: she had not enough faith to upholdthe burden she had accepted, nor the courage to cast it off. She wasready to love him. That did not frighten Shefford, and if she did lovehim he was not so sure it would not be an anchor for her. He saw herdanger, and then he became what he had never really been in all the daysof his ministry--the real helper. Unselfishly, for her sake, he foundpower to influence her; and selfishly, for the sake of Fay Larkin, hebegan slowly to win her to a possible need. 

The days passed swiftly. Mormons came and went, though in the open day, as laborers; new cabins went up, and a store, and other improvements. Some part of every evening Shefford spent with Fay, and these visitswere no longer unknown to the village. Women gossiped, in a friendly wayabout Shefford, but with jealous tongues about the girl. Joe Lake toldShefford the run of the village talk. Anything concerning the Sago Lilythe droll Mormon took to heart. He had been hard hit, and admitted it. Sometimes he went with Shefford to call upon her, but he talked littleand never remained long. Shefford had anticipated antagonism on the partof Joe; however, he did not find it. 

Shefford really lived through the busy day for that hour with Fay in thetwilight. And every evening seemed the same. He would find her in thedark, alone, silent, brooding, hopeless. Her mood did not puzzle him, but how to keep from plunging her deeper into despair baffled him. Heexhausted all his powers trying to do for her what he had been able todo for Ruth. Yet he failed. Something had blunted her. The shadow ofthat baneful trial hovered over her, and he came to sense a strangeterror in her. It was mostly always present. Was she thinking of JaneWithersteen and Lassiter, left dead or imprisoned in the valley fromwhich she had been brought so mysteriously? Shefford wearied his brainrevolving these questions. The fate of her friends, and the cross shebore--of these was tragedy born, but the terror--that Shefford divinedcame of waiting for the visit of the Mormon whose face she had neverseen. Shefford prayed that he might never meet this man. Finally he grewdesperate. When he first arrived at the girl's home she would speak, sheshowed gladness, relief, and then straightway she dropped back into theshadow of her gloom. When he got up to go then there was a wistfulness, an unspoken need, an unconscious reliance, in her reluctant good night. 

Then the hour came when he reached his limit. He must begin hisrevelation. 

"You never ask me anything--let alone about myself, " he said. 

"I'd like to hear, " she replied, timidly. 

"Do I strike you as an unhappy man?"

"No, indeed. "

"Well, how DO I strike you?"

This was an entirely new tack he had veered to. 

"Very good and kind to us women, " she said. 

"I don't know about that. If I am so, it doesn't bring me happiness. . .. Do you remember what I told you once, about my being apreacher--disgrace, ruin, and all that--and my rainbow-chasing dream outhere after a--a lost girl?"

"I--remember all--you said, " she replied, very low. 

"Listen. " His voice was a little husky, but behind it there seemed atide of resistless utterance. "Loss of faith and name did not send me tothis wilderness. But I had love--love for that lost girl, Fay Larkin. Idreamed about her till I loved her. I dreamed that I would find her--mytreasure--at the foot of a rainbow. Dreams!. .. When you told me she wasdead I accepted that. There was truth in your voice. I respected yourreticence. But something died in me then. I lost myself, the best of me, the good that might have uplifted me. I went away, down upon the barrendesert, and there I rode and slept and grew into another and a harderman. Yet, strange to say, I never forgot her, though my dreams weredone. As I toiled and suffered and changed I loved her--if not her, the thought of her--more and more. Now I have come back to these walledvalleys--to the smell of pinyon, to the flowers in the nooks, to thewind on the heights, to the silence and loneliness and beauty. And herethe dreams come back and SHE is WITH me always. Her spirit is all thatkeeps me kind and good, as you say I am. But I suffer, I long for heralive. If I love her dead, how could I love her living! Always I torturemyself with the vain dream that--that she MIGHT not be dead. I havenever been anything but a dreamer. And here I go about my work by dayand lie awake at night with that lost girl in my mind. .. . I love her. Does that seem strange to you? But it would not if you understood. Think. I had lost faith, hope. I set myself a great work--to find FayLarkin. And by the fire and the iron and the blood that I felt itwould cost to save her some faith must come to me again. .. . My workis undone--I've never saved her. But listen, how strange it is tofeel--now--as I let myself go--that just the loving her and the livinghere in the wildness that holds her somewhere have brought me hopeagain. Some faith must come, too. It was through her that I met thisIndian, Nas Ta Bega. He has saved my life--taught me much. What would Iever have learned of the naked and vast earth, of the sublimity of thewild uplands, of the storm and night and sun, if I had not followed agleam she inspired? In my hunt for a lost girl perhaps I wandered intoa place where I shall find a God and my salvation. Do you marvel that Ilove Fay Larkin--that she is not dead to me? Do you marvel that I loveher, when I KNOW, were she alive, chained in a canyon, or bound, or lostin any way, my destiny would lead me to her, and she should be saved?"

Shefford ended, overcome with emotion. In the dusk he could not see thegirl's face, but the white form that had drooped so listlesslyseemed now charged by some vitalizing current. He knew he had spokenirrationally; still he held it no dishonor to have told her he lovedher as one dead. If she took that love to the secret heart of living FayLarkin, then perhaps a spirit might light in her darkened soul. He hadno thought yet that Fay Larkin might ever belong to him. He divined acrime--he had seen her agony. And this avowal of his was only one steptoward her deliverance. 

Softly she rose, retreating into the shadow. 

"Forgive me if I--I disturb you, distress you, " he said. "I wanted totell you. She was--somehow known to you. I am not happy. And are YOUhappy?. .. Let her memory be a bond between us. .. . Good night. "

"Good night. "

Faintly as the faintest whisper breathed her reply, and, though it camefrom a child forced into womanhood, it whispered of girlhood not dead, of sweet incredulity, of amazed tumult, of a wondering, frantic desireto run and hide, of the bewilderment incident to a first hint of love. 

Shefford walked away into the darkness. The whisper filled his soul. Hada word of love ever been spoken to that girl? Never--not the love whichhad been on his lips. Fay Larkin's lonely life spoke clearly in herwhisper. 

. . . . . . . . . . . 

Next morning as the sun gilded the looming peaks and shafts of goldslanted into the valley she came swiftly down the path to the spring. 

Shefford paused in his task of chopping wood. Joe Lake, on his knees, with his big hands in a pan of dough, lifted his head to stare. Shehad left off the somber black hood, and, although that made a vastdifference in her, still it was not enough to account for what struckboth men. 

"Good morning, " she called, brightly. 

They both answered, but not spontaneously. She stopped at the spring andwith one sweep of her strong arm filled the bucket and lifted it. Thenshe started back down the path and, pausing opposite the camp, set thebucket down. 

"Joe, do you still pride yourself on your sour dough?" she asked. 

"Reckon I do, " replied Joe, with a grin. 

"I've heard your boasts, but never tasted your bread, " she went on. 

"I'll ask you to eat with us some day. "

"Don't forget, " she replied. 

And then shyly she looked at Shefford. She was like the fresh dawn, andthe gold of the sun shone on her head. 

"Have you chopped all that wood--so early?" she asked. 

"Sure, " replied Shefford, laughing. "I have to get up early to keep Joefrom doing all the camp chores. "

She smiled, and then to Shefford she seemed to gleam, to be radiant. 

"It'd be a lovely morning to climb--'way high. "

"Why--yes--it would, " replied Shefford, awkwardly. "I wish I didn't havemy work. "

"Joe, will YOU climb with me some day?"

"I should smile I will, " declared Joe. 

"But I can run right up the walls. "

"I reckon. Mary, it wouldn't surprise me to see you fly. "

"Do you mean I'm like a canyon swallow or an angel?"

Then, as Joe stared speechlessly, she said good-by and, taking up thebucket, went on with her swift, graceful step. 

"She's perked up, " said the Mormon, staring after her. "Never heard hersay more 'n yes or no till now. "

"She did seem--bright, " replied Shefford. 

He was stunned. What had happened to her? To-day this girl had not beenMary, the sealed wife, or the Sago Lily, alien among Mormon women. Thenit flashed upon him--she was Fay Larkin. She who had regarded herselfas dead had come back to life. In one short night what had transformedher--what had taken place in her heart? Shefford dared not accept, norallow lodgment in his mind, a thrilling idea that he had made her forgether misery. 

"Shefford, did you ever see her like that?" asked Joe. 

"Never. "

"Haven't you--something to do with it?"

"Maybe I have. I--I hope so. "

"Reckon you've seen how she's faded--since the trial?"

"No, " replied Shefford, swiftly. "But I've not seen her face in daylightsince then. "

"Well, take my hunch, " said Joe, soberly. "She's begun to fade like thecanyon lily when it's broken. And she's going to die unless--"

"Why man!" ejaculated Shefford. "Didn't you see--"

"Sure I see, " interrupted the Mormon. "I see a lot you don't. She's sowhite you can look through her. She's grown thin, all in a week. Shedoesn't eat. Oh, I know, because I've made it my business to find out. It's no news to the women. But they'd like to see her die. And she willdie unless--"

"My God!" exclaimed Shefford, huskily. "I never noticed--I neverthought. .. . Joe, hasn't she any friends?"

"Sure. You and Ruth--and me. Maybe Nas Ta Bega, too. He watches her agood deal. "

"We can do so little, when she needs so much. "

"Nobody can help her, unless it's you, " went on the Mormon. "That'splain talk. She seemed different this morning. Why, she was alive--shetalked--she smiled. .. . Shefford, if you cheer her up I'll go to hell foryou!"

The big Mormon, on his knees, with his hands in a pan of dough, and hisshirt all covered with flour, presented an incongruous figure of a manactuated by pathos and passion. Yet the contrast made his emotion allthe simpler and stronger. Shefford grew closer to Joe in that moment. 

"Why do you think _I_ can cheer her, help her?" queried Shefford. 

"I don't know. But she's different with you. It's not that you're aGentile, though, for all the women are crazy about you. You talk to her. You have power over her, Shefford. I feel that. She's only a kid. "

"Who is she, Joe? Where did she come from?" asked Shefford, very low, with his eyes cast down. 

"I don't know. I can't find out. Nobody knows. It's a mystery--to allthe younger Mormons, anyway. "

Shefford burned to ask questions about the Mormon whose sealed wife thegirl was, but he respected Joe too much to take advantage of him in apoignant moment like this. Besides, it was only jealousy that made himburn to know the Mormon's identity, and jealousy had become a creeping, insidious, growing fire. He would be wise not to add fuel to it. Herejected many things before he thought of one that he could voice to hisfriend. 

"Joe, it's only her body that belongs to--to. .. . Her soul is lost to--"

"John Shefford, let that go. My mind's tired. I've been taught so andso, and I'm not bright. .. . But, after all, men are much alike. The thingwith you and me is this--we don't want to see HER grave!"

Love spoke there. The Mormon had seized upon the single elemental pointthat concerned him and his friend in their relation to this unfortunategirl. His simple, powerful statement united them; it gave the lie to hishint of denseness; it stripped the truth naked. It was such a wonderfulthought-provoking statement that Shefford needed time to ponder howdeep the Mormon was. To what limit would he go? Did he mean that here, between two men who loved the same girl, class, duty, honor, creed werenothing if they stood in the way of her deliverance and her life?

"Joe Lake, you Mormons are impossible, " said Shefford, deliberately. "You don't want to see her grave. So long as she lives--remains on theearth--white and gold like the flower you call her, that's enough foryou. It's her body you think of. And that's the great and horrible errorin your religion. .. . But death of the soul is infinitely worse thandeath of the body. I have been thinking of her soul. .. . So here westand, you and I. You to save her life--I to save her soul! What willyou do?"

"Why, John, I'd turn Gentile, " he said, with terrible softness. It wasa softness that scorned Shefford for asking, and likewise it flungdefiance at his creed and into the face of hell. 

Shefford felt the sting and the exaltation. 

"And I'd be a Mormon, " he said. 

"All right. We understand each other. Reckon there won't be any call forsuch extremes. I haven't an idea what you mean--what can be done. But Isay, go slow, so we won't all find graves. First cheer her up somehow. Make her want to live. But go slow, John. AND DON'T BE WITH HER LATE!"

. . . . . . . . . . . 

That night Shefford found her waiting for him in the moonlight--a girlwho was as transparent as crystal-clear water, who had left off thesomber gloom with the black hood, who tremulously embraced happinesswithout knowing it, who was one moment timid and wild like ahalf-frightened fawn, and the next, exquisitely half-conscious ofwhat it meant to be thought dead, but to be alive, to be awakening, wondering, palpitating, and to be loved. 

Shefford lived the hour as a dream and went back to the quiet darknessunder the cedars to lie wide-eyed, trying to recall all that she hadsaid. For she had talked as if utterance had long been dammed behind abarrier of silence. 

There followed other hours like that one, indescribable hours, so sweetthey stung, and in which, keeping pace with his love, was the noblerstride of a spirit that more every day lightened her burden. 

The thing he had to do, sooner or later, was to tell her he knew she wasFay Larkin, not dead, but alive, and that, not love nor religion, butsacrifice, nailed her down to her martyrdom. Many and many a time hehad tried to force himself to tell her, only to fail. He hated to riskending this sweet, strange, thoughtless, girlish mood of hers. It mightnot be soon won back--perhaps never. How could he tell what chains boundher? And so as he vacillated between Joe's cautious advice to go slowand his own pity the days and weeks slipped by. 

One haunting fear kept him sleepless half the nights and sick even inhis dreams, and it was that the Mormon whose sealed wife she was mightcome, surely would come, some night. Shefford could bear it. But whatwould that visit do to Fay Larkin? Shefford instinctively feared theawakening in the girl of womanhood, of deeper insight, of a spiritualrealization of what she was, of a physical dawn. 

He might have spared himself needless torture. One day Joe Lake eyed himwith penetrating glance. 

"Reckon you don't have to sleep right on that Stonebridge trail, " saidthe Mormon, significantly. 

Shefford felt the blood burn his neck and face. He had pulled histarpaulin closer to the trail, and his motive was as an open page to thekeen Mormon. 

"Why?" asked Shefford. 

"There won't be any Mormons riding in here soon--by night--to visitthe women, " replied Joe, bluntly. "Haven't you figured there might begovernment spies watching the trails?"

"No, I haven't. "

"Well, take a hunch, then, " added the Mormon, gruffly, and Shefforddivined, as well as if he had been told, that warning word had gone toStonebridge. Gone despite the fact that Nas Ta Bega had reportedevery trail free of watchers! There was no sign of any spies, cowboys, outlaws, or Indians in the vicinity of the valley. A passionategratitude to the Mormon overcame Shefford; and the unreasonableness ofit, the nature of it, perturbed him greatly. But, something hammeredinto his brain, if he loved one of these sealed wives, how could he helpbeing jealous?

The result of Joe's hint was that Shefford put off the hour ofrevelation, lived in his dream, helped the girl grow farther and fartheraway from her trouble, until that inevitable hour arrived when he wasdriven by accumulated emotion as much as the exigency of the case. 

He had not often walked with her beyond the dark shade of the pinyonsround the cottage, but this night, when he knew he must tell her, he ledher away down the path, through the cedar grove to the west end of thevalley where it was wild and lonely and sad and silent. 

The moon was full and the great peaks were crowned as with snow. Acoyote uttered his cutting cry. There were a few melancholy notes froma night bird of the stone walls. The air was clear and cold, with atang of frost in it. Shefford gazed about him at the vast, uplifted, insulating walls, and that feeling of his which was more than a sensetold him how walls like these and the silence and shadow and mystery hadbeen nearly all of Fay Larkin's life. He felt them all in her. 

He stopped out in the open, near the line where dark shadow of the wallmet the silver moonlight on the grass, and here, by a huge flat stonewhere he had come often alone and sometimes with Ruth, he faced FayLarkin in the spirit to tell her gently that he knew her, and sternly toforce her secret from her. 

"Am I your friend?" he began. 

"Ah!--my only friend, " she said. 

"Do you trust me, believe I mean well by you, want to help you?"

"Yes, indeed. "

"Well, then, let me speak of you. You know one topic we've never touchedupon. You!"

She was silent, and looked wonderingly, a little fearfully, at him, asif vague, disturbing thoughts were entering the fringe of her mind. 

"Our friendship is a strange one, is it not?" he went on. 

"How do I know? I never had any other friendship. What do you mean bystrange?"

"Well, I'm a young man. You're a--a married woman. We are together agood deal--and like to be. "

"Why is that strange?" she asked. 

Suddenly Shefford realized that there was nothing strange in what wasnatural. A remnant of sophistication clung to him and that had spoken. He needed to speak to her in a way which in her simplicity she wouldunderstand. 

"Never mind strange. Say that I am interested in you, and, as you're nothappy, I want to help you. And say that your neighbors are curious andoppose my idea. Why do they?"

"They're jealous and want you themselves, " she replied, with sweetdirectness. "They've said things I don't understand. But I feltthey--they hated in me what would be all right in themselves. "

Here to simplicity she added truth and wisdom, as an Indian might haveexpressed them. But shame was unknown to her, and she had as yet onlyvague perceptions of love and passion. Shefford began to realize thequickness of her mind, that she was indeed awakening. 

"They are jealous--were jealous before I ever came here. That's onlyhuman nature. I was trying to get to a point. Your neighbors arecurious. They oppose me. They hate you. It's all bound up in the--thefact of your difference from them, your youth, beauty, that you're nota Mormon, that you nearly betrayed their secret at the trial inStonebridge. "

"Please--please don't--speak of that!" she faltered. 

"But I must, " he replied, swiftly. "That trial was a torture to you. Itrevealed so much to me. .. . I know you are a sealed wife. I know therehas been a crime. I know you've sacrificed yourself. I know that loveand religion have nothing to do with--what you are. .. . Now, is not allthat true?"

"I must not tell, " she whispered. 

"But I shall MAKE you tell, " he replied, and his voice rang. 

"Oh no, you cannot, " she said. 

"I can--with just one word!"

Her eyes were great, starry, shadowy gulfs, dark in the white beauty ofher face. She was calm now. She had strength. She invited him to speakthe word, and the wistful, tremulous quiver of her lips was for hisearnest thought of her. 

"Wait--a--little, " said Shefford, unsteadily. "I'll come to thatpresently. Tell me this--have you ever thought of being free?"

"Free!" she echoed, and there was singular depth and richness in hervoice. That was the first spark of fire he had struck from her. "Longago, the minute I was unwatched, I'd have leaped from a wall had Idared. Oh, I wasn't afraid. I'd love to die that way. But I neverdared. "

"Why?" queried Shefford, piercingly. 

She was silent then. 

"Suppose I offered to give you freedom that meant life?"

"I--couldn't--take it. "

"Why?"

"Oh, my friend, don't ask me any more. "

"I know, I can see--you want to tell me--you need to tell. "

"But I daren't. "

"Won't you trust me?"

"I do--I do. "

"Then tell me. "

"No--no--oh no!"

The moment had come. How sad, tragic, yet glorious for him! It would belike a magic touch upon this lovely, cold, white ghost of Fay Larkin, transforming her into a living, breathing girl. He held his love as athing aloof, and, as such, intangible because of the living death shebelieved she lived, it had no warmth and intimacy for them. What mightit not become with a lightning flash of revelation? He dreaded, yet hewas driven to speak. He waited, swallowing hard, fighting the tumultuousstorm of emotion, and his eyes dimmed. 

"What did I come to this country for?" he asked, suddenly, in ringing, powerful voice. 

"To find a girl, " she whispered. 

"I've found her!"

She began to shake. He saw a white hand go to her breast. 

"Where is Surprise Valley?. .. How were you taken from Jane Withersteenand Lassiter?. .. I know they're alive. But where?"

She seemed to turn to stone. 

"Fay!--FAY LARKIN!. .. I KNOW YOU!" he cried, brokenly. 

She slipped off the stone to her knees, swayed forward blindly with herhands reaching out, her head falling back to let the moon fall full uponthe beautiful, snow-white, tragically convulsed face. 

XIII. THE STORY OF SURPRISE VALLEY

". .. Oh, I remember so well! Even now I dream of it sometimes. I hearthe roll and crash of falling rock--like thunder. .. . We rode and rode. Then the horses fell. Uncle Jim took me in his arms and started up thecliff. Mother Jane climbed close after us. They kept looking back. Downthere in the gray valley carne the Mormons. I see the first one now. He rode a white horse. That was Tull. Oh, I remember so well! And I wasfive or six years old. 

"We climbed up and up and into dark canyon and wound in and out. Thenthere was the narrow white trail, straight up, with the little cutsteps and the great, red, ruined walls. I looked down over Uncle Jim'sshoulder. I saw Mother Jane dragging herself up. Uncle Jim's bloodspotted the trail. He reached a flat place at the top and fell with me. Mother Jane crawled up to us. 

"Then she cried out and pointed. Tull was 'way below, climbing thetrail. His men came behind him. Uncle Jim went to a great, tall rock andleaned against it. There was a bloody hole in his hand. He pushedthe rock. It rolled down, banging the loose walls. They crashed andcrashed--then all was terrible thunder and red smoke. I couldn't hear--Icouldn't see. 

"Uncle Jim carried me down and down out of the dark and dust into abeautiful valley all red and gold, with a wonderful arch of stone overthe entrance. 

"I don't remember well what happened then for what seemed a long, longtime. I can feel how the place looked, but not so clear as it is nowin my dreams. I seem to see myself with the dogs, and with Mother Jane, learning my letters, marking with red stone on the walls. 

"But I remember now how I felt when I first understood we were shut infor ever. Shut in Surprise Valley where Venters had lived so long. Iwas glad. The Mormons would never get me. I was seven or eight years oldthen. From that time all is clear in my mind. 

"Venters had left supplies and tools and grain and cattle and burros, sowe had a good start to begin life there. He had killed off the wildcatsand kept the coyotes out, so the rabbits and quail multiplied till therewere thousands of them. We raised corn and fruit, and stored what wedidn't use. Mother Jane taught me to read and write with the soft redstone that marked well on the walls. 

"The years passed. We kept track of time pretty well. Uncle Jim's hairturned white and Mother Jane grew gray. Every day was like the onebefore. Mother Jane cried sometimes and Uncle Jim was sad because theycould never be able to get me out of the valley. It was long before theystopped looking and listening for some one. Venters would come back, Uncle Jim always said. But Mother Jane did not think so. 

"I loved Surprise Valley. I wanted to stay there always. I rememberedCottonwoods, how the children there hated me, and I didn't want to goback. The only unhappy times I ever had in the valley were when Ring andWhitie, my dogs, grew old and died. I roamed the valley. I climbed toevery nook upon the mossy ledges. I learned to run up the steep cliffs. I could almost stick on the straight walls. Mother Jane called me a wildgirl. We had put away the clothes we wore when we got there, to savethem, and we made clothes of skins. I always laughed when I thought ofmy little dress--how I grew out of it. I think Uncle Jim and Mother Janetalked less as the years went by. And after I'd learned all she couldteach me we didn't talk much. I used to scream into the caves just tohear my voice, and the echoes would frighten me. 

"The older I grew the more I was alone. I was always running round thevalley. I would climb to a high place and sit there for hours, doing nothing. I just watched and listened. I used to stay in thecliff-dwellers' caves and wonder about them. I loved to be out in thewind. And my happiest time was in the summer storms with the thunderechoes under the walls. At evening it was such a quiet place--afterthe night bird's cry, no sound. The quiet made me sad but I loved it. Iloved to watch the stars as I lay awake. 

"So it was beautiful and happy for me there till--till. .. 

"Two years or more ago there was a bad storm, and one of the great wallscaved. The walls were always weathering, slipping. Many and many a timehave I heard the rumble of an avalanche, but most of them were in othercanyon. This slide in the valley made it possible, Uncle Jim said, for men to get down into the valley. But we could not climb out unlesshelped from above. Uncle Jim never rested well after that. But it neverworried me. 

"One day, over a year ago, while I was across the valley, I heardstrange shouts, and then screams. I ran to our camp. I came upon menwith ropes and guns. Uncle Jim was tied, and a rope was round his neck. Mother Jane was lying on the ground. I thought she was dead until Iheard her moan. I was not afraid. I screamed and flew at Uncle Jim totear the ropes off him. The men held me back. They called me a prettycat. Then they talked together, and some were for hanging Lassiter--thatwas the first time I ever knew any name for him but Uncle Jim--and somewere for leaving him in the valley. Finally they decided to hang him. But Mother Jane pleaded so and I screamed and fought so that they leftoff. Then they went away and we saw them climb out of the valley. 

"Uncle Jim said they were Mormons, and some among them had been born inCottonwoods. I was not told why they had such a terrible hate for him. He said they would come back and kill him. Uncle Jim had no guns tofight with. 

"We watched and watched. In five days they did come back, with more men, and some of them wore black masks. They came to our cave with ropes andguns. One was tall. He had a cruel voice. The others ran to obey him. Icould see white hair and sharp eyes behind the mask. The men caught meand brought me before him. 

"He said Lassiter had killed many Mormons. He said Lassiter had killedhis father and should be hanged. But Lassiter would be let live andMother Jane could stay with him, both prisoners there in the valley, ifI would marry the Mormon. I must marry him, accept the Mormon faith, andbring up my children as Mormons. If I refused they would hang Lassiter, leave the heretic Jane Withersteen alone in the valley, and take me andbreak me to their rule. 

"I agreed. But Mother Jane absolutely forbade me to marry him. Then theMormons took me away. It nearly killed me to leave Uncle Jim and MotherJane. I was carried and lifted out of the valley, and rode a long wayon a horse. They brought me here, to the cabin where I live, and I havenever been away except that--that time--to--Stonebridge. Only little bylittle did I learn my position. Bishop Kane was kind, but stern, becauseI could not be quick to learn the faith. 

"I am not a sealed wife. But they're trying to make me one. The masterMormon--he visited me often--at night--till lately. He threatened me. Henever told me a name--except Saint George. I don't--know him--except hisvoice. I never--saw his face--in the light!"

. . . . . . . . . . . 

Fay Larkin ended her story. Toward its close Shefford had growninvoluntarily restless, and when her last tragic whisper ceased all hisbody seemed shaken with a terrible violence of his joy. He strode to andfro in the dark shadow of the stone. The receding blood left him cold, with a pricking, sickening sensation over his body, but there seemedto be an overwhelming tide accumulating deep in his breast--a tide ofpassion and pain. He dominated the passion, but the ache remained. Andhe returned to the quiet figure on the stone. 

"Fay Larkin!" he exclaimed, with a deep breath of relief that the secretwas disclosed. "So you're not a wife!. .. You're free! Thank Heaven! ButI felt it was sacrifice. I knew there had been a crime. For crime it is. You child! You can't understand what crime. Oh, almost I wish you andJane and Lassiter had never been found. But that's wrong of me. One yearof agony--that shall not ruin your life. Fay, I will take you away. "

"Where?" she whispered. 

"Away from this Mormon country--to the East, " he replied, and he spokeof what he had known, of travel, of cities, of people, of happinesspossible for a young girl who had spent all her life hidden between thenarrow walls of a silent, lonely valley--he spoke swiftly and eloquentlytill he lost his breath. 

There was an instant of flashing wonder and joy on her white face, andthen the radiance paled, the glow died. Her soul was the darker for thatone strange, leaping glimpse of a glory not for such as she. 

"I must stay here, " she said, shudderingly. 

"Fay!--How strange to SAY Fay aloud to YOU!--Fay, do you know the way toSurprise Valley?"

"I don't know where it is, but I could go straight to it, " she replied. 

"Take me there. Show me your beautiful valley. Let me see where you ranand climbed and spent so many lonely years. "

"Ah, how I'd love to! But I dare not. And why should you want me to takeyou? We can run and climb here. "

"I want to--I mean to save Jane Withersteen and Lassiter, " he declared. 

She uttered a little cry of pain. "Save them?"

"Yes, save them. Get them out of the valley, take them out of thecountry, far away where they and YOU--"

"But I can't go, " she wailed. "I'm afraid. I'm bound. It CAN'T bebroken. If I dared--if I tried to go they would catch me. They wouldhang Uncle Jim and leave Mother Jane alone there to starve. "

"Fay, Lassiter and Jane both will starve--at least they will die thereif we do not save them. You have been terribly wronged. You're a slave. You're not a wife. "

"They--said I'll be burned in hell if I don't marry him. .. . Mother Janenever taught me about God. I don't know. But HE--he said God was there. I dare not break it. "

"Fay, you have been deceived by old men. Let them have their creed. ButYOU mustn't accept it. "

"John, what is God to you?"

"Dear child, I--I am not sure of that myself, " he replied, huskily. "When all this trouble is behind us, surely I can help you to understandand you can help me. The fact that you are alive--that Lassiter and Janeare alive--that I shall save you all--that lifts me up. I tell you--FayLarkin will be my salvation. "

"Your words trouble me. Oh, I shall be torn one way and another. .. . But, John, I daren't run away. I will not tell you where to find Lassiter andMother Jane. "

"I shall find them--I have the Indian. He found you for me. Nas Ta Begawill find Surprise Valley. "

"Nas Ta Bega!. .. Oh, I remember. There was an Indian with the Mormonswho found us. But he was a Piute. "

"Nas Ta Bega never told me how he learned about you. That he learned wasenough. And, Fay, he will find Surprise Valley. He will save Uncle Jimand Mother Jane. "

Fay's hands clasped Shefford's in strong, trembling pressure; the tearsstreamed down her white cheeks; a tragic and eloquent joy convulsed herface. 

"Oh, my friend, save them! But I can't go. .. . Let them keep me! Let himkill me!"

"Him! Fay--he shall not harm you, " replied Shefford in passionateearnestness. 

She caught the hand he had struck out with. 

"You talk--you look like Uncle Jim when he spoke of the Mormons, " shesaid. "Then I used to be afraid of him. He was so different. John, youmust not do anything about me. Let me be. It's too late. He--and hismen--they would hang you. And I couldn't bear that. I've enough to bearwithout losing my friend. Say you won't watch and wait--for--for him. "

Shefford had to promise her. Like an Indian she gave expression toprimitive feeling, for it certainly never occurred to her that, whateverShefford might do, he was not the kind of man to wait in hiding for anenemy. Fay had faltered through her last speech and was now weak andnervous and frightened. Shefford took her back to the cabin. 

"Fay, don't be distressed, " he said. "I won't do anything right away. You can trust me. I won't be rash. I'll consult you before I make amove. I haven't any idea what I could do, anyway. .. . You must bear up. Why, it looks as if you're sorry I found you. "

"Oh! I'm glad!" she whispered. 

"Then if you're glad you mustn't break down this way again. Suppose someof the women happened to run into us. "

"I won't again. It's only you--you surprised me so. I used to think howI'd like you to know--I wasn't really dead. But now--it's different. It hurts me here. Yet I'm glad--if my being alive makes you--a littlehappier. "

Shefford felt that he had to go then. He could not trust himself anyfurther. 

"Good night, Fay, " he said. 

"Good night, John, " she whispered. "I promise--to be good to-morrow. "

She was crying softly when he left her. Twice he turned to see the dim, white, slender form against the gloom of the cabin. Then he went onunder the pinyons, blindly down the path, with his heart as heavy aslead. That night as he rolled in his blanket and stretched wearily hefelt that he would never be able to sleep. The wind in the cedars madehim shiver. The great stars seemed relentless, passionless, white eyes, mocking his little destiny and his pain. The huge shadow of the mountainresembled the shadow of the insurmountable barrier between Fay and him. 

. . . . . . . . . . . 

Her pitiful, childish promise to be good was in his mind when he wentto her home on the next night. He wondered how she would be, and herealized a desperate need of self-control. 

But that night Fay Larkin was a different girl. In the dark, before shespoke, he felt a difference that afforded him surprise and relief. Hegreeted her as usual. And then it seemed, though not at all clearly, that he was listening to a girl, strangely and unconsciously glad to seehim, who spoke with deeper note in her voice, who talked where alwaysshe had listened, whose sadness was there under an eagerness, a subduedgaiety as new to her, as sweet as it was bewildering. And he respondedwith emotion, so that the hour passed swiftly, and he found himself backin camp, in a kind of dream, unable to remember much of what she hadsaid, sure only of this strange sweetness suddenly come to her. 

Upon the following night, however, he discovered what had wrought thissingular change in Fay Larkin. She loved him and she did not know it. How passionately sweet and sad and painful was that realization forShefford! The hour spent with her then was only a moment. 

He walked under the stars that night and they shed a glorious light uponhim. He tried to think, to plan, but the sweetness of remembered word orlook made mental effort almost impossible. He got as far as the thoughtthat he would do well to drift, to wait till she learned she lovedhim, and then, perhaps, she could be persuaded to let him take her andLassiter and Jane away together. 

And from that night he went at his work and the part he played in thevillage with a zeal and a cunning that left him free to seek Fay when hechose. 

Sometimes in the afternoon, always for a while in the evening, he waswith her. They climbed the walls, and sat upon a lonely height to lookafar; they walked under the stars, and the cedars, and the shadowsof the great cliffs. She had a beautiful mind. Listening to her, heimagined he saw down into beautiful Surprise Valley with all its weirdshadows, its colored walls and painted caves, its golden shafts ofmorning light and the red haze at sunset; and he felt the silence thatmust have been there, and the singing of the wind in the cliffs, and thesweetness and fragrance of the flowers, and the wildness of it all. Lovehad worked a marvelous transformation in this girl who had lived herlife in a canyon. The burden upon her did not weigh heavily. She couldnot have an unhappy thought. She spoke of the village, of her Mormoncompanions, of daily happenings, of Stonebridge, of many things in amatter-of-fact way that showed how little they occupied her mind. Sheeven spoke of sealed wives in a kind of dreamy abstraction. Somethinghad possession of her, something as strong as the nature which haddeveloped her, and in its power she, in her simplicity, was utterlyunconscious, a watching and feeling girl. A strange, witching, radiantbeauty lurked in her smile. And Shefford heard her laugh in his dreams. 

The weeks slipped by. The black mountain took on a white cap of snow;in the early mornings there was ice in the crevices on the heights andfrost in the valley. In the sheltered canyon where sunshine seemedto linger it was warm and pleasant, so that winter did not kill theflowers. 

Shefford waited so long for Fay's awakening that he believed it wouldnever come, and, believing, had not the heart to force it upon her. Thenthere was a growing fear with him. What would Fay Larkin do when sheawakened to the truth? Fay was indeed like that white and fragile lilywhich bloomed in the silent, lonely canyon, but the same nature thathad created it had created her. Would she droop as the lily would in afurnace blast? More than that, he feared a sudden flashing into life ofstrength, power, passion, hate. She did not hate yet because she did notyet realize love. She was utterly innocent of any wrong having been doneher. More and more he began to fear, and a foreboding grew upon him. He made up his mind to broach the subject of Surprise Valley and ofescaping with Lassiter and Jane; still, every time he was with Fay thegirl and her beauty and her love were so wonderful that he put off theordeal till the next night. As time flew by he excused his vacillationon the score that winter was not a good time to try to cross the desert. There was no grass for the mustangs, except in well-known valleys, andthese he must shun. Spring would soon come. So the days passed, and heloved Fay more all the time, desperately living out to its limit thesweetness of every moment with her, and paying for his bliss in theincreasing trouble that beset him when once away from her charm. 

. . . . . . . . . . . 

One starry night, about ten o'clock, he went, as was his custom, todrink at the spring. Upon his return to the cedars Nas Ta Bega, whoslept under the same tree with him, had arisen, with his blanket hanginghalf off his shoulder. 

"Listen, " said the Indian. 

Shefford took one glance at the dark, somber face, with its inscrutableeyes, now so strange and piercing, and then, with a kind of coldexcitement, he faced the way the Indian looked, and listened. But heheard only the soft moan of the night wind in the cedars. 

Nas Ta Bega kept the rigidity of his position for a moment, and thenhe relaxed, and stood at ease. Shefford knew the Indian had made acertainty of what must have been a doubtful sound. And Shefford leanedhis ear to the wind and strained his hearing. 

Then the soft night breeze brought a faint patter--the slow trot ofhorses on a hard trail. Some one was coming into the village at a latehour. Shefford thought of Joe Lake. But Joe lay right behind him, asleepin his blankets. It could not be Withers, for the trader was in Durangoat that time. Shefford thought of Willetts and Shadd. 

"Who's coming?" he asked low of the Indian. 

Nas Ta Bega pointed down the trail without speaking. 

Shefford peered through the white dim haze of starlight and presentlyhe made out moving figures. Horses, with riders--a string ofthem--one--two--three--four--five--and he counted up to eleven. Elevenhorsemen riding into the village! He was amazed, and suddenly keenlyanxious. This visit might be one of Shadd's raids. 

"Shadd's gang!" he whispered. 

"No, Bi Nai, " replied Nas Ta Bega, and he drew Shefford farther into theshade of the cedars. His voice, his action, the way he kept a hand onShefford's shoulder, all this told much to the young man. 

Mormons come on a night visit! Shefford realized it with a slight shock. Then swift as a lightning flash he was rent by another shock--one thatbrought cold moisture to his brow and to his heart a flame of hell. 

He was shaking when he sank down to find the support of a log. Likea shadow the Indian silently moved away. Shefford watched the elevenhorses pass the camp, go down the road, to disappear in the village. They vanished, and the soft clip-clops of hoofs died away. There wasnothing left to prove he had not dreamed. 

Nothing to prove it except this sudden terrible demoralization of hisphysical and spiritual being! While he peered out into the valley, toward the black patch of cedars and pinyons that hid the cabins, moments and moments passed, and in them he was gripped with cold andfire. 

Was the Mormon who had abducted Fay--the man with the cruel voice--washe among those eleven horsemen? He might not have been. What a torturinghope! But vain--vain, for inevitably he must be among them. He was therein the cabin already. He had dismounted, tied his horse, had knocked onher door. Did he need to knock? No, he would go in, he would call her inthat cruel voice, and then. .. 

Shefford pulled a blanket from his bed and covered his cold andtrembling body. He had sunk down off the log, was leaning back upon it. The stars were pale, far off, and the valley seemed unreal. He foundhimself listening--listening with sick and terrible earnestness, tryingto hear against the thrum and beat of his heart, straining to catch asound in all that cold, star-blanched, silent valley. But he could hearno sound. It was as if death held the valley in its perfect silence. How he hated that silence! There ought to have been a million horrible, bellowing demons making the night hideous. Did the stars serenely lookdown upon the lonely cabins of these exiles? Was there no thunderboltto drop down from that dark and looming mountain upon the silent cabinwhere tragedy had entered? In all the world, under the sea, in theabysmal caves, in the vast spaces of the air, there was no such terriblesilence as this. A scream, a long cry, a moan--these were natural toa woman, and why did not one of these sealed wives, why did not FayLarkin, damn this everlasting acquiescent silence? Perhaps she would flyout of her cabin, come running along the path. Shefford peered into thebright patches of starlight and into the shadows of the cedars. But hesaw no moving form in the open, no dim white shape against the gloom. And he heard no sound--not even a whisper of wind in the branchesoverhead. 

Nas Ta Bega returned to the shade of the cedars and, lying down on hisblankets, covered himself and went to sleep. The fact seemed to bringbitter reality to Shefford. Nothing was going to happen. The valleywas to be the same this night as any other night. Shefford accepted thetruth. He experienced a kind of self-pity. The night he had thought somuch about, prepared for, and had forgotten had now arrived. Then hethrew another blanket round him, and, cold, dark, grim, he faced thatlonely vigil, meaning to sit there, wide-eyed, to endure and to wait. 

Jealousy and pain, following his frenzy, abided with him long hours, andwhen they passed he divined that selfishness passed with them. What hesuffered then was for Fay Larkin and for her sisters in misfortune. Hegrew big enough to pity these fanatics. The fiery, racing tide of bloodthat had made of him only an animal had cooled with thought of others. Still he feared that stultifying thing which must have been hate. Whata tempest had raged within him! This blood of his, that had received astronger strain from his desert life, might in a single moment flood outreason and intellect and make him a vengeful man. So in those starlithours that dragged interminably he looked deep into his heart and triedto fortify himself against a dark and evil moment to come. 

Midnight--and the valley seemed a tomb! Did he alone keep wakeful? Thesky was a darker blue, the stars burned a whiter fire, the peaks stoodlooming and vast, tranquil sentinels of that valley, and the wind roseto sigh, to breathe, to mourn through the cedars. It was a sad music. The Indian lay prone, dark face to the stars. Joe Lake lay prone, sleeping as quietly, with his dark face exposed to the starlight. Thegentle movement of the cedar branches changed the shape of the brightpatches on the grass where shadow and light met. The walls of the valleywaved upward, dark below and growing paler, to shine faintly at therounded rims. And there was a tiny, silvery tinkle of running water overstones. 

Here was a little nook of the vast world. Here were tranquillity, beauty, music, loneliness, life. Shefford wondered--did he alone keepwatchful? Did he feel that he could see dark, wide eyes peering intothe gloom? And it came to him after a time that he was not alone in hisvigil, nor was Fay Larkin alone in her agony. There was some one else inthe valley, a great and breathing and watchful spirit. It enteredinto Shefford's soul and he trembled. What had come to him? And heanswered--only added pain and new love, and a strange strength from thefirmament and the peaks and the silence and the shadows. 

The bright belt with its three radiant stars sank behind the westernwall and there was a paler gloom upon the valley. 

Then a few lights twinkled in the darkness that enveloped the cabins; awoman's laugh strangely broke the silence, profaning it, giving the lieto that somber yoke which seemed to consist of the very shadows; thevoices of men were heard, and then the slow clip-clop of trotting horseson the hard trail. 

Shefford saw the Mormons file out into the paling starlight, ride downthe valley, and vanish in the gray gloom. He was aware that the Indiansat up to watch the procession ride by, and that Joe turned over, as ifdisturbed. 

One by one the stars went out. The valley became a place of grayshadows. In the east a light glowed. Shefford sat there, haggard andworn, watching the coming of the dawn, the kindling of the light; andhad the power been his the dawn would never have broken and the rose andgold never have tipped the lofty peaks. 

. . . . . . . . . . . 

Shefford attended to his camp chores as usual. Several times he wasaware of Joe's close scrutiny, and finally, without looking at him, Shefford told of the visit of the Mormons. A violent expulsion of breathwas Joe's answer and it might have been a curse. Straightway Joe ceasedhis cheery whistling and became as somber as the Indian. The camp wassilent; the men did not look at one another. While they sat at breakfastShefford's back was turned toward the village--he had not looked in thatdirection since dawn. 

"Ugh!" suddenly exclaimed Nas Ta Bega. 

Joe Lake muttered low and deep, and this time there was no mistake aboutthe nature of his speech. Shefford did not have the courage to turn tosee what had caused these exclamations. He knew since today had dawnedthat there was calamity in the air. 

"Shefford, I reckon if I know women there's a little hell coming toyou, " said the Mormon, significantly. 

Shefford wheeled as if a powerful force had turned him on a pivot. Hesaw Fay Larkin. She seemed to be almost running. She was unhooded andher bright hair streamed down. Her swift, lithe action was withoutits usual grace. She looked wild, and she almost fell crossing thestepping-stones of the brook. 

Joe hurried to meet her, took hold of her arm and spoke, but she did notseem to hear him. She drew him along with her, up the little bench underthe cedars straight toward Shefford. Her face held a white, mute agony, as if in the hour of strife it had hardened into marble. But her eyeswere dark-purple fire--windows of an extraordinarily intense and vitallife. In one night the girl had become a woman. But the blight Sheffordhad dreaded to see--the withering of the exquisite soul and spirit andpurity he had considered inevitable, just as inevitable as the death ofsomething similar in the flower she resembled, when it was broken anddefiled--nothing of this was manifest in her. Straight and swiftly shecame to him back in the shade of the cedars and took hold of his hands. 

"Last night--HE CAME!" she said. 

"Yes--Fay--I--I know, " replied Shefford, haltingly. 

He was tremblingly conscious of amaze at her--of something wonderful inher. She did not heed Joe, who stepped aside a little; she did not seeNas Ta Bega, who sat motionless on a log, apparently oblivious to herpresence. 

"You knew he came?"

"Yes, Fay. I was awake when--they rode in. I watched them. I sat up allnight. I saw them ride away. "

"If you knew when he came why didn't you run to me--to get to me beforehe did?"

Her question was unanswerable. It had the force of a blow. It stunnedhim. Its sharp, frank directness sprang from a simplicity and a strengththat had not been nurtured in the life he had lived. So far men hadwandered from truth and nature!

"I came to you as soon as I was able, " she went on. "I must havefainted. I just had to drag myself around. .. . And now I can tell you. "

He was powerless to reply, as if she had put another unanswerablequestion. What did she mean to tell him? What might she not tell him?She loosed her hands from his and lifted them to his shoulders, and thatwas the first conscious action of feeling, of intimacy, which she hadever shown. It quite robbed Shefford of strength, and in spite of hissorrow there was an indefinable thrill in her touch. He looked at her, saw the white-and-gold beauty that was hers yesterday and seemed changedto-day, and he recognized Fay Larkin in a woman he did not know. 

"Listen! He came--"

"Fay, don't--tell me, " interrupted Shefford. 

"I WILL tell you, " she said. 

Did the instinct of love teach her how to mitigate his pain? Sheffordfelt that, as he felt the new-born strength in her. 

"Listen, " she went on. "He came when I was undressing for bed. I heardthe horse. He knocked on the door. Something terrible happened to methen. I felt sick and my head wasn't clear. I remember next--his beingin the room--the lamp was out--I couldn't see very well. He thought Iwas sick and he gave me a drink and let the air blow in on me throughthe window. I remember I lay back in the chair and I thought. And Ilistened. When would you come? I didn't feel that you could leave methere alone with him. For his coming was different this time. That painlike a blade in my side!. .. When it came I was not the same. I lovedyou. I understood then. I belonged to you. I couldn't let him touch me. I had never been his wife. When I realized this--that he was there, thatyou might suffer for it--I cried right out. 

"He thought I was sick. He worked over me. He gave me medicine. And thenhe prayed. I saw him, in the dark, on his knees, praying for me. Thatseemed strange. Yet he was kind, so kind that I begged him to let me go. I was not a Mormon. I couldn't marry him. I begged him to let me go. 

"Then he thought I had been deceiving him. He fell into a fury. Hetalked for a long time. He called upon God to visit my sins upon me. Hetried to make me pray. But I wouldn't. And then I fought him. I'd havescreamed for you had he not smothered me. I got weak. .. . And you nevercame. I know I thought you would come. But you didn't. Then I--I gaveout. And after--some time--I must have fainted. "

"Fay! For Heaven's sake, how could I come to you?" burst out Shefford, hoarse and white with remorse, passion, pain. 

"If I'm any man's wife I'm yours. It's a thing you FEEL, isn't it? Iknow that now. .. . But I want to know what to do?"

"Fay!" he cried, huskily. 

"I'm sick of it all. If it weren't for you I'd climb the wall and throwmyself off. That would be easy for me. I'd love to die that way. All mylife I've been high up on the walls. To fall would be nothing!"

"Oh, you mustn't talk like that!"

"Do you love me?" she asked, with a low and deathless sweetness. 

"Love you? With all my heart! Nothing can change that!"

"Do you want me--as you used to want the Fay Larkin lost in SurpriseValley? Do you love me that way? I understand things better than before, but still--not all. I AM Fay Larkin. I think I must have dreamed of youall my life. I was glad when you came here. I've been happy lately. Iforgot--till last night. Maybe it needed that to make me see I've lovedyou all the time. .. . And I fought him like a wildcat!. .. Tell me thetruth. I feel I'm yours. Is that true? If I'm not--I'll not live anotherhour. Something holds me up. I am the same. .. . Do you want me?"

"Yes, Fay Larkin, I want you, " replied Shefford, steadily, with his gripon her arms. 

"Then take me away. I don't want to live here another hour. "

"Fay, I'll take you. But it can't be done at once. We must plan. I needhelp. There are Lassiter and Jane to get out of Surprise Valley. Giveme time, dear--give me time. It'll be a hard job. And we must plan so wecan positively get away. Give me time, Fay. "

"Suppose HE comes back?" she queried, with a singular depth of voice. 

"We'll have to risk that, " replied Shefford, miserably. "But--he won'tcome soon. "

"He said he would, " she flashed. 

Shefford seemed to freeze inwardly with her words. Love had made hera woman and now the woman in her was speaking. She saw the truth as hecould not see it. And the truth was nature. She had been hidden all herlife from the world, from knowledge as he had it, yet when love betrayedher womanhood to her she acquired all its subtlety. 

"If I wait and he DOES come will you keep me from him?" she asked. 

"How can I? I'm staking all on the chance of his not coming soon. . .. But, Fay, if he DOES come and I don't give up our secret--how on earthcan I keep you from him?" demanded Shefford. 

"If you love me you will do it, " she said, as simply as if she werefate. 

"But how?" cried Shefford, almost beside himself. 

"You are a man. Any man would save the woman who loves himfrom--from--Oh, from a beast!. .. How would Lassiter do it?"

"Lassiter!"

"YOU CAN KILL HIM!"

It was there, deep and full in her voice, the strength of the elementalforces that had surrounded her, primitive passion and hate and love, asthey were in woman in the beginning. 

"My God!" Shefford cried aloud with his spirit when all that was red inhim sprang again into a flame of hell. That was what had been wrong withhim last night. He could kill this stealthy night-rider, and now, faceto face with Fay, who had never been so beautiful and wonderful as inthis hour when she made love the only and the sacred thing of life, nowhe had it in him to kill. Yet, murder--even to kill a brute--that wasnot for John Shefford, not the way for him to save a woman. Reasonand wisdom still fought the passion in him. If he could but cling tothem--have them with him in the dark and contending hour!

She leaned against him now, exhausted, her soul in her eyes, and theysaw only him. Shefford was all but powerless to resist the longing totake her into his arms, to hold her to his heart, to let himself go. Didnot her love give her to him? Shefford gazed helplessly at the strickenJoe Lake, at the somber Indian, as if from them he expected help. 

"I know him now, " said Fay, breaking the silence with startlingsuddenness. 

"What!"

"I've seen him in the light. I flashed a candle in his face. I saw it. Iknow him now. He was there at Stonebridge with us, and I never knew him. But I know him now. His name is--"

"For God's sake don't tell me who he is!" implored Shefford. 

Ignorance was Shefford's safeguard against himself. To make a name ofthis heretofore intangible man, to give him an identity apart from thecrowd, to be able to recognize him--that for Shefford would be fatal. 

"Fay--tell me--no more, " he said, brokenly. "I love you and I will giveyou my life. Trust me. I swear I'll save you. "

"Will you take me away soon?"

"Yes. "

She appeared satisfied with that and dropped her hands and moved backfrom him. A light flitted over her white face, and her eyes grewdark and humid, losing their fire in changing, shadowing thought ofsubmission, of trust, of hope. 

"I can lead you to Surprise Valley, " she said. "I feel the way. It'sthere!" And she pointed to the west. 

"Fay, we'll go--soon. I must plan. I'll see you to-night. Then we'lltalk. Run home now, before some of the women see you here. "

She said good-by and started away under the cedars, out into theopen where her hair shone like gold in the sunlight, and she took thestepping-stones with her old free grace, and strode down the path swiftand lithe as an Indian. Once she turned to wave a hand. 

Shefford watched her with a torture of pride, love, hope, and fearcontending within him. 

XIV. THE NAVAJO

That morning a Piute rode into the valley. 

Shefford recognized him as the brave who had been in love with GlenNaspa. The moment Nas Ta Bega saw this visitor he made a singular motionwith his hands--a motion that somehow to Shefford suggested despair--andthen he waited, somber and statuesque, for the messenger to come to him. It was the Piute who did all the talking, and that was brief. Thenthe Navajo stood motionless, with his hands crossed over his breast. Shefford drew near and waited. 

"Bi Nai, " said the Navajo, "Nas Ta Bega said his sister would come homesome day. .. . Glen Naspa is in the hogan of her grandfather. "

He spoke in his usual slow, guttural voice, and he might have beenbronze for all the emotion he expressed; yet Shefford instinctivelyfelt the despair that had been hinted to him, and he put his hand on theIndian's shoulder. 

"If I am the Navajo's brother, then I am brother to Glen Naspa, " hesaid. "I will go with you to the hogan of Hosteen Doetin. "

Nas Ta Bega went away into the valley for the horses. Shefford hurriedto the village, made his excuses at the school, and then called toexplain to Fay that trouble of some kind had come to the Indian. 

Soon afterward he was riding Nack-yal on the rough and winding trail upthrough the broken country of cliffs and canyon to the great league-longsage and cedar slope of the mountain. It was weeks since he had riddenthe mustang. Nack-yal was fat and lazy. He loved his master, but he didnot like the climb, and so fell far behind the lean and wiry pony thatcarried Nas Ta Bega. The sage levels were as purple as the haze of thedistance, and there was a bitter-sweet tang on the strong, cool wind. The sun was gold behind the dark line of fringe on the mountain-top. Aflock of sheep swept down one of the sage levels, looking like a narrowstream of white and black and brown. It was always amazing for Sheffordto see how swiftly these Navajo sheep grazed along. Wild mustangsplunged out of the cedar clumps and stood upon the ridges, whistlingdefiance or curiosity, and their manes and tails waved in the wind. 

Shefford mounted slowly to the cedar bench in the midst of which werehidden the few hogans. And he halted at the edge to dismount and takea look at that downward-sweeping world of color, of wide space, at thewild desert upland which from there unrolled its magnificent panorama. 

Then he passed on into the cedars. How strange to hear the lambsbleating again! Lambing-time had come early, but still spring was therein the new green of grass, in the bright upland flower. He led hismustang out of the cedars into the cleared circle. It was full of coltsand lambs, and there were the shepherd-dogs and a few old rams and ewes. But the circle was a quiet place this day. There were no Indians insight. Shefford loosened the saddle-girths on Nack-yal and, leaving himto graze, went toward the hogan of Hosteen Doetin. A blanket was hungacross the door. Shefford heard a low chanting. He waited beside thedoor till the covering was pulled in, then he entered. 

Hosteen Doetin met him, clasped his hand. The old Navajo could notspeak; his fine face was working in grief; tears streamed from hisdim old eyes and rolled down his wrinkled cheeks. His sorrow was nodifferent from a white man's sorrow. Beyond him Shefford saw Nas Ta Begastanding with folded arms, somehow terrible in his somber impassiveness. At his feet crouched the old woman, Hosteen Doetin's wife, and besideher, prone and quiet, half covered with a blanket, lay Glen Naspa. 

She was dead. To Shefford she seemed older than when he had last seenher. And she was beautiful. Calm, cold, dark, with only bitter lips togive the lie to peace! There was a story in those lips. 

At her side, half hidden under the fold of blanket, lay a tiny bundle. Its human shape startled Shefford. Then he did not need to be toldthe tragedy. When he looked again at Glen Naspa's face he seemed tounderstand all that had made her older, to feel the pain that had linedand set her lips. 

She was dead, and she was the last of Nas Ta Bega's family. In the oldgrandfather's agony, in the wild chant of the stricken grandmother, inthe brother's stern and terrible calmness Shefford felt more than thedeath of a loved one. The shadow of ruin, of doom, of death hoveredover the girl and her family and her tribe and her race. There was noconsolation to offer these relatives of Glen Naspa. Shefford took onemore fascinated gaze at her dark, eloquent, prophetic face, at thetragic tiny shape by her side, and then with bowed head he left thehogan. 

. . . . . . . . . . . 

Outside he paced to and fro, with an aching heart for Nas Ta Bega, withsomething of the white man's burden of crime toward the Indian weighingupon his soul. 

Old Hosteen Doetin came to him with shaking hands and words memorable ofthe time Glen Naspa left his hogan. 

"Me no savvy Jesus Christ. Me hungry. Me no eat Jesus Christ!"

That seemed to be all of his trouble that he could express to Shefford. He could not understand the religion of the missionary, this JesusChrist who had called his granddaughter away. And the great fear of anold Indian was not death, but hunger. Shefford remembered a custom ofthe Navajos, a thing barbarous looked at with a white man's mind. If anold Indian failed on a long march he was inclosed by a wall of stones, given plenty to eat and drink, and left there to die in the desert. Notdeath did he fear, but hunger! Old Hosteen Doetin expected to starve, now that the young and strong squaw of his family was gone. 

Shefford spoke in his halting Navajo and assured the old Indian that NasTa Bega would never let him starve. 

At sunset Shefford stood with Nas Ta Bega facing the west. The Indianwas magnificent in repose. He watched the sun go down upon the day thathad seen the burial of the last of his family. He resembled an impassivedestiny, upon which no shocks fell. He had the light of that flaringgolden sky in his face, the majesty of the mountain in his mien, thesilence of the great gulf below on his lips. This educated Navajo, whohad reverted to the life of his ancestors, found in the wildness andloneliness of his environment a strength no white teaching couldever have given him. Shefford sensed in him a measureless grief, animpenetrable gloom, a tragic acceptance of the meaning of Glen Naspa'sruin and death--the vanishing of his race from the earth. Death hadwritten the law of such bitter truth round Glen Naspa's lips, and thesame truth was here in the grandeur and gloom of the Navajo. 

"Bi Nai, " he said, with the beautiful sonorous roll in his voice, "GlenNaspa is in her grave and there are no paths to the place of her sleep. Glen Naspa is gone. "

"Gone! Where? Nas Ta Bega, remember I lost my own faith, and I have notyet learned yours. "

"The Navajo has one mother--the earth. Her body has gone to the earthand it will become dust. But her spirit is in the air. It shall whisperto me from the wind. I shall hear it on running waters. It will hide inthe morning music of a mocking-bird and in the lonely night cry of thecanyon hawk. Her blood will go to make the red of the Indian flowers andher soul will rest at midnight in the lily that opens only to the moon. She will wait in the shadow for me, and live in the great mountain thatis my home, and for ever step behind me on the trail. "

"You will kill Willetts?" demanded Shefford. 

"The Navajo will not seek the missionary. "

"But if you meet him you'll kill him?"

"Bi Nai, would Nas Ta Bega kill after it is too late? What good couldcome? The Navajo is above revenge. "

"If he crosses my trail I think I couldn't help but kill him, " mutteredShefford in a passion that wrung the threat from him. 

The Indian put his arm round the white man's shoulders. 

"Bi Nai, long ago I made you my brother. And now you make me yourbrother. Is it not so? Glen Naspa's spirit calls for wisdom, notrevenge. Willetts must be a bad man. But we'll let him live. Life willpunish him. Who knows if he was all to blame? Glen Naspa was only onepretty Indian girl. There are many white men in the desert. She loveda white man when she was a baby. The thing was a curse. . .. Listen, BiNai, and the Navajo will talk. 

"Many years ago the Spanish padres, the first white men, came into theland of the Indian. Their search was for gold. But they were not wickedmen. They did not steal and kill. They taught the Indian many usefulthings. They brought him horses. But when they went away they left himunsatisfied with his life and his god. 

"Then came the pioneers. They crossed the great river and took thepasture-lands and the hunting-grounds of the Indian. They drove himbackward, and the Indian grew sullen. He began to fight. The white man'sgovernment made treaties with the Indian, and these were broken. Thenwar came--fierce and bloody war. The Indian was driven to the wasteplaces. The stream of pioneers, like a march of ants, spread on into thedesert. Every valley where grass grew, every river, became a place forfarms and towns. Cattle choked the water-holes where the buffalo anddeer had once gone to drink. The forests in the hills were cut and thesprings dried up. And the pioneers followed to the edge of the desert. 

"Then came the prospectors, mad, like the padres for the gleam ofgold. The day was not long enough for them to dig in the creeks and thecanyon; they worked in the night. And they brought weapons and rum tothe Indian, to buy from him the secret of the places where the shininggold lay hidden. 

"Then came the traders. And they traded with the Indian. They gave himlittle for much, and that little changed his life. He learned a tastefor the sweet foods of the white man. Because he could trade for a sackof flour he worked less in the field. And the very fiber of his bonessoftened. 

"Then came the missionaries. They were proselytizers for convertsto their religion. The missionaries are good men. There may be a badmissionary, like Willetts, the same as there are bad men in othercallings, or bad Indians. They say Shadd is a half-breed. But the Piutescan tell you he is a full-blood, and he, like me, was sent to a whiteman's school. In the beginning the missionaries did well for the Indian. They taught him cleaner ways of living, better farming, useful work withtools--many good things. But the wrong to the Indian was the underminingof his faith. It was not humanity that sent the missionary to theIndian. Humanity would have helped the Indian in his ignorance ofsickness and work, and left him his god. For to trouble the Indian abouthis god worked at the roots of his nature. 

"The beauty of the Indian's life is in his love of the open, of all thatis nature, of silence, freedom, wildness. It is a beauty of mind andsoul. The Indian would have been content to watch and feel. To a whiteman he might be dirty and lazy--content to dream life away withouttrouble or what the white man calls evolution. The Indian might seemcruel because he leaves his old father out in the desert to die. But theold man wants to die that way, alone with his spirits and the sunset. And the white man's medicine keeps his old father alive days and daysafter he ought to be dead. Which is more cruel? The Navajos used tofight with other tribes, and then they were stronger men than they areto-day. 

"But leaving religion, greed, and war out of the question, contact withthe white man would alone have ruined the Indian. The Indian and thewhite man cannot mix. The Indian brave learns the habits of the whiteman, acquires his diseases, and has not the mind or body to withstandthem. The Indian girl learns to love the white man--and that is death ofher Indian soul, if not of life. 

"So the red man is passing. Tribes once powerful have died in the lifeof Nas Ta Bega. The curse of the white man is already heavy upon my racein the south. Here in the north, in the wildest corner of the desert, chased here by the great soldier, Carson, the Navajo has made his laststand. 

"Bi Nai, you have seen the shadow in the hogan of Hosteen Doetin. GlenNaspa has gone to her grave, and no sisters, no children, will makepaths to the place of her sleep. Nas Ta Bega will never have a wife--achild. He sees the end. It is the sunset of the Navajo. .. . Bi Nai, theNavajo is dying--dying--dying!"

XV. WILD JUSTICE

A crescent moon hung above the lofty peak over the valley and a trainof white stars ran along the bold rim of the western wall. A few youngfrogs peeped plaintively. The night was cool, yet had a touch of balmyspring, and a sweeter fragrance, as if the cedars and pinyons hadfreshened in the warm sun of that day. 

Shefford and Fay were walking in the aisles of moonlight and the patchesof shade, and Nas Ta Bega, more than ever a shadow of his white brother, followed them silently. 

"Fay, it's growing late. Feel the dew?" said Shefford. "Come, I musttake you back. "

"But the time's so short. I have said nothing that I wanted to say, " shereplied. 

"Say it quickly, then, as we go. "

"After all, it's only--will you take me away soon?"

"Yes, very soon. The Indian and I have talked. But we've made noplan yet. There are only three ways to get out of this country. ByStonebridge, by Kayenta and Durango, and by Red Lake. We must chooseone. All are dangerous. We must lose time finding Surprise Valley. Ihoped the Indian could find it. Then we'd bring Lassiter and Jane hereand hide them near till dark, then take you and go. That would give us anight's start. But you must help us to Surprise Valley. "

"I can go right to it, blindfolded, or in the dark. .. . Oh, John, hurry!I dread the wait. He might come again. "

"Joe says--they won't come very soon. "

"Is it far--where we're going--out of the country?"

"Ten days' hard riding. "

"Oh! That night ride to and from Stonebridge nearly killed me. But Icould walk very far, and climb for ever. "

"Fay, we'll get out of the country if I have to carry you. "

When they arrived at the cabin Fay turned on the porch step and, withher face nearer a level with his, white and sweet in the moonlight, withher eyes shining and unfathomable, she was more than beautiful. 

"You've never been inside my house, " she said. "Come in. I've somethingfor you. "

"But it's late, " he remonstrated. "I suppose you've got me a cake orpie--something to eat. You women all think Joe and I have to be fed. "

"No. You'd never guess. Come in, " she said, and the rare smile on herface was something Shefford would have gone far to see. 

"Well, then, for a minute. "

He crossed the porch, the threshold, and entered her home. Her dim, white shape moved in the darkness. And he followed into a room where themoon shone through the open window, giving soft, mellow, shadowy light. He discerned objects, but not clearly, for his senses seemed absorbed inthe strange warmth and intimacy of being for the first time with her inher home. 

"No, it's not good to eat, " she said, and her laugh was happy. "Here--"

Suddenly she abruptly ceased speaking. Shefford saw her plainly, and theslender form had stiffened, alert and strained. She was listening. 

"What was that?" she whispered. 

"I didn't hear anything, " he whispered back. 

He stepped softly nearer the open window and listened. 

Clip-clop! clip-clop! clip-clop! Hard hoofs on the hard path outside!

A strong and rippling thrill went over Shefford. In the soft light hereyes seemed unnaturally large and black and fearful. 

Clip-clop! clip-clop!

The horse stopped outside. Then followed a metallic clink of spuragainst stirrup--thud of boots on hard ground--heavy footsteps upon theporch. 

A swift, cold contraction of throat, of breast, convulsed Shefford. Hisonly thought was that he could not think. 

"Ho--Mary!"

A voice liberated both Shefford's muscle and mind--a voice of strange, vibrant power. Authority of religion and cruelty of will--theseMormon attributes constituted that power. And Shefford suffered atransformation which must have been ordered by demons. That sudden flameseemed to curl and twine and shoot along his veins with blasting force. A rancorous and terrible cry leaped to his lips. 

"Ho--Mary!" Then came a heavy tread across the threshold of the outerroom. 

Shefford dared not look at Fay. Yet, dimly, from the corner of his eye, he saw her, a pale shadow, turned to stone, with her arms out. If helooked, if he made sure of that, he was lost. When had he drawn his gun?It was there, a dark and glinting thing in his hand. He must fly--notthrough cowardice and fear, but because in one more moment he wouldkill a man. Swift as the thought he dove through the open window. And, leaping up, he ran under the dark pinyons toward camp. 

Joe Lake had been out late himself. He sat by the fire, smoking hispipe. He must have seen or heard Shefford coming, for he rose withunwonted alacrity, and he kicked the smoldering logs into a flickeringblaze. 

Shefford, realizing his deliverance, came panting, staggering into thelight. The Mormon uttered an exclamation. Then he spoke, anxiously, butwhat he said was not clear in Shefford's thick and throbbing ears. Hedropped his pipe, a sign of perturbation, and he stared. 

But Shefford, without a word, lunged swiftly away into the shadow of thecedars. He found relief in action. He began a steep ascent of the eastwall, a dangerous slant he had never dared even in daylight, and heclimbed it without a slip. Danger, steep walls, perilous heights, night, and black canyon the same--these he never thought of. But somethingdrove him to desperate effort, that the hours might seem short. 

. . . . . . . . . . . 

The red sun was tipping the eastern wall when he returned to camp, andhe was neither calm nor sure of himself nor ready for sleep or food. Only he had put the night behind him. 

The Indian showed no surprise. But Joe Lake's jaw dropped and his eyesrolled. Moreover, Joe bore a singular aspect, the exact nature of whichdid not at once dawn upon Shefford. 

"By God! you've got nerve--or you're crazy!" he ejaculated, hoarsely. 

Then it was Shefford's turn to stare. The Mormon was haggard, grieved, frightened, and utterly amazed. He appeared to be trying to make certainof Shefford's being there in the flesh and then to find reason for it. 

"I've no nerve and I am crazy, " replied Shefford. "But, Joe--what do youmean? Why do you look at me like that?"

"I reckon if I get your horse that'll square us. Did you come back forhim? You'd better hit the trail quick. "

"It's you now who're crazy, " burst out Shefford. 

"Wish to God I was, " replied Joe. 

It was then Shefford realized catastrophe, and cold fear gnawed at hisvitals, so that he was sick. 

"Joe, what has happened?" he asked, with the blood thick in his heart. 

"Hadn't you better tell me?" demanded the Mormon, and a red wave blottedout the haggard shade of his face. 

"You talk like a fool, " said Shefford, sharply, and he strode right upto Joe. 

"See here, Shefford, we've been pards. You're making it hard for me. Reckon you ain't square. "

Shefford shot out a long arm and his hand clutched the Mormon's burlyshoulder. 

"Why am I not square? What do you mean?"

Joe swallowed hard and gave himself a shake. Then he eyed his comradesteadily. 

"I was afraid you'd kill him. I reckon I can't blame you. I'll help youget away. And I'm a Mormon! Do you take the hunch?. .. But don't deny youkilled him!"

"Killed whom?" gasped Shefford. 

"Her husband!"

Shefford seemed stricken by a slow, paralyzing horror. The Mormon'schanging face grew huge and indistinct and awful in his sight. He wasclutched and shaken in Joe's rude hands, yet scarcely felt them. Joeseemed to be bellowing at him, but the voice was far off. Then Sheffordbegan to see, to hear through some cold and terrible deadness that hadcome between him and everything. 

"Say YOU killed him!" hoarsely supplicated the Mormon. 

Shefford had not yet control of speech. Something in his gaze appearedto drive Joe frantic. 

"Damn you! Tell me quick. Say YOU killed him!. .. If you want to knowmy stand, why, I'm glad!. .. Shefford, don't look so stony! . .. For HERsake, say you killed him!"

Shefford stood with a face as gray and still as stone. With a groan theMormon drew away from him and sank upon a log. He bowed his head; hisbroad shoulders heaved; husky sounds came from him. Then with a violentwrench he plunged to his feet and shook himself like a huge, savage dog. 

"Reckon it's no time to weaken, " he said, huskily, and with the words adark, hard, somber bitterness came to his face. 

"Where--is--she?" whispered Shefford. 

"Shut up in the school-house, " he replied. 

"Did she--did she--"

"She neither denied nor confessed. "

"Have you--seen her?"

"Yes. "

"How did--she look?"

"Cool and quiet as the Indian there. .. . Game as hell! She always hadstuff in her. "

"Oh, Joe!. .. It's unbelievable!" cried Shefford. "That lovely, innocentgirl! She couldn't--she couldn't. "

"She's fixed him. Don't think of that. It's too late. We ought to havesaved her. "

"God!. .. She begged me to hurry--to take her away. "

"Think what we can do NOW to save her, " cut in the Mormon. 

Shefford sustained a vivifying shock. "To save her?" he echoed. 

"Think, man!"

"Joe, I can hit the trail and let you tell them I killed him, " burst outShefford in panting excitement. 

"Reckon I can. "

"So help me God I'll do it!"

The Mormon turned a dark and austere glance upon Shefford. 

"You mustn't leave her. She killed him for your sake. .. . You must fightfor her now--save her--take her away. "

"But the law!"

"Law!" scoffed Joe. "In these wilds men get killed and there's no law. But if she's taken back to Stonebridge those iron-jawed old Mormons willmake law enough to--to. .. Shefford, the thing is--get her away. Once outof the country, she's safe. Mormons keep their secrets. "

"I'll take her. Joe, will you help me?"

Shefford, even in his agitation, felt the Mormon's silence to be aconsent that need not have been asked. And Shefford had a passionategratefulness toward his comrade. That stultifying and blinding prejudicewhich had always seemed to remove a Mormon outside the pale of certainvirtue suffered final eclipse; and Joe Lake stood out a man, strange andcrude, but with a heart and a soul. 

"Joe, tell me what to do, " said Shefford, with a simplicity that meanthe needed only to be directed. 

"Pull yourself together. Get your nerve back, " replied Joe. "Reckonyou'd better show yourself over there. No one saw you come in thismorning--your absence from camp isn't known. It's better you seemcurious and shocked like the rest of us. Come on. We'll go over. Andafterward we'll get the Indian, and plan. "

They left camp and, crossing the brook, took the shaded path toward thevillage. Hope of saving Fay, the need of all his strength and nerveand cunning to effect that end, gave Shefford the supreme courage toovercome his horror and fear. On that short walk under the pinyons toFay's cabin he had suffered many changes of emotion, but never anythinglike this change which made him fierce and strong to fight, deep andcrafty to plan, hard as iron to endure. 

The village appeared very quiet, though groups of women stood at thedoors of cabins. If they talked, it was very low. Henninger and Smith, two of the three Mormon men living in the village, were standingbefore the closed door of the school-house. A tigerish feeling thrilledShefford when he saw them on guard there. Shefford purposely avoidedlooking at Fay's cabin as long as he could keep from it. When he had tolook he saw several hooded, whispering women in the yard, and Beal, theother Mormon man, standing in the cabin door. Upon the porch lay thelong shape of a man, covered with blankets. 

Shefford experienced a horrible curiosity. 

"Say, Beal, I've fetched Shefford over, " said Lake. "He's pretty muchcut up. "

Beal wagged a solemn head, but said nothing. His mind seemed absent orsteeped in gloom, and he looked up as one silently praying. 

Joe Lake strode upon the little porch and, reaching down, he strippedthe blanket from the shrouded form. 

Shefford saw a sharp, cold, ghastly face. "WAGGONER!" he whispered. 

"Yes, " replied Lake. 

Waggoner! Shefford remembered the strange power in his face, and, nowthat life had gone, that power was stripped of all disguise. Death, inShefford's years of ministry, had lain under his gaze many times and ina multiplicity of aspects, but never before had he seen it stamped sostrangely. Shefford did not need to be told that here was a man whobelieved he had conversed with God on earth, who believed he had adivine right to rule women, who had a will that would not yield itselfto death utterly. Waggoner, then, was the devil who had come masked toSurprise Valley, had forced a martyrdom upon Fay Larkin. And this wasthe Mormon who had made Fay Larkin a murderess. Shefford had hatedhim living, and now he hated him dead. Death here was robbed of allnobility, of pathos, of majesty. It was only retribution. Wild justice!But alas! that it had to be meted out by a white-soled girl whoseinnocence was as great as the unconscious savagery which she hadassimilated from her lonely and wild environment. Shefford laid adespairing curse upon his own head, and a terrible remorse knocked athis heart. He had left her alone, this girl in whom love had made thegreat change--like a coward he had left her alone. That curse he visitedupon himself because he had been the spirit and the motive of this wildjustice, and his should have been the deed. 

Joe Lake touched Shefford's arm and pointed at the haft of a knifeprotruding from Waggoner's breast. It was a wooden haft. Shefford hadseen it before somewhere. 

Then he was struck with what perhaps Joe meant him to see--the singularimpression the haft gave of one sweeping, accurate, powerful stroke. Astrong arm had driven that blade home. The haft was sunk deep; there wasa little depression in the cloth; no blood showed; and the weapon lookedas if it could not be pulled out. Shefford's thought went fatally andirresistibly to Fay Larkin's strong arm. He saw her flash that white armand lift the heavy bucket from the spring with an ease he wondered at. He felt the strong clasp of her hand as she had given it to him in aflying leap across a crevice upon the walls. Yes, her fine hand and theround, strong arm possessed the strength to have given that bladeits singular directness and force. The marvel was not in the physicalaction. It hid inscrutably in the mystery of deadly passion rising outof a gentle and sad heart. 

Joe Lake drew up the blanket and shut from Shefford's fascinated gazethat spare form, that accusing knife, that face of strange, cruel power. 

"Anybody been sent for?" asked Lake of Beal. 

"Yes. An Indian boy went for the Piute. We'll send him to Stonebridge, "replied the Mormon. 

"How soon do you expect any one here from Stonebridge?"

"To-morrow, mebbe by noon. "

"Meantime what's to be done with--this?"

"Elder Smith thinks the body should stay right here where it fell tillthey come from Stonebridge. "

"Waggoner was found here, then?"

"Right here. "

"Who found him?"

"Mother Smith. She came over early. An' the sight made her scream. Thewomen all came runnin'. Mother Smith had to be put to bed. "

"Who found--Mary?"

"See here, Joe, I told you all I knowed once before, " replied theMormon, testily. 

"I've forgotten. Was sort of bewildered. Tell me again. .. . Whofound--her?"

"The women folks. She laid right inside the door, in a dead faint. Shehadn't undressed. There was blood on her hands an' a cut or scratch. Thewomen fetched her to. But she wouldn't talk. Then Elder Smith come an'took her. They've got her locked up. "

Then Joe led Shefford away from the cabin farther on into the village. When they were halted by the somber, grieving women it was Joe who didthe talking. They passed the school-house, and here Shefford quickenedhis step. He could scarcely bear the feeling that rushed over him. Andthe Mormon gripped his arm as if he understood. 

"Shefford, which one of these younger women do you reckon your bestfriend? Ruth?" asked Lake, earnestly. 

"Ruth, by all means. Just lately I haven't seen her often. But we'vebeen close friends. I think she'd do much for me. "

"Maybe there'll be a chance to find out. Maybe we'll need Ruth. Let'shave a word with her. I haven't seen her out among the women. "

They stopped at the door of Ruth's cabin. It was closed. When Joeknocked there came a sound of footsteps inside, a hand drew aside thewindow-blind, and presently the door opened. Ruth stood there, dressedin somber hue. She was a pretty, slender, blue-eyed, brown-haired youngwoman. 

Shefford imagined from her pallor and the set look of shock upon herface, that the tragedy had affected her more powerfully than it had theother women. When he remembered that she had been more friendly withFay Larkin than any other neighbor, he made sure he was right in hisconjecture. 

"Come in, " was Ruth's greeting. 

"No. We just wanted to say a word. I noticed you've not been out. Do youknow--all about it?"

She gave them a strange glance. 

"Any of the women folks been in?" added Joe. 

"Hester ran over. She told me through the window. Then I barred my doorto keep the other women out. "

"What for?" asked Joe, curiously. 

"Please come in, " she said, in reply. 

They entered, and she closed the door after them. The change that cameover her then was the loosing of restraint. 

"Joe--what will they do with Mary?" she queried, tensely. 

The Mormon studied her with dark, speculative eyes. "Hang her!" herejoined in brutal harshness. 

"O Mother of Saints!" she cried, and her hands went up. 

"You're sorry for Mary, then?" asked Joe, bluntly. 

"My heart is breaking for her. "

"Well, so's Shefford's, " said the Mormon, huskily. "And mine's kind ofdamn shaky. "

Ruth glided to Shefford with a woman's swift softness. 

"You've been my good--my best friend. You were hers, too. Oh, I know!. .. Can't you do something for her?"

"I hope to God I can, " replied Shefford. 

Then the three stood looking from one to the other, in a strong andsubtly realizing moment drawn together. 

"Ruth, " whispered Joe, hoarsely, and then he glanced fearfully around, at the window and door, as if listeners were there. It was certainthat his dark face had paled. He tried to whisper more, only to fail. Shefford divined the weight of Mormonism that burdened Joe Lake then. Joe was faithful to a love for Fay Larkin, noble in friendship toShefford, desperate in a bitter strait with his own manliness, but thepower of that creed by which he had been raised struck his lips mute. For to speak on meant to be false to that creed. Already in his heart hehad decided, yet he could not voice the thing. 

"Ruth"--Shefford took up the Mormon's unfinished whisper--"if we plan tosave her--if we need you--will you help?"

Ruth turned white, but an instant and splendid fire shone in her eyes. 

"Try me, " she whispered back. "I'll change places with her--so you canget her away. They can't do much to me. "

Shefford wrung her hands. Joe licked his lips and found his voice:"We'll come back later. " Then he led the way out and Shefford followed. They were silent all the way back to camp. 

Nas Ta Bega sat in repose where they had left him, a thoughtful, somberfigure. Shefford went directly to the Indian, and Joe tarried at thecamp-fire, where he raked out some red embers and put one upon the bowlof his pipe. He puffed clouds of white smoke, then found a seat besidethe others. 

"Shefford, go ahead. Talk. It'll take a deal of talk. I'll listen. ThenI'll talk. It'll be Nas Ta Bega who makes the plan out of it all. "

Shefford launched himself so swiftly that he scarcely talked coherently. But he made clear the points that he must save Fay, get her away fromthe village, let her lead him to Surprise Valley, rescue Lassiter andJane Withersteen, and take them all out of the country. 

Joe Lake dubiously shook his head. Manifestly the Surprise Valley partof the situation presented a new and serious obstacle. It changed thewhole thing. To try to take the three out by way of Kayenta and Durangowas not to be thought of, for reasons he briefly stated. The Red Laketrail was the only one left, and if that were taken the chances wereagainst Shefford. It was five days over sand to Red Lake--impossible tohide a trail--and even with a day's start Shefford could not escape thehard-riding men who would come from Stonebridge. Besides, after reachingRed Lake, there were days and days of desert-travel needful to avoidplaces like Blue Canyon, Tuba, Moencopie, and the Indian villages. 

"We'll have to risk all that, " declared Shefford, desperately. 

"It's a fool risk, " retorted Joe. "Listen. By tomorrow noon all ofStonebridge, more or less, will be riding in here. You've got to getaway to-night with the girl--or never! And to-morrow you've got to findthat Lassiter and the woman in Surprise Valley. This valley must beback, deep in the canyon country. Well, you've got to come out thisway again. No trail through here would be safe. Why, you'd put all yourheads in a rope!. .. You mustn't come through this way. It'll have to betried across country, off the trails, and that means hell--day-and-nighttravel, no camp, no feed for horses--maybe no water. Then you'll havethe best trackers in Utah like hounds on your trail. "

When the Mormon ceased his forceful speech there was a silence fraughtwith hopeless meaning. He bowed his head in gloom. Shefford, growingsick again to his marrow, fought a cold, hateful sense of despair. 

"Bi Nai!" In his extremity he called to the Indian. 

"The Navajo has heard, " replied Nas Ta Bega, strangely speaking in hisown language. 

With a long, slow heave of breast Shefford felt his despair leave him. In the Indian lay his salvation. He knew it. Joe Lake caught the subtlespirit of the moment and looked up eagerly. 

Nas Ta Bega stretched an arm toward the east, and spoke in Navajo. But Shefford, owing to the hurry and excitement of his mind, could nottranslate. Joe Lake listened, gave a violent start, leaped up with allhis big frame quivering, and then fired question after question at theIndian. When the Navajo had replied to all, Joe drew himself up as iffacing an irrevocable decision which would wring his very soul. What didhe cast off in that moment? What did he grapple with? Shefford had nomeans to tell, except by the instinct which baffled him. But whether theMormon's trial was one of spiritual rending or the natural physicalfear of a perilous, virtually impossible venture, the fact was he wasmagnificent in his acceptance of it. He turned to Shefford, white, cold, yet glowing. 

"Nas Ta Bega believes he can take you down a canyon to the bigriver--the Colorado. He knows the head of this canyon. Nonnezoshe Bocoit's called--canyon of the rainbow bridge. He has never been down it. Only two or three living Indians have ever seen the great stone bridge. But all have heard of it. They worship it as a god. There's water runsdown this canyon and water runs to the river. Nas Ta Bega thinks he cantake you down to the river. "

"Go on, " cried Shefford breathlessly, as Joe paused. 

"The Indian plans this way. God, it's great!. .. If only I can do myend!. .. He plans to take mustangs to-day and wait with them for youto-night or to-morrow till you come with the girl. You'll go getLassiter and the woman out of Surprise Valley. Then you'll strike eastfor Nonnezoshe Boco. If possible, you must take a pack of grub. You maybe days going down--and waiting for me at the mouth of the canyon, atthe river. "

"Joe! Where will you be?"

"I'll ride like hell for Kayenta, get another horse there, and ridelike hell for the San Juan River. There's a big flatboat at the Durangocrossing. I'll go down the San Juan in that--into the big river. I'lldrift down by day, tie up by night, and watch for you at the mouth ofevery canyon till I come to Nonnezoshe Boco. "

Shefford could not believe the evidence of his ears. He knew thetreacherous San Juan River. He had heard of the great, sweeping, terrible red Colorado and its roaring rapids. 

"Oh, it seems impossible!" he gasped. "You'll just lose your life fornothing. "

"The Indian will turn the trick, I tell you. Take my hunch. It's nothingfor me to drift down a swift river. I worked a ferry-boat once. "

Shefford, to whom flying straws would have seemed stable, caught theinflection of defiance and daring and hope of the Mormon's spirit. 

"What then--after you meet us at the mouth of Nonnezoshe Boco?" hequeried. 

"We'll all drift down to Lee's Ferry. That's at the head of MarbleCanyon. We'll get out on the south side of the river, thus avoidingany Mormons at the ferry. Nas Ta Bega knows the country. It's opendesert--on the other side of these plateaus. He can get horses fromNavajos. Then you'll strike south for Willow Springs. "

"Willow Springs? That's Presbrey's trading-post, " said Shefford. 

"Never met him. But he'll see you safe out of the Painted Desert. . .. The thing that worries me most is how not to miss you all at the mouthof Nonnezoshe. You must have sharp eyes. But I forget the Indian. A birdcouldn't pass him. .. . And suppose Nonnezoshe Boco has a steep-walled, narrow mouth opening into a rapids!. .. Whew! Well, the Indian willfigure that, too. Now, let's put our heads together and plan how to turnthis end of the trick here. Getting the girl!"

After a short colloquy it was arranged that Shefford would go to Ruthand talk to her of the aid she had promised. Joe averred that this aidcould be best given by Ruth going in her somber gown and hood to theschool-house, and there, while Joe and Shefford engaged the guardsoutside, she would change apparel and places with Fay and let her comeforth. 

"What'll they do to Ruth?" demanded Shefford. "We can't accept hersacrifice if she's to suffer--or be punished. "

"Reckon Ruth has a strong hunch that she can get away with it. Did younotice how strange she said that? Well, they can't do much to her. Thebishop may damn her soul. But--Ruth--"

Here Lake hesitated and broke off. Not improbably he had meant to saythat of all the Mormon women in the valley Ruth was the least likely tosuffer from punishment inflicted upon her soul. 

"Anyway, it's our only chance, " went on Joe, "unless we kill a couple ofmen. Ruth will gladly take what comes to help you. "

"All right; I consent, " replied Shefford, with emotion. "And now aftershe comes out--the supposed Ruth--what then?"

"You can be natural-like. Go with her back to Ruth's cabin. Then strolloff into the cedars. Then climb the west wall. Meanwhile Nas Ta Begawill ride off with a pack of grub and Nack-yal and several othermustangs. He'll wait for you or you'll wait for him, as the case may be, at some appointed place. When you're gone I'll jump my horse and hit thetrail for Kayenta and the San Juan. "

"Very well; that's settled, " said Shefford, soberly. "I'll go at once tosee Ruth. You and Nas Ta Bega decide on where I'm to meet him. "

"Reckon you'd do just as well to walk round and come up to Ruth's fromthe other side--instead of going through the village, " suggested Joe. 

Shefford approached Ruth's cabin in a roundabout way; nevertheless, shesaw him coming before he got there and, opening the door, stood pale, composed, and quietly bade him enter. Briefly, in low and earnest voice, Shefford acquainted her with the plan. 

"You love her so much, " she said, wistfully, wonderingly. 

"Indeed I do. Is it too much to ask of you to do this thing?" he asked. 

"Do it?" she queried, with a flash of spirit. "Of course I'll do it. "

"Ruth, I can't thank you. I can't. I've only a faint idea what you'rerisking. That distresses me. I'm afraid of what may happen to you. "

She gave him another of the strange glances. "I don't risk so much asyou think, " she said, significantly. 

"Why?"

She came close to him, and her hands clasped his arms and she looked upat him, her eyes darkening and her face growing paler. "Will you swearto keep my secret?" she asked, very low. 

"Yes, I swear. "

"I was one of Waggoner's sealed wives!"

"God Almighty!" broke out Shefford, utterly overwhelmed. 

"Yes. That's why I say I don't risk so much. I will make up a story totell the bishop and everybody. I'll tell that Waggoner was jealous, thathe was brutal to Mary, that I believed she was goaded to her mad deed, that I thought she ought to be free. They'll be terrible. But what canthey do to me? My husband is dead. .. And if I have to go to hell to keepfrom marrying another married Mormon, I'll go!"

In that low, passionate utterance Shefford read the death-blow to theold Mormon polygamous creed. In the uplift of his spirit, in the joy atthis revelation, he almost forgot the stern matter at hand. Ruth and JoeLake belonged to a younger generation of Mormons. Their nobility in thisinstance was in part a revolt at the conditions of their lives. Doubtwas knocking at Joe Lake's heart, and conviction had come to this youngsealed wife, bitter and hopeless while she had been fettered, strong andmounting now that she was free. In a flash of inspiration Shefford sawthe old order changing. The Mormon creed might survive, but that part ofit which was an affront to nature, a horrible yoke on women's necks, was doomed. It could not live. It could never have survived more than ageneration or two of religious fanatics. Shefford had marked a differentforce and religious fervor in the younger Mormons, and now he understoodthem. 

"Ruth, you talk wildly, " he said. "But I understand. I see. You are freeand you're going to stay free. .. . It stuns me to think of that man ofmany wives. What did you feel when you were told he was dead?"

"I dare not think of that. It makes me--wicked. And he was good tome. .. . Listen. Last night about midnight he came to my window and wokeme. I got up and let him in. He was in a terrible state. I thought hewas crazy. He walked the floor and called on his saints and prayed. WhenI wanted to light a lamp he wouldn't let me. He was afraid I'd see hisface. But I saw well enough in the moonlight. And I knew somethinghad happened. So I soothed and coaxed him. He had been a man asclose-mouthed as a stone. Yet then I got him to talk. .. . He had goneto Mary's, and upon entering, thought he heard some one with her. Shedidn't answer him at first. When he found her in her bedroom she waslike a ghost. He accused her. Her silence made him furious. Then heberated her, brought down the wrath of God upon her, threatened her withdamnation. All of which she never seemed to hear. But when he tried totouch her she flew at him like a she-panther. That's what he called her. She said she'd kill him! And she drove him out of her house. .. . He wasall weak and unstrung, and I believe scared, too, when he came to me. She must have been a fury. Those quiet, gentle women are furies whenthey're once roused. Well, I was hours up with him and finally hegot over it. He didn't pray any more. He paced the room. It was justdaybreak when he said the wrath of God had come to him. I tried to keephim from going back to Mary. But he went. .. . An hour later the women ranto tell me he had been found dead at Mary's door. "

"Ruth--she was mad--driven--she didn't know what she--was doing, " saidShefford, brokenly. 

"She was always a strange girl, more like an Indian than any one Iever knew. We called her the Sago Lily. I gave her the name. She was sosweet, lovely, white and gold, like those flowers. .. . And to think!Oh, it's horrible for her! You must save her. If you get her away therenever will be anything come of it. The Mormons will hush it up. "

"Ruth, time is flying, " rejoined Shefford, hurriedly. "I must go backto Joe. You be ready for us when we come. Wear something loose, easilythrown off, and don't forget the long hood. "

"I'll be ready and watching, " she said. "The sooner the better, I'dsay. "

He left her and returned toward camp in the same circling route by whichhe had come. The Indian had disappeared and so had his mustang. Thissignificant fact augmented Shefford's hurried, thrilling excitement. But one glance at Joe's face changed all that to a sudden numbness, asinking of his heart. 

"What is it?" he queried. 

"Look there!" exclaimed the Mormon. 

Shefford's quick eye caught sight of horses and men down the valley. Hesaw several Indians and three or four white men. They were making camp. 

"Who are they?" demanded Shefford. 

"Shadd and some of his gang. Reckon that Piute told the news. Byto-morrow the valley will be full as a horse-wrangler's corral. .. . LuckyNas Ta Bega got away before that gang rode in. Now things won't lookas queer as they might have looked. The Indian took a pack of grub, sixmustangs, and my guns. Then there was your rifle in your saddle-sheath. So you'll be well heeled in case you come to close quarters. Reckonyou can look for a running fight. For now, as soon as your flight isdiscovered, Shadd will hit your trail. He's in with the Mormons. Youknow him--what you'll have to deal with. But the advantage will all beyours. You can ambush the trail. "

"We're in for it. And the sooner we're off the better, " repliedShefford, grimly. 

"Reckon that's gospel. Well--come on!"

The Mormon strode off, and Shefford, catching up with him, kept at hisside. Shefford's mind was full, but Joe's dark and gloomy face did notinvite communication. They entered the pinyon grove and passed thecabin where the tragedy had been enacted. A tarpaulin had been stretchedacross the front porch. Beal was not in sight, nor were any of thewomen. 

"I forgot, " said Shefford, suddenly. "Where am I to meet the Indian?"

"Climb the west wall, back of camp, " replied Joe. "Nas Ta Bega took theStonebridge trail. But he'll leave that, climb the rocks, then hide theoutfit and come back to watch for you. Reckon he'll see you when you topthe wall. "

They passed on into the heart of the village. Joe tarried at the windowof a cabin, and passed a few remarks to a woman there, and then heinquired for Mother Smith at her house. When they left here the Mormongave Shefford a nudge. Then they separated, Joe going toward theschool-house, while Shefford bent his steps in the direction of Ruth'shome. 

Her door opened before he had a chance to knock. He entered. Ruth, whiteand resolute, greeted him with a wistful smile. 

"All ready?" she asked. 

"Yes. Are you?" he replied, low-voiced. 

"I've only to put on my hood. I think luck favors you. Hester was hereand she said Elder Smith told some one that Mary hadn't been offeredanything to eat yet. So I'm taking her a little. It'll be a good excusefor me to get in the school-house to see her. I can throw off this dressand she can put it on in a minute. Then the hood. I mustn't forget tohide her golden hair. You know how it flies. But this is a big hood. .. . Well, I'm ready now. And--this 's our last time together. "

"Ruth, what can I say--how can I thank you?"

"I don't want any thanks. It'll be something to think of always--to makeme happy. .. . Only I'd like to feel you--you cared a little. "

The wistful smile was there, a tremor on the sad lips, and a shadow ofsoul-hunger in her eyes. Shefford did not misunderstand her. She didnot mean love, although it was a yearning for real love that she mutelyexpressed. 

"Care! I shall care all my life, " he said, with strong feeling. "I shallnever forget you. "

"It's not likely I'll forget you. .. . Good-by, John!"

Shefford took her in his arms and held her close. "Ruth--good-by!" hesaid, huskily. 

Then he released her. She adjusted the hood and, taking up a little traywhich held food covered with a napkin, she turned to the door. He openedit and they went out. 

They did not speak another word. 

It was not a long walk from Ruth's home to the school-house, yet if itwere to be measured by Shefford's emotion the distance would have beenunending. The sacrifice offered by Ruth and Joe would have been nobleunder any circumstances had they been Gentiles or persons with noparticular religion, but, considering that they were Mormons, that Ruthhad been a sealed-wife, that Joe had been brought up under the strange, secret, and binding creed, their action was no less than tremendous inits import. Shefford took it to mean vastly more than loyalty to himand pity for Fay Larkin. As Ruth and Joe had arisen to this height, so perhaps would other young Mormons, have arisen. It needed only thesituation, the climax, to focus these long-insulated, slow-developingand inquiring minds upon the truth--that one wife, one mother ofchildren, for one man at one time as a law of nature, love, andrighteousness. Shefford felt as if he were marching with the wholeyounger generation of Mormons, as if somehow he had been a humbleinstrument in the working out of their destiny, in the awakening thatwas to eliminate from their religion the only thing which kept it frombeing as good for man, and perhaps as true, as any other religion. 

And then suddenly he turned the corner of school-house to encounter Joetalking with the Mormon Henninger. Elder Smith was not present. 

"Why, hello, Ruth!" greeted Joe. "You've fetched Mary some dinner. Nowthat's good of you. "

"May I go in?" asked Ruth. 

"Reckon so, " replied Henninger, scratching his head. He appeared to betractable, and probably was good-natured under pleasant conditions. "Sheought to have somethin' to eat. An' nobody 'pears--to have rememberedthat--we're so set up. "

He unbarred the huge, clumsy door and allowed Ruth to pass in. 

"Joe, you can go in if you want, " he said. "But hurry out before ElderSmith comes back from his dinner. "

Joe mumbled something, gave a husky cough, and then went in. 

Shefford experienced great difficulty in presenting to this mild Mormona natural and unagitated front. When all his internal structure seemedto be in a state of turmoil he did not see how it was possible to keepthe fact from showing in his face. So he turned away and took aimlesssteps here and there. 

"'Pears like we'd hev rain, " observed Henninger. "It's right warm an'them clouds are onseasonable. "

"Yes, " replied Shefford. "Hope so. A little rain would be good for thegrass. "

"Joe tells me Shadd rode in, an' some of his fellers. "

"So I see. About eight in the party. "

Shefford was gritting his teeth and preparing to endure the ordeal ofcontrolling his mind and expression when the door opened and Joe stalkedout. He had his sombrero pulled down so that it hid the upper half ofhis face. His lips were a shade off healthy color. He stood there withhis back to the door. 

"Say, what Mary needs is quiet--to be left alone, " he said. "Ruth saysif she rests, sleeps a little, she won't get fever. .. . Henninger, don'tlet anybody disturb her till night. "

"All right, Joe, " replied the Mormon. "An' I take it good of Ruth an'you to concern yourselves. "

A slight tap on the inside of the door sent Shefford's pulses tothrobbing. Joe opened it with a strong and vigorous sweep that meantmore than the mere action. 

"Ruth--reckon you didn't stay long, " he said, and his voice rang clear. "Sure you feel sick and weak. Why, seeing her flustered even me!"

A slender, dark-garbed woman wearing a long black hood steppeduncertainly out. She appeared to be Ruth. Shefford's heart stood stillbecause she looked so like Ruth. But she did not step steadily, sheseemed dazed, she did not raise the hooded head. 

"Go home, " said Joe, and his voice rang a little louder. "Take her home, Shefford. Or, better, walk her round some. She's faintish . .. . And seehere, Henninger--"

Shefford led the girl away with a hand in apparent carelessness on herarm. After a few rods she walked with a freer step and then a swifter. He found it necessary to make that hold on her arm a real one, so asto keep her from walking too fast. No one, however, appeared to observethem. When they passed Ruth's house then Shefford began to lose hisfear that this was not Fay Larkin. He was far from being calm orclear-sighted. He thought he recognized that free step; nevertheless, he could not make sure. When they passed under the trees, crossedthe brook, and turned down along the west wall, then doubt ceased inShefford's mind. He knew this was not Ruth. Still, so strange was hisagitation, so keen his suspense, that he needed confirmation of ear, ofeye. He wanted to hear her voice, to see her face. Yet just as strangelythere was a twist of feeling, a reluctance, a sadness that kept off themoment. 

They reached the low, slow-swelling slant of wall and started to ascend. How impossible not to recognize Fay Larkin now in that swift grace andskill on the steep wall! Still, though he knew her, he perversely clungto the unreality of the moment. But when a long braid of dead-gold hairtumbled from under the hood, then his heart leaped. That identifiedFay Larkin. He had freed her. He was taking her away. Then a sadnessembittered his joy. 

As always before, she distanced him in the ascent to the top. She wenton without looking back. But Shefford had an irresistible desire to tookagain and the last time at this valley where he had suffered and lovedso much. 

XVI. SURPRISE VALLEY

From the summit of the wall the plateau waved away in red and yellowridges, with here and there little valleys green with cedar and pinyon. 

Upon one of these ridges, silhouetted against the sky, appearedthe stalking figure of the Indian. He had espied the fugitives. Hedisappeared in a niche, and presently came again into view round acorner of cliff. Here he waited, and soon Shefford and Fay joined him. 

"Bi Nai, it is well, " he said. 

Shefford eagerly asked for the horses, and Nas Ta Bega silently pointeddown the niche, which was evidently an opening into one of the shallowcanyon. Then he led the way, walking swiftly. It was Shefford, andnot Fay, who had difficulty in keeping close to him. This speed causedShefford to become more alive to the business, instead of the feeling, of the flight. The Indian entered a crack between low cliffs--a verynarrow canyon full of rocks and clumps of cedars--and in a half-hour orless he came to where the mustangs were halted among some cedars. Threeof the mustangs, including Nack-yal, were saddled; one bore a smallpack, and the remaining two had blankets strapped on their backs. 

"Fay, can you ride in that long skirt?" asked Shefford. How strangeit seemed that his first words to her were practical when all hisimpassioned thought had been only mute! But the instant he spoke heexperienced a relief, a relaxation. 

"I'll take it off, " replied Fay, just as practically. And in a twinklingshe slipped out of both waist and skirt. She had worn them over theshort white-flannel dress with which Shefford had grown familiar. 

As Nack-yal appeared to be the safest mustang for her to ride, Sheffordhelped her upon him and then attended to the stirrups. When he hadadjusted them to the proper length he drew the bridle over Nack-yal'shead and, upon handing it to her, found himself suddenly looking intoher face. She had taken off the hood, too. The instant there eyes met herealized that she was strangely afraid to meet his glance, as he was tomeet hers. That seemed natural. But her face was flushed and there wereunmistakable signs upon it of growing excitement, of mounting happiness. Save for that fugitive glance she would have been the Fay Larkin ofyesterday. How he had expected her to look he did not know, but it wasnot like this. And never had he felt her strange quality of simplicityso powerfully. 

"Have you ever been here--through this little canyon?" he asked. 

"Oh yes, lots of times. "

"You'll be able to lead us to Surprise Valley, you think?"

"I know it. I shall see Uncle Jim and Mother Jane before sunset!"

"I hope--you do, " he replied, a little shakily. "Perhaps we'd better nottell them of the--the--about what happened last night. "

Her beautiful, grave, and troubled glance returned to meet his, andhe received a shock that he considered was amaze. And after more swiftconsideration he believed he was amazed because that look, instead ofbetraying fear or gloom or any haunting shadow of darkness, betrayedapprehension for him--grave, sweet, troubled love for him. She was notthinking of herself at all--of what he might think of her, of a possiblegulf between them, of a vast and terrible change in the relation ofsoul to soul. He experienced a profound gladness. Though he could notunderstand her, he was happy that the horror of Waggoner's death hadescaped her. He loved her, he meant to give his life to her, and rightthen and there he accepted the burden of her deed and meant to bear itwithout ever letting her know of the shadow between them. 

"Fay, we'll forget--what's behind us, " he said. "Now to find SurpriseValley. Lead on. Nack-yal is gentle. Pull him the way you want to go. We'll follow. "

Shefford mounted the other saddled mustang, and they set off, Fayin advance. Presently they rode out of this canyon up to levelcedar-patched, solid rock, and here Fay turned straight west. Evidentlyshe had been over the ground before. The heights to which he had climbedwith her were up to the left, great slopes and looming promontories. Andthe course she chose was as level and easy as any he could have pickedout in that direction. 

When a mile or more of this up-and-down travel had been traversed Fayhalted and appeared to be at fault. The plateau was losing its rounded, smooth, wavy characteristics, and to the west grew bolder, more rugged, more cut up into low crags and buttes. After a long, sweeping glance Fayheaded straight for this rougher country. Thereafter from time to timeshe repeated this action. 

"Fay, how do you know you're going in the right direction?" askedShefford, anxiously. 

"I never forget any ground I've been over. I keep my eyes close ahead. All that seems strange to me is the wrong way. What I've seen, beforemust be the right way, because I saw it when they brought me fromSurprise Valley. "

Shefford had to acknowledge that she was following an Indian's instinctfor ground he had once covered. 

Still Shefford began to worry, and finally dropped back to question NasTa Bega. 

"Bi Nai, she has the eye of a Navajo, " replied the Indian. "Look!Iron-shod horses have passed here. See the marks in the stone?"

Shefford indeed made out faint cut tracks that would have escaped hisown sight. They had been made long ago, but they were unmistakable. 

"She's following the trail by memory--she must remember the stones, trees, sage, cactus, " said Shefford in surprise. 

"Pictures in her mind, " replied the Indian. 

Thereafter the farther she progressed the less at fault she appeared andthe faster she traveled. She made several miles an hour, and aboutthe middle of the afternoon entered upon the more broken region of theplateau. View became restricted. Low walls, and ruined cliffs of redrock with cedars at their base, and gullies growing into canyon andcanyon opening into larger ones--these were passed and crossed andclimbed and rimmed in travel that grew more difficult as the goingbecame wilder. Then there was a steady ascent, up and up all the time, though not steep, until another level, green with cedar and pinyon, wasreached. 

It reminded Shefford of the forest near the mouth of the Sagi. It was sodense he could not see far ahead of Fay, and often he lost sight of herentirely. Presently he rode out of the forest into a strip of purplesage. It ended abruptly, and above that abrupt line, seemingly far away, rose a long, red wall. Instantly he recognized that to be the oppositewall of a canyon which as yet he could not see. 

Fay was acting strangely and he hurried forward. She slipped offNack-yal and fell, sprang up and ran wildly, to stand upon a promontory, her arms uplifted, her hair a mass of moving gold in the wind, herattitude one of wild and eloquent significance. 

Shefford ran, too, and as he ran the red wall in his eager sight seemedto enlarge downward, deeper and deeper, and then it merged into a stripof green. 

Suddenly beneath him yawned a red-walled gulf, a deceiving gulf seenthrough transparent haze, a softly shining green-and-white valley, strange, wild, beautiful, like a picture in his memory. 

"Surprise Valley!" he cried, in wondering recognition. 

Fay Larkin waved her arms as if they were wings to carry her swiftlydownward, and her plaintive cry fitted the wildness of her manner andthe lonely height where she leaned. 

Shefford drew her back from the rim. 

"Fay, we are here, " he said. "I recognize the valley. I miss only onething--the arch of stone. "

His words seemed to recall her to reality. 

"The arch? That fell when the wall slipped, in the great avalanche. See!There is the place. We can get down there. Oh, let us hurry!"

The Indian reached the rim and his falcon gaze swept the valley. "Ugh!"he exclaimed. He, too, recognized the valley that he had vainly soughtfor half a year. 

"Bring the lassos, " said Shefford. 

With Fay leading, they followed the rim toward the head of the valley. Here the wall had caved in, and there was a slope of jumbled rock athousand feet wide and more than that in depth. It was easy to descendbecause there were so many rocks waist-high that afforded a handhold. Shefford marked, however, that Fay never took advantage of these. Morethan once he paused to watch her. Swiftly she went down; she steppedfrom rock to rock; lightly she crossed cracks and pits; she ran alongthe sharp and broken edge of a long ledge; she poised on a pointed stoneand, sure-footed as a mountain-sheep, she sprang to another that hadscarce surface for a foothold; her moccasins flashed, seemed to holdwondrously on any angle; and when a rock tipped or slipped with her sheleaped to a surer stand. Shefford watched her performance, so swift, agile, so perfectly balanced, showing such wonderful accord between eyeand foot; and then when he swept his gaze down upon that wild valleywhere she had roamed alone for twelve years he marveled no more. 

The farther down he got the greater became the size of rocks, untilhe found himself amid huge pieces of cliff as large as houses. He lostsight of Fay entirely, and he anxiously threaded a narrow, winding, descending way between the broken masses. Finally he came out upon flatrock again. Fay stood on another rim, looking down. He saw that theslide had moved far out into the valley, and the lower part of itconsisted of great sections of wall. In fact, the base of the greatwall had just moved out with the avalanche, and this much of it held itsvertical position. Looking upward, Shefford was astounded and thrilledto see how far he had descended, how the walls leaned like a great, wide, curving, continuous rim of mountain. 

"Here! Here!" called Fay. "Here's where they got down--where theybrought me up. Here are the sticks they used. They stuck them in thiscrack, down to that ledge. "

Shefford ran to her side and looked down. There was a narrow split inthis section of wall and it was perhaps sixty feet in depth. The floorof rock below led out in a ledge, with a sheer drop to the valley level. 

As Shefford gazed, pondering on a way to descend lower, the Indianreached his side. He had no sooner looked than he proceeded to act. Selecting one of the sticks, which were strong pieces of cedar, wellhewn and trimmed, he jammed it between the walls of the crack till itstuck fast. Then sitting astride this one he jammed in another somethree feet below. When he got down upon that one it was necessary forShefford to drop him a third stick. In a comparatively short time theIndian reached the ledge below. Then he called for the lassos. Sheffordthrew them down. His next move was an attempt to assist Fay, but sheslipped out of his grasp and descended the ladder with a swiftnessthat made him hold his breath. Still, when his turn came, her spiritso governed him that he went down as swiftly, and even leaped sheer thelast ten feet. 

Nas Ta Bega and Fay were leaning over the ledge. 

"Here's the place, " she said, excitedly. "Let me down on the rope. "

It took two thirty-foot lassos tied together to reach the floor of thevalley. Shefford folded his vest, put it round Fay, and slipped a loopof the lasso under her arms. Then he and Nas Ta Bega lowered her tothe grass below. Fay, throwing off the loop, bounded away like a wildcreature, uttering the strangest cries he had ever heard, and shedisappeared along the wall. 

"I'll go down, " said Shefford to the Indian. "You stay here to help pullus up. "

Hand over hand Shefford descended, and when his feet touched the grasshe experienced a shock of the most singular exultation. 

"In Surprise Valley!" he breathed, softly. The dream that had come tohim with his friend's story, the years of waiting, wondering, and thenthe long, fruitless, hopeless search in the desert uplands--these werein his mind as he turned along the wall where Fay had disappeared. Hefaced a wide terrace, green with grass and moss and starry with strangewhite flowers, and dark-foliaged, spear-pointed spruce-trees. Below theterrace sloped a bench covered with thick copse, and this merged intoa forest of dwarf oaks, and beyond that was a beautiful strip of whiteaspens, their leaves quivering in the stillness. The air was close, sweet, warm, fragrant, and remarkably dry. It reminded him of the air hehad smelled in dry caves under cliffs. He reached a point from where hesaw a meadow dotted with red-and-white-spotted cattle and little blackburros. There were many of them. And he remembered with a start theagony of toil and peril Venters had endured bringing the progenitors ofthis stock into the valley. What a strange, wild, beautiful story itall was! But a story connected with this valley could not have beenotherwise. 

Beyond the meadow, on the other side of the valley, extended the forest, and that ended in the rising bench of thicket, which gave place to greenslope and mossy terrace of sharp-tipped spruces--and all this led theeye irresistibly up to the red wall where a vast, dark, wonderful cavernyawned, with its rust-colored streaks of stain on the wall, and thequeer little houses of the cliff-dwellers, with their black, vacant, silent windows speaking so weirdly of the unknown past. 

Shefford passed a place where the ground had been cultivated, but notas recently as the last six months. There was a scant shock of corn andmany meager standing stalks. He became aware of a low, whining hum and afragrance overpowering in its sweetness. And there round another cornerof wall he came upon an orchard all pink and white in blossom andmelodious with the buzz and hum of innumerable bees. 

He crossed a little stream that had been dammed, went along a pond, downbeside an irrigation-ditch that furnished water to orchard and vineyard, and from there he strode into a beautiful cove between two juttingcorners of red wall. It was level and green and the spruces stoodgracefully everywhere. Beyond their dark trunks he saw caves in thewall. 

Suddenly the fragrance of blossom was overwhelmed by the strongerfragrance of smoke from a wood fire. Swiftly he strode under thespruces. Quail fluttered before him as tame as chickens. Big grayrabbits scarcely moved out of his way. The branches above him were fullof mockingbirds. And then--there before him stood three figures. 

Fay Larkin was held close to the side of a magnificent woman, barbarously clad in garments made of skins and pieces of blanket. Herface worked in noble emotion. Shefford seemed to see the ghost of thatfair beauty Venters had said was Jane Withersteen's. Her hair wasgray. Near her stood a lean, stoop-shouldered man whose long hair wasperfectly white. His gaunt face was bare of beard. It had strange, sloping, sad lines. And he was staring with mild, surprised eyes. 

The moment held Shefford mute till sight of Fay Larkin's tear-wet facebroke the spell. He leaped forward and his strong hands reached for thewoman and the man. 

"Jane Withersteen!. .. Lassiter! I have found you!"

"Oh, sir, who are you?" she cried, with rich and deep and quiveringvoice. "This child came running--screaming. She could not speak. Wethought she had gone mad--and escaped to come back to us. "

"I am John Shefford, " he replied, swiftly. "I am a friend of BernVenters--of his wife Bess. I learned your story. I came west. I'vesearched a year. I found Fay. And we've come to take you away. "

"You found Fay? But that masked Mormon who forced her to sacrificeherself to save us!. .. What of him? It's not been so many long years--Iremember what my father was--and Dyer and Tull--all those cruelchurchmen. "

"Waggoner is dead, " replied Shefford. 

"Dead? She is free! Oh, what--how did he die?"

"He was killed. "

"Who did it?"

"That's no matter, " replied Shefford, stonily, and he met her gaze withsteady eyes. "He's out of the way. Fay was never his wife. Fay's free. We've come to take you out of the country. We must hurry. We'll betracked--pursued. But we've horses and an Indian guide. We'll getaway. .. . I think it better to leave here at once. There's no telling howsoon we'll be hunted. Get what things you want to take with you. "

"Oh--yes--Mother Jane, let us hurry!" cried Fay. "I'm so full--I can'ttalk--my heart hurts so!"

Jane Withersteen's face shone with an exceedingly radiant light, and aglory blended with a terrible fear in her eyes. 

"Fay! my little Fay!"

Lassiter had stood there with his mild, clear blue eyes upon Shefford. 

"I shore am glad to see you--all, " he drawled, and extended his hand asif the meeting were casual. "What'd you say your name was?"

Shefford repeated it as he met the proffered hand. 

"How's Bern an' Bess?" Lassiter inquired. 

"They were well, prosperous, happy when last I saw them. .. . They had ababy. "

"Now ain't thet fine?. .. Jane, did you hear? Bess has a baby. An', Jane, didn't I always say Bern would come back to get us out? Shore it's justthe same. "

How cool, easy, slow, and mild this Lassiter seemed! Had the man grownold, Shefford wondered? The past to him manifestly was only yesterday, and the danger of the present was as nothing. Looking in Lassiter'sface, Shefford was baffled. If he had not remembered the greatness ofthis old gun-man he might have believed that the lonely years in thevalley had unbalanced his mind. In an hour like this coolness seemedinexplicable--assuredly would have been impossible in an ordinary man. Yet what hid behind that drawling coolness? What was the meaning ofthose long, sloping, shadowy lines of the face? What spirit lay in thedeep, mild, clear eyes? Shefford experienced a sudden check to what hadbeen his first growing impression of a drifting, broken old man. 

"Lassiter, pack what little you can carry--mustn't be much--and we'llget out of here, " said Shefford. 

"I shore will. Reckon I ain't a-goin' to need a pack-train. We saved theclothes we wore in here. Jane never thought it no use. But I figgered wemight need them some day. They won't be stylish, but I reckon they'll dobetter 'n these skins. An' there's an old coat thet was Venters's. "

The mild, dreamy look became intensified in Lassiter's eyes. 

"Did Venters have any hosses when you knowed him?" he asked. 

"He had a farm full of horses, " replied Shefford, with a smile. "Andthere were two blacks--the grandest horses I ever saw. Black Star andNight! You remember, Lassiter?"

"Shore. I was wonderin' if he got the blacks out. They must be growin'old by now. .. . Grand hosses, they was. But Jane had another hoss, a bigdevil of a sorrel. His name was Wrangle. Did Venters ever tell you abouthim--an' thet race with Jerry Card?"

"A hundred times!" replied Shefford. 

"Wrangle run the blacks off their legs. But Jane never would believethet. An' I couldn't change her all these years. .. . Reckon mebbe we'llget to see them blacks?"

"Indeed, I hope--I believe you will, " replied Shefford, feelingly. 

"Shore won't thet be fine. Jane, did you hear? Black Star an' Night arelivin' an' we'll get to see them. "

But Jane Withersteen only clasped Fay in her arms, and looked atLassiter with wet and glistening eyes. 

Shefford told them to hurry and come to the cliff where the ascent fromthe valley was to be made. He thought best to leave them alone to maketheir preparations and bid farewell to the cavern home they had knownfor so long. 

Then he strolled back along the wall, loitering here to gaze into acave, and there to study crude red paintings in the nooks. And sometimeshe halted thoughtfully and did not see anything. At length he roundeda corner of cliff to espy Nas Ta Bega sitting upon the ledge, reposefuland watchful as usual. Shefford told the Indian they would be climbingout soon, and then he sat down to wait and let his gaze rove over thevalley. 

He might have sat there a long while, so sad and reflective andwondering was his thought, but it seemed a very short time till Fay camein sight with her free, swift grace, and Lassiter and Jane some distancebehind. Jane carried a small bundle and Lassiter had a sack over hisshoulder that appeared no inconsiderable burden. 

"Them beans shore is heavy, " he drawled, as he deposited the sack uponthe ground. 

Shefford curiously took hold of the sack and was amazed to find that asecond and hard muscular effort was required to lift it. 

"Beans?" he queried. 

"Shore, " replied Lassiter. 

"That's the heaviest sack of beans I ever saw. Why--it's not possibleit can be. .. . Lassiter, we've a long, rough trail. We've got to packlight--"

"Wal, I ain't a-goin' to leave this here sack behind. Reckon I've beenall of twelve years in fillin' it, " he declared, mildly. 

Shefford could only stare at him. 

"Fay may need them beans, " went on Lassiter. 

"Why?"

"Because they're gold. "

"Gold!" ejaculated Shefford. 

"Shore. An' they represent some work. Twelve years of diggin' an'washin'!"

Shefford laughed constrainedly. "Well, Lassiter, that alters the caseconsiderably. A sack of gold nuggets or grains, or beans, as you callthem, certainly must not be left behind. .. . Come, now, we'll tackle thisclimbing job. "

He called up to the Indian and, grasping the rope, began to walk up thefirst slant, and then by dint of hand-over-hand effort and climbingwith knees and feet he succeeded, with Nas Ta Bega's help, in making theledge. Then he let down the rope to haul up the sack and bundle. Thatdone, he directed Fay to fasten the noose round her as he had fixed itbefore. When she had complied he called to her to hold herself out fromthe wall while he and Nas Ta Bega hauled her up. 

"Hold the rope tight, " replied Fay, "I'll walk up. "

And to Shefford's amaze and admiration, she virtually walked up thatalmost perpendicular wall by slipping her hands along the rope andstepping as she pulled herself up. There, if never before, he saw thefruit of her years of experience on steep slopes. Only such experiencecould have made the feat possible. 

Jane had to be hauled up, and the task was a painful one for her. Lassiter's turn came then, and he showed more strength and agility thanShefford had supposed him capable of. From the ledge they turned theirattention to the narrow crack with its ladder of sticks. Fay had alreadyascended and now hung over the rim, her white face and golden hairframed vividly in the narrow stream of blue sky above. 

"Mother Jane! Uncle Jim! You are so slow, " she called. 

"Wal, Fay, we haven't been second cousins to a canyon squirrel all theseyears, " replied Lassiter. 

This upper half of the climb bid fair to be as difficult for Jane, ifnot so painful, as the lower. It was necessary for the Indian to goup and drop the rope, which was looped around her, and then, with himpulling from above and Shefford assisting Jane as she climbed, she wasfinally gotten up without mishap. When Lassiter reached the level theyrested a little while and then faced the great slide of jumbled rocks. Fay led the way, light, supple, tireless, and Shefford never ceasedlooking at her. At last they surmounted the long slope and, windingalong the rim, reached the point where Fay had led out of the cedars. 

Nas Ta Bega, then, was the one to whom Shefford looked for everydecision or action of the immediate future. The Indian said he had seena pool of water in a rocky hole, that the day was spent, that here was alittle grass for the mustangs, and it would be well to camp right there. So while Nas Ta Bega attended to the mustangs Shefford set about suchpreparations for camp and supper as their light pack afforded. Thequestion of beds was easily answered, for the mats of soft needles underpinyon and cedar would be comfortable places to sleep. 

When Shefford felt free again the sun was setting. Lassiter and Janewere walking under the trees. The Indian had returned to camp. But Faywas missing. Shefford imagined he knew where to find her, and upongoing to the edge of the forest he saw her sitting on the promontory. He approached her, drawn in spite of a feeling that perhaps he ought tostay away. 

"Fay, would you rather be alone?" he asked. 

His voice startled her. 

"I want you, " she replied, and held out her hand. 

Taking it in his own, he sat beside her. 

The red sun was at their backs. Surprise Valley lay hazy, dusky, shadowybeneath them. The opposite wall seemed fired by crimson flame, save fardown at its base, which the sun no longer touched. And the dark lineof red slowly rose, encroaching upon the bright crimson. Changing, transparent, yet dusky veils seemed to float between the walls; long, red rays, where the sun shone through notch or crack in the rim, splitthe darker spaces; deep down at the floor the forest darkened, the stripof aspen paled, the meadow turned gray; and all under the shelves and inthe great caverns a purple gloom deepened. Then the sun set. And swiftlytwilight was there below while day lingered above. On the opposite wallthe fire died and the stone grew cold. 

A canyon night-hawk voiced his lonely, weird, and melancholy cry, and itseemed to pierce and mark the silence. 

A pale star, peering out of a sky that had begun to turn blue, markedthe end of twilight. And all the purple shadows moved and hovered andchanged till, softly and mysteriously, they embraced black night. 

Beautiful, wild, strange, silent Surprise Valley! Shefford saw it beforeand beneath him, a dark abyss now, the abode of loneliness. He imaginedfaintly what was in Fay Larkin's heart. For the last time she had seenthe sun set there and night come with its dead silence and sweet mysteryand phantom shadows, its velvet blue sky and white trains of stars. 

He, who had dreamed and longed and searched, found that the hour hadbeen incalculable for him in its import. 

XVII. THE TRAIL TO NONNEZOSHE

When Shefford awoke next morning and sat up on his bed of pinyon boughsthe dawn had broken cold with a ruddy gold brightness under the trees. Nas Ta Bega and Lassiter were busy around a camp-fire; the mustangs werehaltered near by; Jane Withersteen combed out her long, tangled tresseswith a crude wooden comb; and Fay Larkin was not in sight. As shehad been missing from the group at sunset, so she was now at sunrise. Shefford went out to take his last look at Surprise Valley. 

On the evening before the valley had been a place of dusky red veils andpurple shadows, and now it was pink-walled, clear and rosy and greenand white, with wonderful shafts of gold slanting down from the notchedeastern rim. Fay stood on the promontory, and Shefford did not break thespell of her silent farewell to her wild home. A strange emotion abidedwith him and he knew he would always, all his life, regret leavingSurprise Valley. 

Then the Indian called. 

"Come, Fay, " said Shefford, gently. 

And she turned away with dark, haunted eyes and a white, still face. 

The somber Indian gave a silent gesture for Shefford to make haste. While they had breakfast the mustangs were saddled and packed. And soonall was in readiness for the flight. Fay was given Nack-yal, Jane thesaddled horse Shefford had ridden, and Lassiter the Indian's roan. Shefford and Nas Ta Bega were to ride the blanketed mustangs, and thesixth and last one bore the pack. Nas Ta Bega set off, leading thishorse; the others of the party lined in behind, with Shefford at therear. 

Nas Ta Bega led at a brisk trot, and sometimes, on level stretches ofground, at an easy canter; and Shefford had a grim realization ofwhat this flight was going to be for these three fugitives, now sounaccustomed to riding. Jane and Lassiter, however, needed no watching, and showed they had never forgotten how to manage a horse. The Indianback-trailed yesterday's path for an hour, then headed west to the left, and entered a low pass. All parts of this plateau country looked alike, and Shefford was at some pains to tell the difference of this strangeground from that which he had been over. In another hour they got outof the rugged, broken rock to the wind-worn and smooth, shallow canyon. Shefford calculated that they were coming to the end of the plateau. The low walls slanted lower; the canyon made a turn; Nas Ta Begadisappeared; and then the others of the party. When Shefford turned thecorner of wall he saw a short strip of bare, rocky ground with only skybeyond. The Indian and his followers had halted in a group. Sheffordrode to them, halted himself, and in one sweeping glance realized themeaning of their silent gaze. But immediately Nas Ta Bega starteddown; and the mustangs, without word or touch, followed him. Shefford, however, lingered on the promontory. 

His gaze seemed impelled and held by things afar--the greatyellow-and-purple corrugated world of distance, now on a level withhis eyes. He was drawn by the beauty and the grandeur of that scene andtransfixed by the realization that he had dared to venture to find away through this vast, wild, and upflung fastness. He kept looking afar, sweeping the three-quartered circle of horizon till his judgment ofdistance was confounded and his sense of proportion dwarfed one momentand magnified the next. Then he withdrew his fascinated gaze to adoptthe Indian's method of studying unlimited spaces in the desert--to lookwith slow, contracted eyes from near to far. 

His companions had begun to zigzag down a long slope, bare of rock, withyellow gravel patches showing between the scant strips of green, andhere and there a scrub-cedar. Half a mile down, the slope merged intogreen level. But close, keen gaze made out this level to be a rollingplain, growing darker green, with blue lines of ravines, and thin, undefined spaces that might be mirage. Miles and miles it swept andrelied and heaved to lose its waves in apparent darker level. A round, red rock stood isolated, marking the end of the barren plain, andfarther on were other round rocks, all isolated, all of different shape. They resembled huge grazing cattle. But as Shefford gazed, and his sightgained strength from steadily holding it to separate features theserocks were strangely magnified. They grew and grew into mounds, castles, domes, crags--great, red, wind-carved buttes. One by one they drew hisgaze to the wall of upflung rock. He seemed to see a thousand domes of athousand shapes and colors, and among them a thousand blue clefts, eachone a little mark in his sight, yet which he knew was a canyon. So farhe gained some idea of what he saw. But beyond this wide area of curvedlines rose another wall, dwarfing the lower, dark red, horizon--long, magnificent in frowning boldness, and because of its limitless deceivingsurfaces, breaks, and lines, incomprehensible to the sight of man. Awayto the eastward began a winding, ragged, blue line, looping back uponitself, and then winding away again, growing wider and bluer. Thisline was the San Juan Canyon. Where was Joe Lake at that moment? Had heembarked yet on the river--did that blue line, so faint, so deceiving, hold him and the boat? Almost it was impossible to believe. Sheffordfollowed the blue line all its length, a hundred miles, he fancied, downtoward the west where it joined a dark, purple, shadowy cleft. And thiswas the Grand Canyon of the Colorado. Shefford's eye swept along withthat winding mark, farther and farther to the west, round to the left, until the cleft, growing larger and coming closer, losing its deception, was seen to be a wild and winding canyon. Still farther to the left, ashe swung in fascinated gaze, it split the wonderful wall--a vast plateaunow with great red peaks and yellow mesas. The canyon was full of purplesmoke. It turned, it gaped, it lost itself and showed again in thatchaos of a million cliffs. And then farther on it became again a cleft, a purple line, at last to fail entirely in deceiving distance. 

Shefford imagined there was no scene in all the world to equal that. Thetranquillity of lesser spaces was not here manifest. Sound, movement, life, seemed to have no fitness here. Ruin was there and desolationand decay. The meaning of the ages was flung at him, and a man becamenothing. When he had gazed at the San Juan Canyon he had been appalledat the nature of Joe Lake's Herculean task. He had lost hope, faith. The thing was not possible. But when Shefford gazed at that sublime andmajestic wilderness, in which the Grand Canyon was only a dim line, hestrangely lost his terror and something else came to him from across theshining spaces. If Nas Ta Bega led them safely down to the river, ifJoe Lake met them at the mouth of Nonnezoshe Boco, if they survived therapids of that terrible gorge, then Shefford would have to face his souland the meaning of this spirit that breathed on the wind. 

He urged his mustang to the descent of the slope, and as he went down, slowly drawing nearer to the other fugitives, his mind alternatedbetween this strange intimation of faith, this subtle uplift of hidspirit, and the growing gloom and shadow in his love for Fay Larkin. Notthat he loved her less, but more! A possible God hovering near him, like the Indian's spirit-step on the trail, made his soul the darker forFay's crime, and he saw with light, with deeper sadness, with sternertruth. 

More than once the Indian turned on his mustang to look up the slopeand the light flashed from his dark, somber face. Shefford instinctivelylooked back himself, and then realized the unconscious motive of theaction. Deep within him there had been a premonition of certain pursuit, and the Indian's reiterated backward glance had at length brought thefeeling upward. Thereafter, as they descended, Shefford gradually addedto his already wrought emotions a mounting anxiety. 

No sign of a trail showed where the base of the slope rolled out tomeet the green plain. The earth was gravelly, with dark patches of heavysilt, almost like cinders; and round, black rocks, flinty and glassy, cracked away from the hoofs of the mustangs. There was a level bench amile wide, then a ravine, and then an ascent, and after that, roundedridge and ravine, one after the other, like huge swells of a monstroussea. Indian paint-brush vied in its scarlet hue with the deep magentaof cactus. There was no sage. Soapweed and meager grass and a bunch ofcactus here and there lent the green to that barren; and it was greenonly at a distance. Nas Ta Bega kept on a steady, even trot. The sunclimbed. The wind rose and whipped dust from under the mustangs. 

Shefford looked back often, and the farther out in the plain he reachedthe higher loomed the plateau they had descended; and as he faced aheadagain the lower sank the red-domed and castled horizon to the fore. The ravines became deeper, with dry rock bottoms, and the ridge-topssharper, with outcroppings of yellow, crumbling ledges. Once across thecentral depression of that plain a gradual ascent became evident, andthe round rocks grew clearer in sight, began to rise shine and grow. Andthereafter every slope brought them nearer. 

The sun was straight overhead and hot when Nas Ta Bega halted the partyunder the first lonely scrub-cedar. They all dismounted to stretch theirlimbs, and rest the horses. It was not a talkative group, Lassiter'scomments on the never-ending green plain elicited no response. JaneWithersteen looked afar with the past in her eyes. Shefford felt Fay'swistful glance and could not meet it; indeed, he seemed to want to hidesomething from her. The Indian bent a falcon gaze on the distantslope, and Shefford did not like that intent, searching, steadfastwatchfulness. Suddenly Nas Ta Bega stiffened and whipped the halter heheld. 

"Ugh!" he exclaimed. 

All eyes followed the direction of his dark hand. Puffs of dust rosefrom the base of the long slope they had descended; tiny dark specksmoved with the pace of a snail. 

"Shadd!" added the Indian. 

"I expected it, " said Shefford, darkly, as he rose. 

"An' who's Shadd?" drawled Lassiter in his cool, slow speech. 

Briefly Shefford explained, and then, looking at Nas Ta Bega, he added:

"The hardest-riding outfit in the country! We can't get away from them. "

Jane Withersteen was silent, but Fay uttered a low cry. Shefford didnot look at either of them. The Indian began swiftly to tighten thesaddle-cinches of his roan, and Shefford did likewise for Nack-yal. ThenShefford drew his rifle out of the saddle-sheath and Joe Lake's big gunsfrom the saddle-bag. 

"Here, Lassiter, maybe you haven't forgotten how to use these, " he said. 

The old gun-man started as if he had seen ghosts. His hands grewclawlike as he reached for the guns. He threw open the cylinders, spilled out the shells, snapped back the cylinders. Then he went throughmotions too swift for Shefford to follow. But Shefford heard the hammersfalling so swiftly they blended their clicks almost in one sound. Lassiter reloaded the guns with a speed comparable with the otheractions. A remarkable transformation had come over him. He did not seemthe same man. The mild eyes had changed; the long, shadowy, slopinglines were tense cords; and there was a cold, ashy shade on his face. 

"Twelve years!" he muttered to himself. "I dropped them old guns backthere where I rolled the rock. .. . Twelve years!"

Shefford realized the twelve years were as if they had never been. Andhe would rather have had this old gun-man with him than a dozen ordinarymen. 

The Indian spoke rapidly in Navajo, saying that once in the rocksthey were safe. Then, after another look at the distant dust-puffs, hewheeled his mustang. 

It was doubtful if the party could have kept near him had they beenresponsible for the gait of their mounts. The fact was that the way thecalled to his mustang or some leadership in the one rode drew the othersto a like trot or climb or canter. For a long time Shefford did not turnround; he knew what to expect. And when he did turn he was startledat the gain made by the pursuers. But he was encouraged as well by thelooming, red, rounded peaks seemingly now so close. He could see thedark splits between the sloping curved walls, the pinyon patches in theamphitheater under the circled walls. That was a wild place they wereapproaching, and, once in there, he believed pursuit would be useless. However, there were miles to go still, and those hard-riding devilsbehind made alarming decrease in the intervening distance. Sheffordcould see the horses plainly now. How they made the dust fly! He countedup to six--and then the dust and moving line caused the others to beindistinguishable. 

At last only a long, gently rising slope separated the fugitives fromthat labyrinthine network of wildly carved rock. But it was the clearair that made the distance seem short. Mile after mile the mustangsclimbed, and when they were perhaps half-way across that last slope tothe rocks the first horse of the pursuers mounted to the level behind. In a few moments the whole band was strung out in sight. Nas Ta Begakept his mustang at a steady walk, in spite of the gaining pursuers. There came a point, however, when the Indian, reaching comparativelylevel ground, put his mount to a swinging canter. The other mustangsbroke into the same gait. 

It became a race then, with the couple of miles between fugitives andpursuers only imperceptibly lessened. Nas Ta Bega had saved his mustangsand Shadd had ridden his to the limit. Shefford kept looking back, gripping his rifle, hoping it would not come to a fight, yet slowlylosing that reluctance. 

Sage began to show on the slope, and other kinds of brush and cedarsstraggled everywhere. The great rocks loomed closer, the red colormixed with yellow, and the slopes lengthening out, not so steep, yetinfinitely longer than they had seemed at a distance. 

Shefford ceased to feel the dry wind in his face. They were already inthe lee of the wall. He could see the rock-squirrels scampering to theirholes. The mustangs valiantly held to the gait, and at last the Indiandisappeared between two rounded comers of cliff. The others were closebehind. Shefford wheeled once more. Shadd and his gang were a mile inthe rear, but coming fast, despite winded horses. 

Shefford rode around the wall into a widening space thick with cedars. It ended in a bare slope of smooth rock. Here the Indian dismounted. When the others came up with him he told them to lead their horses andfollow. Then he began the ascent of the rock. 

It was smooth and hard, though not slippery. There was not a crack. Shefford did not see a broken piece of stone. Nas Ta Bega climbedstraight up for a while, and then wound around a swell, to turn this wayand that, always going up. Shefford began to see similar mounds of rockall around him, of every shape that could be called a curve. There wereyellow domes far above, and small red domes far below. Ridges ran fromone hill of rock to another. There were no abrupt breaks, but holesand pits and caves were everywhere, and occasionally, deep down, anamphitheater green with cedar and pinyon. The Indian appeared to havea clear idea of where he wanted to go, though there was no vestige ofa trail on those bare slopes. At length Shefford was high enough to seeback upon the plain, but the pursuers were no longer in sight. 

Nas Ta Bega led to the top of that wall, only to disclose to hisfollowers another and a higher wall beyond, with a ridged, bare, wild, and scalloped depression between. Here footing began to be precariousfor both man and beast. When the ascent of the second wall began it wasnecessary to zigzag up, slowly and carefully, taking advantage of everylevel bulge or depression. They must have consumed half an hour mountingthis slope to the summit. Once there, Shefford drew a sharp breath withboth backward and forward glances. Shadd and his gang, in single file, showed dark upon the bare stone ridge behind. And to the fore theretwisted and dropped and curved the most dangerous slopes Shefford hadever seen. The fugitives had reached the height of stone wall, of thedivide, and many of the drops upon this side were perpendicular and toosteep to see the bottom. 

Nas Ta Bega led along the ridge-top and then started down, following thewaves in the rock. He came out upon a round promontory from which therecould not have been any turning of a horse. The long slant leading downwas at an angle Shefford declared impossible for the animals. Yet theIndian started down. His mustang needed urging, but at last edged uponthe steep descent. Shefford and the others had to hold back and wait. Itwas thrilling to see the intelligent mustang. He did not step. He slidhis fore hoofs a few inches at a time and kept directly behind theIndian. If he fell he would knock Nas Ta Bega off his feet and theywould both roll down together. There was no doubt in Shefford's mindthat the mustang knew this as well as the Indian. Foot by foot theyworked down to a swelling bulge, and here Nas Ta Bega left his mustangand came back for the pack-horse. It was even more difficult to get thisbeast down. Then the Indian called for Lassiter and Jane and Fay to comedown. Shefford began to keep a sharp lookout behind and above, and didnot see how the three fared on the slope, but evidently there was nomishap. Nas Ta Bega mounted the slope again, and at the moment sight ofShadd's dark bays silhouetted against the sky caused Shefford to callout:

"We've got to hurry!"

The Indian led one mustang and called to the others. Shefford steppedclose behind. They went down in single file, inch by inch, foot by foot, and safely reached the comparative level below. 

"Shadd's gang are riding their horses up and down these walls!"exclaimed Shefford. 

"Shore, " replied Lassiter. 

Both the women were silent. 

Nas Ta Bega led the way swiftly to the right. He rounded a huge dome, climbed a low, rolling ridge, descended and ascended, and came out uponthe rim of a steep-walled amphitheater. Along the rim was a yard-widelevel, with the chasm to the left and steep slope to the right. Therewas no time to flinch at the danger, when an even greater danger menacedfrom the rear. Nas Ta Bega led, and his mustang kept at his heels. One misstep would have plunged the animal to his death. But he wassurefooted and his confidence helped the others. At the apex of thecurve the only course led away from the rim, and here there was nolevel. Four of the mustangs slipped and slid down the smooth rock untilthey stopped in a shallow depression. It cost time to get them out, tostraighten pack and saddles. Shefford thought he heard a yell in therear, but he could not see anything of the gang. 

They rounded this precipice only to face a worse one. Shefford's nervewas sorely tried when he saw steep slants everywhere, all apparentlyleading down into chasms, and no place a man, let alone a horse, couldput a foot with safety. Nevertheless the imperturbable Indian neverslacked his pace. Always he appeared to find a way, and he never had toturn back. His winding course, however, did not now cover much distancein a straight line, and herein lay the greatest peril. Any moment Shaddand his men might come within range. 

Upon a particularly tedious and dangerous side of rocky hill thefugitives lost so much time that Shefford grew exceedingly alarmed. Still, they accomplished it without accident, and their pursuers did notheave in sight. Perhaps they were having trouble in a bad place. 

The afternoon was waning. The red sun hung low above the yellow mesa tothe left, and there was a perceptible shading of light. 

At last Nas Ta Bega came to a place that halted him. It did not lookso bad as places they had successfully passed. Yet upon closer studyShefford did not see how they were to get around the neck of the gullyat their feet. Presently the Indian put the bridle over the head of hismustang and left him free. He did likewise for two more mustangs, whileLassiter and Shefford rendered a like service to theirs. Then the Indianstarted down, with his mustang following him. The pack-animal came next, then Fay and Nack-yal, then Lassiter and his mount, with Jane and hersnext, and Shefford last. They followed the Indian, picking their stepsswiftly, looking nowhere except at the stone under their feet. The rightside of the chasm was rimmed, the curve at the head crossed, and thenthe real peril of this trap had to be faced. It was a narrow slant ofledge, doubling back parallel with the course already traversed. 

A sharp warning cry from Nas Ta Bega scarcely prepared Shefford forhoarse yells, and then a rattling rifle-volley from the top of the slopeopposite. Bullets thudded on the cliff, whipped up red dust, and spangedand droned away. 

Fay Larkin screamed and staggered back against the wall. Nack-yal washit, and with frightened snort he reared, pawed the air, and came down, pounding the stone. The mustang behind him went to his knees, sank withhis head over the rim, and, slipping off, plunged into the depths. In aninstant a dull crash came up. 

For a moment there was imminent peril for the horses, more in theyawning hole than in the spanging of badly aimed bullets. Lassiter drewJane up a little slope out of the way of the frightened mustangs, andShefford, risking his neck, rushed to Fay. She was holding her arm, which was bleeding. Unheeding the rain of bullets, he half carried, half dragged her along the slope of the low bluff, where he hid behinda corner till the Indian drove the mustangs round it. Shefford's swiftfingers were wet and red with the blood from Fay's arm when he had boundthe wound with his scarf. Lassiter had gotten around with Jane and wascalling Shefford to hurry. 

It had been Shefford's idea to halt there and fight. But he did not wantto send Fay on alone, so he hurried ahead with her. The Indian had thehorses going fast on a long level, overhung by bulging wall. Lassiterand Jane were looking back. Shefford, becoming aware of a steep slopeto his left, looked down to see a narrow chasm and great crevices in thecliffs, with bunches of cedars here and there. 

Presently Nas Ta Bega disappeared with the mustangs. He had evidentlyturned off to go down behind the split cliffs. Shefford and Fay caughtup with Lassiter and Jane, and, panting, hurrying, looking backward andthen forward, they kept on, as best they could, in the Indian's course. Shefford made sure they had lost him, when he appeared down to the left. Then they all ran to catch up with him. They went around the chasm, andthen through one of the narrow cracks to come out upon the rim, amongcedars. Here the Indian waited for them. He pointed down anotherlong swell of naked stone to a narrow green split which was evidentlydifferent from all these curved pits and holes and abysses, for thisone had straight walls and wound away out of sight. It was the head of acanyon. 

"Nonnezoshe Boco!" said the Indian. 

"Nas Ta Bega, go on!" replied Shefford. "When Shadd comes out on thatslope above he can't see you--where you go down. Hurry on with thehorses and women. Lassiter, you go with them. And if Shadd passes me andcomes up with you--do your best. .. . I'm going to ambush that Piute andhis gang!"

"Shore you've picked out a good place, " replied Lassiter. 

In another moment Shefford was alone. He heard the light, soft pat andslide of the hoofs of the mustangs as they went down. Presently thatsound ceased. 

He looked at the red stain on his hands--from the blood of the girl heloved. And he had to stifle a terrible wrath that shook his frame. Inregard to Shadd's pursuit, it had not been blood that he had feared, butcapture for Fay. He and Nas Ta Bega might have expected a shot if theyresisted, but to wound that unfortunate girl--it made a tiger out ofhim. When he had stilled the emotions that weakened and shook him andreached cold and implacable control of himself, he crawled under thecedars to the rim and, well hidden, he watched and waited. 

Shadd appeared to be slow for the first time since he had been sighted. With keen eyes Shefford watched the corner where he and the others hadescaped from that murderous volley. But Shadd did not come. 

The sun had lost its warmth and was tipping the lofty mesa to hisright. Soon twilight would make travel on those walls more perilousand darkness would make it impossible. Shadd must hurry or abandon thepursuit for that day. Shefford found himself grimly hopeful. 

Suddenly he heard the click of hoofs. It came, faint yet clear, on thestill air. He glued his sight upon that corner where he expected thepursuers to appear. More cracks of hoofs pierced his ear, clearer andsharper this time. Presently he gathered that they could not possiblycome from beyond the corner he was watching. So he looked far to theleft of that place, seeing no one, then far to the right. Out over abulge of stone he caught sight of the bobbing head of a horse--thenanother--and still another. 

He was astounded. Shadd had gone below that place where the attack hadbeen made and he had come up this steep slope. More horses appeared--tothe number of eight. Shefford easily recognized a low, broad, squatrider to be Shadd. Assuredly the Piute did not know this country. Possibly, however, he had feared an ambush. But Shefford grew convincedthat Shadd had not expected an ambush, or at least did not fear it, andhad mistaken the Indian's course. Moreover, if he led his gang a fewrods farther up that slope he would do worse than make a mistake--hewould be facing a double peril. 

What fearless horsemen these Indians were! Shadd was mounted, as werethree others of his gang. Evidently the white men, the outlaws, were theones on foot. Shefford thrilled and his veins stung when he saw thesepursuers come passing what he considered the danger mark. But manifestlythey could not see their danger. Assuredly they were aware of the chasm;however, the level upon which they were advancing narrowed gradually, and they could not tell that very soon they could not go any farther norcould they turn back. The alternative was to climb the slope, and thatwas a desperate chance. 

They came up, now about on a level with Shefford, and perhaps threehundred yards distant. He gripped his rifle with a fatal assurance thathe could kill one of them now. Still he waited. Curiosity consumedhim because every foot they advanced heightened their peril. Sheffordwondered if Shadd would have chosen that course if he had not supposedthe Navajo had chosen it first. It was plain that one of the walkingPiutes stooped now and then to examine the rock. He was looking for somefaint sign of a horse track. 

Shadd halted within two hundred yards of where Shefford lay hidden. Hiskeen eye had caught the significance of the narrowing level before hehad reached the end. He pointed and spoke. Shefford heard his voice. The others replied. They all looked up at the steep slope, down intothe chasm right below them, and across into the cedars. The Piute in therear succeeded in turning his horse, went back, and began to circleup the slope. The others entered into an argument and they became moreclosely grouped upon the narrow bench. Their mustangs were lean, wiry, wild, vicious, and Shefford calculated grimly upon what a stampede mightmean in that position. 

Then Shadd turned his mustang up the slope. Like a goat he climbed. Another Indian in the rear succeeded in pivoting his steed and startedback, apparently to circle round and up. The others of the gang appeareduncertain. They yelled hoarsely at Shadd, who halted on the steep slantsome twenty paces above them. He spoke and made motions that evidentlymeant the climb was easy enough. It looked easy for him. His dark faceflashed red in the rays of the sun. 

At this critical moment Shefford decided to fire. He meant to killShadd, hoping if the leader was gone the others would abandon thepursuit. The rifle wavered a little as he aimed, then grew still. Hefired. Shadd never flinched. But the fiery mustang, perhaps wounded, certainly terrified, plunged down with piercing, horrid scream. Shaddfell under him. Shrill yells rent the air. Like a thunderbolt thesliding horse was upon men and animals below. 

A heavy shock, wild snorts, upflinging heads and hoofs, a terribletramping, thudding, shrieking melee, then a brown, twisting, tangledmass shot down the slant over the rim!

Shefford dazedly thought he saw men running. He did see plunging horses. One slipped, fell, rolled, and went into the chasm. 

Then up from the depths came a crash, a long, slipping roar. In anotherinstant there was a lighter crash and a lighter sliding roar. 

Two horses, shaking, paralyzed with fear, were left upon the narrowlevel. Beyond them a couple of men were crawling along the stone. Upon the level stood the two Indians, holding down frightened horses, andstaring at the fatal slope. 

And Shefford lay there under the cedar, in the ghastly grip of themoment, hardly comprehending that his ill-aimed shot had been athunderbolt. 

He did not think of shooting at the Piutes; they, however, recoveringfrom their shock, evidently feared the ambush, for they swiftly drew upthe slope and passed out of sight. The frightened horses below whistledand tramped along the lower level, finally vanishing. There was nothingleft on the bare wall to prove to Shefford that it had been the sceneof swift and tragic death. He leaned from his covert and peered over therim. Hundreds of feet below he saw dark growths of pinyons. There was nosign of a pile of horses and men, and then he realized that he could nottell the number that had perished. The swift finale had been as stunningto him as if lightning had struck near him. 

Suddenly it flashed over him what state of suspense and torture Fay andJane must be in at that very moment. And, leaping up, he ran out of thecedars to the slope behind and hurried down at risk of limb. The sun hadset by this time. He hoped he could catch up with the party before dark. He went straight down, and the end of the slope was a smooth, low wall. The Indian must have descended with the horses at some other point. Thecanyon was about fifty yards wide and it headed under the great slope ofNavajo Mountain. These smooth, rounded walls appeared to end at its lowrim. 

Shefford slid down upon a grassy bank, and finding the tracks of thehorses, he followed them. They led along the wall. As soon as he hadassured himself that Nas Ta Bega had gone down the canyon he abandonedthe tracks and pushed ahead swiftly. He heard the soft rush of runningwater. In the center of the canyon wound heavy lines of bright-greenfoliage, bordering a rocky brook. The air was close, warm, and sweetwith perfume of flowers. The walls were low and shelving, and soon lostthat rounded appearance peculiar to the wind-worn slopes above. Sheffordcame to where the horses had plowed down a gravelly bank into the clear, swift water of the brook. The little pools of water were still muddy. Shefford drank, finding the water cold and sweet, without the bitterbite of alkali. He crossed and pushed on, running on the grassy levels. Flowers were everywhere, but he did not notice them particularly. Thecanyon made many leisurely turns, and its size, if it enlarged at all, was not perceptible to him yet. The rims above him were perhaps fiftyfeet high. Cottonwood-trees began to appear along the brook, andblossoming buck-brush in the corners of wall. 

He had traveled perhaps a mile when Nas Ta Bega, appearing to come outof the thicket, confronted him. 

"Hello!" called Shefford. "Where're Fay--and the others?"

The Indian made a gesture that signified the rest of the party werebeyond a little way. Shefford took Nas Ta Bega's arm, and as theywalked, and he panted for breath, he told what had happened back on theslopes. 

The Indian made one of his singular speaking sweeps of hand, and hescrutinized Shefford's face, but he received the news in silence. Theyturned a corner of wall, crossed a wide, shallow, boulder-strewn placein the brook, and mounted the bank to a thicket. Beyond this, from aclump of cottonwoods, Lassiter strode out with a gun in each hand. Hehad been hiding. 

"Shore I'm glad to see you, " he said, and the eyes that piercingly fixedon Shefford were now as keen as formerly they had been mild. 

"Gone! Lassiter--they're gone, " broke out Shefford. "Where's Fay--andJane?"

Lassiter called, and presently the women came out of the thick brake, and Fay bounded forward with her swift stride, while Jane followed witheager step and anxious face. Then they all surrounded Shefford. 

"It was Shadd--and his gang, " panted Shefford. "Eight in all. Three orfour Piutes--the others outlaws. They lost track of us. Went below theplace--where they shot at us. And they came up--on a bad slope. "

Shefford described the slope and the deep chasm and how Shadd led up tothe point where he saw his mistake and then how the catastrophe fell. 

"I shot--and missed, " repeated Shefford, with the sweat in beads onhis pale face. "I missed Shadd. Maybe I hit the horse. Heplunged--reared--fell back--a terrible fall--right upon that bunch ofhorses and men below. .. . In a horrible, wrestling, screaming tangle theyslid over the rim! I don't know how many. I saw some men running along. I saw three other horses plunging. One slipped and went over. . .. I haveno idea how many, but Shadd and some of his gang went to destruction. "

"Shore thet's fine!" said Lassiter. "But mebbe I won't get to use themguns, after all. "

"Hardly on that gang, " laughed Shefford. "The two Piutes and what othersescaped turned back. Maybe they'll meet a posse of Mormons--for ofcourse the Mormons will track us, too--and come back to where Shaddlost his life. That's an awful place. Even the Piute got lost--couldn'tfollow Nas Ta Bega. It would take any pursuers some time to find how wegot in here. I believe we need not fear further pursuit. Certainly notto-night or to-morrow. Then we'll be far down the canyon. "

When Shefford concluded his earnest remarks the faces of Fay and Janehad lost the signs of suppressed dread. 

"Nas Ta Bega, make camp here, " said Shefford. "Water--wood--grass--why, this 's something like. .. . Fay, how's your arm?"

"It hurts, " she replied, simply. 

"Come with me down to the brook and let me wash and bind it properly. "

They went, and she sat upon a stone while he knelt beside her and untiedhis scarf from her arm. As the blood had hardened, it was necessary toslit her sleeve to the shoulder. Using his scarf, he washed the bloodfrom the wound, and found it to be merely a cut, a groove, on thesurface. 

"That's nothing, " Shefford said, lightly. "It'll heal in a day. Butthere'll always be a scar. And when we--we get back to civilization, and you wear a pretty gown without sleeves, people will wonder what madethis mark on your beautiful arm. "

Fay looked at him with wonderful eyes. "Do women wear gowns withoutsleeves?" she asked. 

"They do. "

"Have I a--beautiful arm?"

She stretched it out, white, blue-veined, the skin fine as satin, thelines graceful and flowing, a round, firm, strong arm. 

"The most beautiful I ever saw, " he replied. 

But the pleasure his compliment gave her was not communicated to him. His last impression of that right arm had been of its strength, andhis mind flashed with lightning swiftness to a picture that hauntedhim--Waggoner lying dead on the porch with that powerfully driven knifein his breast. Shefford shuddered through all his being. Would thisphantom come often to him like that? Hurriedly he bound up her arm withthe scarf and did not look at her, and was conscious that she felt asubtle change in him. 

The short twilight ended with the fugitives comfortable in a camp thatfor natural features could not have been improved upon. Darkness foundFay and Jane asleep on a soft mossy bed, a blanket tucked around them, and their faces still and beautiful in the flickering camp-fire light. Lassiter did not linger long awake. Nas Ta Bega, seeing Shefford'sexcessive fatigue, urged him to sleep. Shefford demurred, insisting thathe share the night-watch. But Nas Ta Bega, by agreeing that Sheffordmight have the following night's duty, prevailed upon him. 

Shefford seemed to shut his eyes upon darkness and to open themimmediately to the light. The stream of blue sky above, the gold tintson the western rim, the rosy, brightening colors down in the canyon, were proofs of the sunrise. This morning Nas Ta Bega proceededleisurely, and his manner was comforting. When all was in readinessfor a start he gave the mustang he had ridden to Shefford, and walked, leading the pack-animal. 

The mode of travel here was a selection of the best levels, the bestplaces to cross the brook, the best banks to climb, and it was a processof continual repetition. As the Indian picked out the course and themustangs followed his lead there was nothing for Shefford to do but takehis choice between reflection that seemed predisposed toward gloom andan absorption in the beauty, color, wildness, and changing character ofNonnezoshe Boco. 

Assuredly his experience in the desert did not count in it a trip downinto a strange, beautiful, lost canyon such as this. It did not widen, though the walls grew higher. They began to lean and bulge, and thenarrow strip of sky above resembled a flowing blue river. Huge cavernshad been hollowed out by some work of nature, what, he could not tell, though he was sure it could not have been wind. And when the brook ranclose under one of these overhanging places the running water made asingular, indescribable sound. A crack from a hoof on a stone rang likea hollow bell and echoed from wall to wall. And the croak of a frog--theonly living creature he had so far noted in the canyon--was a weird andmelancholy thing. 

Fay rode close to him, and his heart seemed to rejoice when she spoke, when she showed how she wanted to be near him, yet, try as he might, he could not respond. His speech to her--what little there was--didnot come spontaneously. And he suffered a remorse that he could not behonestly natural to her. Then he would drive away the encroaching gloom, trusting that a little time would dispel it. 

"We are deeper down than Surprise Valley, " said Fay. 

"How do you know?" he asked. 

"Here are the pink and yellow sago-lilies. You remember we went once tofind the white ones? I have found white lilies in Surprise Valley, butnever any pink or yellow. "

Shefford had seen flowers all along the green banks, but he had notmarked the lilies. Here he dismounted and gathered several. They werelarger than the white ones of higher altitudes, of the same exquisitebeauty and fragility, of such rare pink and yellow hues as he had neverseen. He gave the flowers to Fay. 

"They bloom only where it's always summer, " she said. 

That expressed their nature. They were the orchids of the summer canyon. They stood up everywhere starlike out of the green. It was impossibleto prevent the mustangs treading them under hoof. And as the canyondeepened, and many little springs added their tiny volume to thebrook, every grassy bench was dotted with lilies, like a green skystar-spangled. And this increasing luxuriance manifested itself in thebanks of purple moss and clumps of lavender daisies and great clustersof yellow violets. The brook was lined by blossoming buck-rush; therocky corners showed the crimson and magenta of cactus; ledges weregreen with shining moss that sparkled with little white flowers. The humof bees filled the air. 

But by and by this green and colorful and verdant beauty, the almostlevel floor of the canyon, the banks of soft earth, the thickets andthe clumps of cotton-woods, the shelving caverns and the bulgingwalls--these features gradually were lost, and Nonnezoshe Boco began todeepen in bare red and white stone steps, the walls sheered away fromone another, breaking into sections and ledges, and rising higher andhigher, and there began to be manifested a dark and solemn concordancewith the nature that had created this rent in the earth. 

There was a stretch of miles where steep steps in hard red rockalternated with long levels of round boulders. Here one by one themustangs went lame. And the fugitives, dismounting to spare the faithfulbeasts, slipped and stumbled over these loose and treacherous stones. Fay was the only one who did not show distress. She was glad to be onfoot again and the rolling boulders were as stable as solid rock forher. 

The hours passed; the toil increased; the progress diminished; oneof the mustangs failed entirely and was left; and all the while thedimensions of Nonnezoshe Boco magnified and its character changed. Itbecame a thousand-foot walled canyon, leaning, broken, threatening, withgreat yellow slides blocking passage, with huge sections split off fromthe main wall, with immense dark and gloomy caverns. Strangely, it hadno intersecting canyon. It jealously guarded its secret. Its unusualformations of cavern and pillar and half-arch led the mind to expect anymonstrous stone-shape left by an avalanche or cataclysm. 

Down and down the fugitives toiled. And now the stream-bed was bare ofboulders, and the banks of earth. The floods that had rolled down thatcanyon had here borne away every loose thing. All the floor was bare redand white stone, polished, glistening, slippery, affording treacherousfoothold. And the time came when Nas Ta Bega abandoned the stream-bed totake to the rock-strewn and cactus-covered ledges above. 

Jane gave out and had to be assisted upon the weary mustang. Fay waspersuaded to mount Nack-yal again. Lassiter plodded along. The Indianbent tired steps far in front. And Shefford traveled on after him, footsore and hot. 

The canyon widened ahead into a great, ragged, iron-hued amphitheater, and from there apparently turned abruptly at right angles. Sunset rimmedthe walls. Shefford wondered dully when the India would halt to camp. And he dragged himself onward with eyes down on the rough ground. 

When he raised them again the Indian stood on a point of slope withfolded arms, gazing down where the canyon veered. Something in Nas TaBega's pose quickened Shefford's pulse and then his steps. He reachedthe Indian and the point where he, too, could see beyond that vastjutting wall that had obstructed his view. 

A mile beyond all was bright with the colors of sunset, and spanningthe canyon in the graceful shape arid beautiful hues of a rainbow was amagnificent stone bridge. 

"Nonnezoshe!" exclaimed the Navajo, with a deep and sonorous roll in hisvoice. 

XVIII. AT THE FOOT OF THE RAINBOW

The rainbow bridge was the one great natural phenomenon, the one grandspectacle, which Shefford had ever seen that did not at first give vaguedisappointment, a confounding of reality, a disenchantment of contrastwith what the mind had conceived. 

But this thing was glorious. It silenced him, yet did not awe or stun. His body and brain, weary and dull from the toil of travel, received asingular and revivifying freshness. He had a strange, mystic perceptionof this rosy-hued stupendous arch of stone, as if in a former lifeit had been a goal he could not reach. This wonder of nature, thoughall-satisfying, all-fulfilling to his artist's soul, could not be aresting-place for him, a destination where something awaited him, aheight he must scale to find peace, the end of his strife. But it seemedall these. He could not understand his perception or his emotion. Still, here at last, apparently, was the rainbow of his boyish dreams and ofhis manhood--a rainbow magnified even beyond those dreams, no longertransparent and ethereal, but solidified, a thing of ages, sweeping upmajestically from the red walls, its iris-hued arch against the bluesky. 

Nas Ta Bega led on down the ledge and Shefford plodded thoughtfullyafter him. The others followed. A jutting corner of wall again hid thecanyon. The Indian was working round to circle the huge amphitheater. Itwas slow, irritating, strenuous toil, for the way was on a steep slant, rough and loose and dragging. The rocks were as hard and jagged aslava. And the cactus further hindered progress. When at last the longhalf-circle had been accomplished the golden and rosy lights had faded. 

Again the canyon opened to view. All the walls were pale and steely andthe stone bridge loomed dark. Nas Ta Bega said camp would be made atthe bridge, which was now close. Just before they reached it the Navajohalted with one of his singular actions. Then he stood motionless. Shefford realized that Nas Ta Bega was saying his prayer to this greatstone god. Presently the Indian motioned for Shefford to lead the othersand the horses on under the bridge. Shefford did so, and, upon turning, was amazed to see the Indian climbing the steep and difficult slope onthe other side. All the party watched him until he disappeared behindthe huge base of cliff that supported the arch. Shefford selected alevel place for camp, some few rods away, and here, with Lassiter, unsaddled and unpacked the lame, drooping mustangs. When this was donetwilight had fallen. Nas Ta Bega appeared, coming down the steep slopeon this side of the bridge. Then Shefford divined why the Navajo hadmade that arduous climb. He would not go under the bridge. Nonnezoshewas a Navajo god. And Nas Ta Bega, though educated as a white man, wastrue to the superstition of his ancestors. 

Nas Ta Bega turned the mustangs loose to fare for what scant grass grewon bench and slope. Firewood was even harder to find than grass. Whenthe camp duties had been performed and the simple meal eaten there wasgloom gathering in the canyon and the stars had begun to blink in thepale strip of blue above the lofty walls. The place was oppressive andthe fugitives mostly silent. Shefford spread a bed of blankets forthe women, and Jane at once lay wearily down. Fay stood beside theflickering fire, and Shefford felt her watching him. He was conscious ofa desire to get away from her haunting gaze. To the gentle good-night hebade her she made no response. 

Shefford moved away into a strange dark shadow cast by the bridgeagainst the pale starlight. It was a weird, black belt, where heimagined he was invisible, but out of which he could see. There was aslab of rock near the foot of the bridge, and here Shefford composedhimself to watch, to feel, to think the unknown thing that seemed to beinevitably coming to him. 

A slight stiffening of his neck made him aware that he had beencontinually looking up at the looming arch. And he found that insensiblyit had changed and grown. It had never seemed the same any two moments, but that was not what he meant. Near at hand it was too vast a thing forimmediate comprehension. He wanted to ponder on what had formed it--toreflect upon its meaning as to age and force of nature, yet all he coulddo at each moment was to see. White stars hung along the dark curvedline. The rim of the arch seemed to shine. The moon must be up theresomewhere. The far side of the canyon was now a blank, black wall. Overits towering rim showed a pale glow. It brightened. The shades in thecanyon lightened, then a white disk of moon peered over the dark line. The bridge turned to silver, and the gloomy, shadowy belt it had castblanched and vanished. 

Shefford became aware of the presence of Nas Ta Bega. Dark, silent, statuesque, with inscrutable eyes uplifted, with all that was spiritualof the Indian suggested by a somber and tranquil knowledge of his placethere, he represented the same to Shefford as a solitary figure ofhuman life brought out the greatness of a great picture. Nonnezoshe Boconeeded life, wild life, life of its millions of years--and here stoodthe dark and silent Indian. 

There was a surge in Shefford's heart and in his mind a perception of amoment of incalculable change to his soul. And at that moment Fay Larkinstole like a phantom to his side and stood there with her uncovered headshining and her white face lovely in the moonlight. 

"May I stay with you--a little?" she asked, wistfully. "I can't sleep. "

"Surely you may, " he replied. "Does your arm hurt too badly, or are youtoo tired to sleep?"

"No--it's this place. I--I--can't tell you how I feel. "

But the feeling was there in her eyes for Shefford to read. Had he toogreat an emotion--did he read too much--did he add from his soul? Forhim the wild, starry, haunted eyes mirrored all that he had seen andfelt under Nonnezoshe. And for herself they shone eloquently of courageand love. 

"I need to talk--and I don't know how, " she said. 

He was silent, but he took her hands and drew her closer. 

"Why are you so--so different?" she asked, bravely. 

"Different?" he echoed. 

"Yes. You are kind--you speak the same to me as you used to. But sincewe started you've been different, somehow. "

"Fay, think how hard and dangerous the trip's been! I've beenworried--and sick with dread--with--Oh, you can't imagine the strain I'munder! How could I be my old self?"

"It isn't worry I mean. "

He was too miserable to try to find out what she did mean; besides, hebelieved, if he let himself think about it, he would know what troubledher. 

"I--I am almost happy, " she said, softly. 

"Fay!. .. Aren't you at all afraid?"

"No. You'll take care of me. .. . Do--do you love me--like you didbefore?"

"Why, child! Of course--I love you, " he replied, brokenly, and he drewher closer. He had never embraced her, never kissed her. But there wasa whiteness about her then--a wraith--a something from her soul, and hecould only gaze at her. 

"I love you, " she whispered. "I thought I knew it that--that night. ButI'm only finding it out now. .. . And somehow I had to tell you here. "

"Fay, I haven't said much to you, " he said, hurriedly, huskily. "Ihaven't had a chance. I love you. I--I ask you--will you be my wife?"

"Of course, " she said, simply, but the white, moon-blanched face coloredwith a dark and leaping blush. 

"We'll be married as soon as we get out of the desert, " he went on. "Andwe'll forget--all--all that's happened. You're so young. You'll forget. "

"I'd forgotten already, till this difference came in you. And prettysoon--when I can say something more to you--I'll forget all exceptSurprise Valley--and my evenings in the starlight with you. "

"Say it then--quick!"

She was leaning against him, holding his hands in her strong clasp, soulful, tender, almost passionate. 

"You couldn't help it. .. . I'm to blame. .. . I remember what I said. "

"What?" he queried in amaze. 

"'YOU CAN KILL HIM!'. .. I said that. I made you kill him. "

"Kill--whom?" cried Shefford. 

"Waggoner. I'm to blame. .. . That must be what's made you different. And, oh, I've wanted you to know it's all my fault. .. . But I wouldn't besorry if you weren't. .. . I'm glad he's dead. "

"YOU--THINK--I--" Shefford's gasping whisper failed in the shock ofthe revelation that Fay believed he had killed Waggoner. Then with theinference came the staggering truth--her guiltlessness; and a paralyzingjoy held him stricken. 

A powerful hand fell upon Shefford's shoulder, startling him. Nas TaBega stood there, looking down upon him and Fay. Never had the Indianseemed so dark, inscrutable of face. But in his magnificent bearing, inthe spirit that Shefford sensed in him, there were nobility and powerand a strange pride. 

The Indian kept one hand on Shefford's shoulder, and with the otherhe struck himself on the breast. The action was that of an Indian, impressive and stern, significant of an Indian's prowess. 

"My God!" breathed Shefford, very low. 

"Oh, what does he mean?" cried Fay. 

Shefford held her with shaking hands, trying to speak, to fight a wayout of these stultifying emotions. 

"Nas Ta Bega--you heard. She thinks--I killed Waggoner!"

All about the Navajo then was dark and solemn disproof of her belief. He did not need to speak. His repetition of that savage, almost boastfulblow on his breast added only to the dignity, and not to the denial, ofa warrior. 

"Fay, he means he killed the Mormon, " said Shefford. "He must have, for_I_ did not!"

"Ah!" murmured Fay, and she leaned to him with passionate, quiveringgladness. It was the woman--the human--the soul born in her that cameuppermost then; now, when there was no direct call to the wild andelemental in her nature, she showed a heart above revenge, the instinctof a saving right, of truth as Shefford knew them. He took her into hisarms and never had he loved her so well. 

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

"I heard her cry out, " replied the Indian, in his slow English. "Iwaited. 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 hislips he silently stalked away into the gloom. That was his answer to thewhite man. 

Shefford bent over Fay, and as the strain on him broke he held hercloser and closer and his tears streamed down and his voice broke inexclamations of tenderness and thanksgiving. It did not matter what shehad thought, but she must never know what he had thought. He claspedher as something precious he had lost and regained. He was shaken witha passion of remorse. How could he have believed Fay Larkin guilty ofmurder? Women less wild and less justified than she had been driven tosuch a deed, yet how could he have believed it of her, when for two dayshe had been with her, had seen her face, and deep into her eyes? Therewas mystery in his very blindness. He cast the whole thought from himfor 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 heseemed delivered from contending tumults within, he became aware that itwas no unresponsive creature he had folded to his breast. 

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

"My darling, my dream's come true, " he said. "You are my treasure. Ifound you here at the foot of the rainbow!. .. What if it is a stonerainbow--if all is not as I had dreamed? I followed a gleam. And it'sled me to love and faith!"

. . . . . . . . . . . 

Hours afterward Shefford walked alone to and fro under the bridge. Histrouble had given place to serenity. But this night of nights he mustlive out wide-eyed to its end. 

The moon had long since crossed the streak of star-fired blue above andthe canyon was black in shadow. At times a current of wind, with all thestrangeness of that strange country in its hollow moan, rushed throughthe great stone arch. At other times there was silence such as Sheffordimagined dwelt deep under this rocky world. At still other times an owlhooted, and the sound was nameless. But it had a mocking echo thatnever ended. An echo of night, silence, gloom, melancholy death, age, eternity!

The Indian lay asleep with his dark face upturned, and the othersleepers lay calm and white in the starlight. 

Shefford saw in them the meaning of life and the past--the illimitabletrain of faces that had shone the stars. There was a spirit in thecanyon, and whether or not it was what the Navajo embodied in the greatNonnezoshe, or the life of this present, or the death of the ages, orthe nature so magnificently manifested in those silent, dreaming waitingwalls--the truth for Shefford was that this spirit was God. 

Life was eternal. Man's immortality lay in himself. Love of a woman washope--happiness. Brotherhood--that mystic and grand "Bi Nai!" of theNavajo--that was religion. 

XIX. THE GRAND CANYON OF THE COLORADO

The night passed, the gloom turned gray, the dawn stole cool and paleinto the canyon. When Nas Ta Bega drove the mustangs into camp thelofty ramparts of the walls were rimmed with gold and the dark arch ofNonnezoshe began to lose its steely gray. 

The women had rested well and were in better condition to travel. Janewas cheerful and Fay radiant one moment and in a dream the next. She wasbeginning to live in that wonderful future. They talked more than usualat breakfast, and Lassiter made droll remarks. Shefford, with his greatand haunting trouble ended for ever, with now only danger to face ahead, was a different man, but thoughtful and quiet. 

This morning the Indian leisurely made preparations for the start. Forall the concern he showed he might have known every foot of the canyonbelow Nonnezoshe. But, for Shefford, with the dawn had returned anxiety, a restless feeling of the need of hurry. What obstacles, what impassablegorges, might lie between this bridge and the river! The Indian'sinscrutable serenity and Fay's trust, her radiance, the exquisite glowupon her face, sustained Shefford and gave him patience to endure andconceal his dread. 

At length the flight was resumed, with Nas Ta Bega leading on foot, andShefford walking in the rear. A quarter of a mile below camp the Indianled down a declivity into the bottom of the narrow gorge, where thestream ran. He did not gaze backward for a last glance at Nonnezoshe;nor did Jane or Lassiter. Fay, however, checked Nack-yal at the rim ofthe descent and turned to look behind. Shefford contrasted her tremuloussmile, her half-happy good-by to this place, with the white stillnessof her face when she had bade farewell to Surprise Valley. Then she rodeNack-yal down into the gorge. 

Shefford knew that this would be his last look at the rainbow bridge. Ashe gazed the tip of the great arch lost its cold, dark stone color andbegan to shine. The sun had just arisen high enough over some low breakin the wall to reach the bridge. Shefford watched. Slowly, in wondroustransformation, the gold and blue and rose and pink and purple blendedtheir hues, softly, mistily, cloudily, until once again the arch was arainbow. 

Ages before life had evolved upon the earth it had spread its grand archfrom wall to wall, black and mystic at night, transparent and rosy inthe sunrise, at sunset a flaming curve limned against the heavens. Whenthe race of man had passed it would, perhaps, stand there still. It wasnot for many eyes to see. Only by toil, sweat, endurance, blood, couldany man ever look at Nonnezoshe. So it would always be alone, grand, silent, beautiful, unintelligible. 

Shefford bade Nonnezoshe a mute, reverent farewell. Then plunging downthe weathered slope of the gorge to the stream below, he hurried forwardto join the others. They had progressed much farther than he imaginedthey would have, and this was owing to the fact that the floor of thegorge afforded easy travel. It was gravel on rock bottom, tortuous, butopen, with infrequent and shallow downward steps. The stream did not nowrush and boil along and tumble over rock-encumbered ledges. In cornersthe water collected in round, green, eddying pools. There were patchesof grass and willows and mounds of moss. Shefford's surprise equaled hisrelief, for he believed that the violent descent of Nonnezoshe Boco hadbeen passed. Any turn now, he imagined, might bring the party out uponthe river. When he caught up with them he imparted this conviction, which was received with cheer. The hopes of all, except the Indian, seemed mounting; and if he ever hoped or despaired it was nevermanifest. 

Shefford's anticipation, however, was not soon realized. The fugitivestraveled miles farther down Nonnezoshe Boco, and the only changes werethat the walls of the lower gorge heightened and merged into those aboveand that these upper ones towered ever loftier. Shefford had to throwhis head straight back to look up at the rims, and the narrow strip ofsky was now indeed a flowing stream of blue. 

Difficult steps were met, too, yet nothing compared to those of theupper canyon. Shefford calculated that this day's travel had advancedseveral hours; and more than ever now he was anticipating the mouthof Nonnezoshe Boco. Still another hour went by. And then came strikingchanges. The canyon narrowed till the walls were scarcely twenty pacesapart; the color of stone grew dark red above and black down low; thelight of day became shadowed, and the floor was a level, gravelly, winding lane, with the stream meandering slowly and silently. 

Suddenly the Indian halted. He turned his ear down the canyon lane. Hehad heard something. The others grouped round him, but did not hear asound except the soft flow of water and the heave of the mustangs. Thenthe Indian went on. Presently he halted again. And again he listened. This time he threw up his head and upon his dark face shone a lightwhich might have been pride. 

"Tse ko-n-tsa-igi, " he said. 

The others could not understand, but they were impressed. 

"Shore he means somethin' big, " drawled Lassiter. 

"Oh, what did he say?" queried Fay in eagerness. 

"Nas Ta Bega, tell us, " said Shefford. "We are full of hope. "

"Grand Canyon, " replied the Indian. 

"How do you know?" asked Shefford. 

"I hear the roar of the river. "

But Shefford, listen as he might, could not hear it. They traveled on, winding down the wonderful lane. Every once in a while Shefford laggedbehind, let the others pass out of hearing, and then he listened. Atlast he was rewarded. Low and deep, dull and strange, with some qualityto incite dread, came a roar. Thereafter, at intervals, usually at turnsin the canyon, and when a faint stir of warm air fanned his cheeks, heheard the sound, growing clearer and louder. 

He rounded an abrupt corner to have the roar suddenly fill his ears, tosee the lane extend straight to a ragged vent, and beyond that, at somedistance, a dark, ragged, bulging wall, like iron. As he hurried forwardhe was surprised to find that the noise did not increase. Here it kepta strange uniformity of tone and volume. The others of the party passedout of the mouth of Nonnezoshe Boco in advance of Shefford, and whenhe reached it they were grouped upon a bank of sand. A dark-red canyonyawned before them, and through it slid the strangest river Shefford hadever seen. At first glance he imagined the strangeness consisted of thedark-red color of the water, but at the second he was not so sure. Allthe others, except Nas Ta Bega, eyed the river blankly, as if they didnot know what to think. The roar came from round a huge bulging walldownstream. Up the canyon, half a mile, at another turn, there was aleaping rapid of dirty red-white waves and the sound of this, probably, was drowned in the unseen but nearer rapid. 

"This is the Grand Canyon of the Colorado, " said Shefford. "We've comeout at the mouth of Nonnezoshe Boco. .. . And now to wait for Joe Lake!"

They made camp on a dry, level sand-bar under a shelving wall. Nas TaBega collected a pile of driftwood to be used for fire, and then he tookthe mustangs back up the side canyon to find grass for them. Lassiterappeared unusually quiet, and soon passed from weary rest on the sandto deep slumber. Fay and Jane succumbed to an exhaustion that manifesteditself the moment relaxation set in, and they, too, fell asleep. Shefford patrolled the long strip of sand under the wall, and watchedup the river for Joe Lake. The Indian returned and went along the river, climbed over the jutting, sharp slopes that reached into the water, andpassed out of sight up-stream toward the rapid. 

Shefford had a sense that the river and the canyon were too magnificentto be compared with others. Still, all his emotions and sensations hadbeen so wrought upon, he seemed not to have any left by which he mightjudge of what constituted the difference. He would wait. He had a grimconviction that before he was safely out of this earth-riven crackhe would know. One thing, however, struck him, and it was that up thecanyon, high over the lower walls, hazy and blue, stood other walls, and beyond and above them, dim in purple distance, upreared still otherwalls. The haze and the blue and the purple meant great distance, and, likewise, the height seemed incomparable. 

The red river attracted him most. Since this was the medium by which hemust escape with his party, it was natural that it absorbed him, tothe neglect of the gigantic cliffs. And the more he watched theriver, studied it, listened to it, imagined its nature, its power, itsrestlessness, the more he dreaded it. As the hours of the afternoonwore away, and he strolled along and rested on the banks, his firstimpressions, and what he realized might be his truest ones, weregradually lost. He could not bring them back. The river was changing, deceitful. It worked upon his mind. The low, hollow roar filled his earsand seemed to mock him. Then he endeavored to stop thinking about it, to confine his attention to the gap up-stream where sooner or laterhe prayed that Joe Lake and his boat would appear. But, though hecontrolled his gaze, he could not his thought, and his strange, impondering dread of the river augmented. 

The afternoon waned. Nas Ta Bega came back to camp and said anylikelihood of Joe's arrival was past for that day. Shefford could notget over an impression of strangeness--of the impossibility of thereality presented to his naked eyes. These lonely fugitives in thehuge-walled canyon waiting for a boatman to come down that river!Strange and wild--those were the words which, inadequately at best, suited this country and the situations it produced. 

After supper he and Fay walked along the bars of smooth, red sand. Therewere a few moments when the distant peaks and domes and turrets wereglorified in changing sunset hues. But the beauty was fleeting. Faystill showed lassitude. She was quiet, yet cheerful, and the sweetnessof her smile, her absolute trust in him, stirred and strengthened anewhis spirit. Yet he suffered torture when he thought of trusting Fay'slife, her soul, and her beauty to this strange red river. 

Night brought him relief. He could not see the river; only the low roarmade its presence known out there in the shadows. And, there being noneed to stay awake, he dropped at once into heavy slumber. He wasroused by hands dragging at him. Nas Ta Bega bent over him. It wasbroad daylight. The yellow wall high above was glistening. A firewas crackling and pleasant odors were wafted to him. Fay and Jane andLassiter sat around the tarpaulin at breakfast. After the meal suspenseand strain were manifested in all the fugitives, even the imperturbableIndian being more than usually watchful. His eyes scarcely ever leftthe black gap where the river slid round the turn above. Soon, as on thepreceding day, he disappeared up the ragged, iron-bound shore. There wasscarcely an attempt at conversation. A controlling thought bound thatgroup into silence--if Joe Lake was ever going to come he would cometo-day. 

Shefford asked himself a hundred times if it were possible, and hisanswer seemed to be in the low, sullen, muffled roar of the river. Andas the morning wore on toward noon his dread deepened until all chanceappeared hopeless. Already he had begun to have vague and unformedand disquieting ideas of the only avenue of escape left--to return upNonnezoshe Boco--and that would be to enter a trap. 

Suddenly a piercing cry pealed down the canyon. It was followed byechoes, weird and strange, that clapped from wall to wall in mockingconcatenation. Nas Ta Bega appeared high on the ragged slope. The cryhad been the Indian's. He swept an arm out, pointing up-stream, andstood like a statue on the iron rocks. 

Shefford's keen gaze sighted a moving something in the bend of theriver. It was long, low, dark, and flat, with a lighter object uprightin the middle. A boat and a man!

"Joe! It's Joe!" yelled Shefford, madly. "There!. .. Look!"

Jane and Fay were on their knees in the sand, clasping each other, palefaces toward that bend in the river. 

Shefford ran up the shore toward the Indian. He climbed the juttingslant of rock. The boat was now full in the turn--it moved faster--itwas nearing the smooth incline above the rapid. There! it glideddown--heaved darkly up--settled back--and disappeared in the frothy, muddy roughness of water. Shefford held his breath and watched. A dark, bobbing object showed, vanished, showed again to enlarge--to take theshape of a big flatboat--and then it rode the swift, choppy current outof the lower end of the rapid. 

Nas Ta Bega began to make violent motions, and Shefford, taking his cue, frantically waved his red scarf. There was a five-mile-an-hour currentright before them, and Joe must needs see them so that he might sheerthe huge and clumsy craft into the shore before it drifted too far down. 

Presently Joe did see them. He appeared to be half-naked; he raisedaloft both arms, and bellowed down the canyon. The echoes boomed fromwall to wall, every one stronger with the deep, hoarse triumph in theMormon's voice, till they passed on, growing weaker, to die away in theroar of the river below. Then Joe bent to a long oar that appeared tobe fastened to the stern of the boat, and the craft drifted out of theswifter current toward the shore. It reached a point opposite to whereShefford and the Indian waited, and, though Joe made prodigious efforts, it slid on. Still, it also drifted shoreward, and half-way down to themouth of Nonnezoshe Boco Joe threw the end of a rope to the Indian. 

"Ho! Ho!" yelled the Mormon, again setting into motion the fiendishechoes. He was naked to the waist; he had lost flesh; he was haggard, worn, dirty, wet. While he pulled on a shirt Nas Ta Bega made the ropefast to a snag of a log of driftwood embedded in the sand, and the boatswung to shore. It was perhaps thirty feet long by half as many wide, crudely built of rough-hewn boards. The steering-gear was a long polewith a plank nailed to the end. The craft was empty save for anotherpole and plank, Joe's coat, and a broken-handled shovel. There werewater and sand on the flooring. Joe stepped ashore and he was grippedfirst by Shefford and then by the Indian. He was an unkempt and gauntgiant, yet how steadfast and reliable, how grimly strong to inspirehope!

"Reckon most of me's here, " he said in reply to greetings. "I've hadwater aplenty. My God! I've had WATER!" He rolled out a grim laugh. "Butno grub for three days. .. . Forgot to fetch some!"

How practical he was! He told Fay she looked good for sore eyes, buthe needed a biscuit most of all. There was just a second of singularhesitation when he faced Lassiter, and then the big, strong hand of theyoung Mormon went out to meet the old gunman's. While they fed him andhe ate like a starved man Shefford told of the flight from the village, the rescuing of Jane and Lassiter from Surprise Valley, the descent fromthe plateau, the catastrophe to Shadd's gang--and, concluding, Shefford, without any explanation, told that Nas Ta Bega had killed the MormonWaggoner. 

"Reckon I had that figured, " replied Joe. "First off. I didn't thinkso. .. . So Shadd went over the cliff. That's good riddance. It beats me, though. Never knew that Piute's like with a horse. And he had some grandhorses in his outfit. Pity about them. "

Later when Joe had a moment alone with Shefford he explained that duringhis ride to Kayenta he had realized Fay's innocence and who had beenresponsible for the tragedy. He took Withers, the trader, into hisconfidence, and they planned a story, which Withers was to carry toStonebridge, that would exculpate Fay and Shefford of anything moreserious than flight. If Shefford got Fay safely out of the country atonce that would end the matter for all concerned. 

"Reckon I'm some ferry-boatman, too--a FAIRY boatman. Haw! Haw!" headded. "And we're going through. .. . Now I want you to help me rig thistarpaulin up over the bow of the boat. If we can fix it up strong it'llkeep the waves from curling over. They filled her four times for me. "

They folded the tarpaulin three times, and with stout pieces of splitplank and horseshoe nails from Shefford's saddle-bags and pieces of ropethey rigged up a screen around bow and front corners. 

Nas Ta Bega put the saddles in the boat. The mustangs were far upNonnezoshe Boco and would work their way back to green and luxuriantcanyons. The Indian said they would soon become wild and would neverbe found. Shefford regretted Nack-yal, but was glad the faithful littlemustang would be free in one of those beautiful canyons. 

"Reckon we'd better be off, " called Joe. "All aboard!" He placed Fayand Jane in a corner of the bow, where they would be spared sight of therapids. Shefford loosed the rope and sprang aboard. "Pard, " said Joe, "it's one hell of a river! And now with the snow melting up in themountains it's twenty feet above normal and rising fast. But that's wellfor us. It covers the stones in the rapids. If it hadn't been in floodJoe would be an angel now!"

The boat cleared the sand, lazily wheeled in the eddying water, andsuddenly seemed caught by some powerful gliding force. When it sweptout beyond the jutting wall Shefford saw a quarter of a mile of slidingwater that appeared to end abruptly. Beyond lengthened out the giganticgap between the black and frowning cliffs. 

"Wow!" ejaculated Joe. "Drops out of sight there. But that oneain't much. I can tell by the roar. When you see my hair stand upstraight--then watch out!. .. Lassiter, you look after the women. Shefford, you stand ready to bail out with the shovel, for we'll sureship water. Nas Ta Bega, you help here with the oar. "

The roar became a heavy, continuous rumble; the current quickened;little streaks and ridges seemed to race along the boat; strangegurglings rose from under the bow. Shefford stood on tiptoe to see thebreak in the river below. Swiftly it came into sight--a wonderful, long, smooth, red slant of water, a swelling mound, a huge back-curling wave, another and another, a sea of frothy, uplifting crests, leaping andtumbling and diminishing down to the narrowing apex of the rapid. It wasa frightful sight, yet it thrilled Shefford. Joe worked the steering-oarback and forth and headed the boat straight for the middle of theincline. The boat reached the round rim, gracefully dipped with a heavysop, and went shooting down. The wind blew wet in Shefford's face. Hestood erect, thrilling, fascinated, frightened. Then he seemed to feelhimself lifted; the curling wave leaped at the boat; there was a shockthat laid him flat; and when he rose to his knees all about him was roarand spray and leaping, muddy waves. Shock after shock jarred the boat. Splashes of water stung his face. And then the jar and the motion, theconfusion and roar, gradually lessened until presently Shefford rose tosee smooth water ahead and the long, trembling rapid behind. 

"Get busy, bailer, " yelled Joe. "Pretty soon you'll be glad you have tobail--so you can't see!"

There were several inches of water in the bottom of the boat andShefford learned for the first time the expediency of a shovel in theart of bailing. 

"That tarpaulin worked powerful good, " went on Joe. "And it saves thewomen. Now if it just don't bust on a big wave! That one back there waslittle. "

When Shefford had scooped out all the water he went forward to see howFay and Jane and Lassiter had fared. The women were pale, but composed. They had covered their heads. 

"But the dreadful roar!" exclaimed Fay. 

Lassiter looked shaken for once. 

"Shore I'd rather taken a chance meetin' them Mormons on the way out, "he said. 

Shefford spoke with an encouraging assurance which he did not himselffeel. Almost at the moment he marked a silence that had fallen into thecanyon; then it broke to a low, dull, strange roar. 

"Aha! Hear that?" The Mormon shook his shaggy head. "Reckon we're inCataract Canyon. We'll be standing on end from now on. Hang on to her, boys!"

Danger of this unusual kind had brought out a peculiar levity in thesomber Mormon--a kind of wild, gay excitement. His eyes rolled as hewatched the river ahead and he puffed out his cheek with his tongue. 

The rugged, overhanging walls of the canyon grew sinister in Shefford'ssight. They were jaws. And the river--that made him shudder to look downinto it. The little whirling pits were eyes peering into his, and theyraced on with the boat, disappeared, and came again, always with thelittle, hollow gurgles. 

The craft drifted swiftly and the roar increased. Another rapid seemedto move up into view. It came at a bend in the canyon. When the breezestruck Shefford's cheeks he did not this time experience exhilaration. The current accelerated its sliding motion and bore the flatboatstraight for the middle of the curve. Shefford saw the bend, a long, dark, narrow, gloomy canyon, and a stretch of contending waters, then, crouching low, he waited for the dip, the race, the shock. They came--the last stopping the boat--throwing it aloft--lettingit drop--and crests of angry waves curled over the side. Shefford, kneeling, felt the water slap around him, and in his ears was adeafening roar. There were endless moments of strife and hell and flyingdarkness of spray all about him, and under him the rocking boat. Whenthey lessened--ceased in violence--he stood ankle-deep in water, andthen madly he began to bail. 

Another roar deadened his ears, but he did not look up from his toil. And when he had to get down to avoid the pitch he closed his eyes. Thatrapid passed and with more water to bail, he resumed his share in themanning of the crude craft. It was more than a share--a tremendousresponsibility to which he bent with all his might. He heard Joeyell--and again--and again. He heard the increasing roars one afteranother till they seemed one continuous bellow. He felt the shock, thepitch, the beating waves, and then the lessening power of sound andcurrent. That set him to his task. Always in these long intervals oftoil he seemed to see, without looking up, the growing proportionsof the canyon. And the river had become a living, terrible thing. Theintervals of his tireless effort when he scooped the water overboardwere fleeting, and the rides through rapid after rapid were endlessperiods of waiting terror. His spirit and his hope were overwhelmed bythe rush and roar and fury. 

Then, as he worked, there came a change--a rest to deafened ears--astretch of river that seemed quiet after chaos--and here for the firsttime he bailed the boat clear of water. 

Jane and Fay were huddled in a corner, with the flapping tarpaulin nowhalf fallen over them. They were wet and muddy. Lassiter crouched likea man dazed by a bad dream, and his white hair hung, stained andbedraggled, over his face. The Indian and the Mormon, grim, hard, worn, stood silent at the oar. 

The afternoon was far advanced and the sun had already descended belowthe western ramparts. A cool breeze blew up the canyon, laden with asound that was the same, yet not the same, as those low, dull roarswhich Shefford dreaded more and more. 

Joe Lake turned his ear to the breeze. A stronger puff brought a heavy, quivering rumble. This time he did not vent his gay and wild defiance tothe river. He bent lower--listened. Then as the rumble became a strange, deep, reverberating roll, as if the monstrous river were rolling hugestones down a subterranean canyon, Shefford saw with dilating eyes thatthe Mormon's hair was rising stiff upon his head. 

"Hear that!" said Joe, turning an ashen face to Shefford. "We'lldrop off the earth now. Hang on to the girl, so if we go you can gotogether. .. . And, pard, if you've a God--pray!"

Nas Ta Bega faced the bend from whence that rumble came, and he was thesame dark, inscrutable, impassive Indian as of old. What was death tohim?

Shefford felt the strong, rushing love of life surge in him, and it wasnot for himself he thought, but for Fay and the happiness she merited. He went to her, patted the covered head, and tried with words choking inhis throat to give hope. And he leaned with hands gripping the gunwale, with eyes wide open, ready for the unknown. 

The river made a quick turn and from round the bend rumbled a terribleuproar. The current racing that way was divided or uncertain, and itgave strange motion to the boat. Joe and Nas Ta Bega shoved desperatelyupon the oar, all to no purpose. The currents had their will. The bow ofthe boat took the place of the stern. Then swift at the head of a curvedincline it shot beyond the bulging wall. 

And Shefford saw an awful place before them. The canyon had narrowed tohalf its width, and turned almost at right angles. The huge clamor ofappalling sound came from under the cliff where the swollen river had topass and where there was not space. The rapid rushed in gigantic swellsright upon the wall, boomed against it, climbed and spread and fellaway, to recede and gather new impetus, to leap madly on down thecanyon. 

Shefford went to his knees, clasped Fay, and Jane, too. But facing thisappalling thing he had to look. Courage and despair came to him at thelast. This must be the end. With long, buoyant swing the boat saileddown, shot over the first waves, was caught and lifted upon the greatswell and impelled straight toward the cliff. Huge whirlpools racedalongside, and from them came a horrible, engulfing roar. Monstrousbulges rose on the other side. All the stupendous power of that mightyriver of downward-rushing silt swung the boat aloft, up and up, as theswell climbed the wall. Shefford, with transfixed eyes and harrowedsoul, watched the wet black wall. It loomed down upon him. The stern ofthe boat went high. Then when the crash that meant doom seemed imminentthe swell spread and fell back from the wall and the boat never struckat all. By some miraculous chance it had been favored by a strangeand momentary receding of the huge spent swell. Then it slid back, wascaught and whirled by the current into a red, frothy, up-flung rapidsbelow. Shefford bowed his head over. Fay and saw no more, nor felt norheard. What seemed a long time after that the broken voice of the Mormonrecalled him to his labors. 

The boat was half full of water. Nas Ta Bega scooped out great sheetsof it with his hands. Shefford sprang to aid him, found the shovel, andplunged into the task. Slowly but surely they emptied the boat. And thenShefford saw that twilight had fallen. Joe was working the craft towarda narrow bank of sand, to which, presently, they came, and the Indiansprang out to moor to a rock. 

The fugitives went ashore and, weary and silent and drenched, theydropped in the warm sand. 

But Shefford could not sleep. The river kept him awake. In the distanceit rumbled, low, deep, reverberating, and near at hand it was a thing ofmutable mood. It moaned, whined, mocked, and laughed. It had the soul ofa devil. It was a river that had cut its way to the bowels of the earth, and its nature was destructive. It harbored no life. Fighting its waythrough those dead walls, cutting and tearing and wearing, its heavyburden of silt was death, destruction, and decay. A silent river, amurmuring, strange, fierce, terrible, thundering river of the desert!Even in the dark it seemed to wear the hue of blood. 

All night long Shefford heard it, and toward the dark hours before dawn, when a restless, broken sleep came to him, his dreams were dreams of ariver of sounds. 

All the beautiful sounds he knew and loved he heard--the sigh of thewind in the pines, the mourn of the wolf, the cry of the laughing-gull, the murmur of running brooks, the song of a child, the whisper of awoman. And there were the boom of the surf, the roar of the north windin the forest, the roll of thunder. And there were the sounds not ofearth--a river of the universe rolling the planets, engulfing the stars, pouring the sea of blue into infinite space. 

Night with its fitful dreams passed. Dawn lifted the ebony gloom outof the canyon and sunlight far up on the ramparts renewed Shefford'sspirit. He rose and awoke the others. Fay's wistful smile still held itsfaith. They ate of the gritty, water-soaked food. Then they embarked. The current carried them swiftly down and out of hearing of the lastrapid. The character of the river and the canyon changed. The currentlessened to a slow, smooth, silent, eddying flow. The walls grewstraight, sheer, gloomy, and vast. Shefford noted these features, buthe was listening so hard for the roar of the next rapid that he scarcelyappreciated them. All the fugitives were listening. Every bend in thecanyon--and now the turns were numerous--might hold a rapid. Sheffordstrained his ears. He imagined the low, dull, strange rumble. He had itin his ears, yet there was the growing sensation of silence. 

"Shore this 's a dead place, " muttered Lassiter. 

"She's only slowed up for a bigger plunge, " replied Joe. "Listen! Hearthat?"

But there was no true sound, Joe only imagined what he expected andhated and dreaded to hear. 

Mile after mile they drifted through the silent gloom between thosevast and magnificent walls. After the speed, the turmoil, the whirling, shrieking, thundering, the never-ceasing sound and change and motionof the rapids above, this slow, quiet drifting, this utter, absolutesilence, these eddying stretches of still water below, worked strangelyupon Shefford's mind and he feared he was going mad. 

There was no change to the silence, no help for the slow drift, nolessening of the strain. And the hours of the day passed as moments, the sun crossed the blue gap above, the golden lights hung on the upperwalls, the gloom returned, and still there was only the dead, vast, insupportable silence. 

There came bends where the current quickened, ripples widened, longlanes of little waves roughened the surface, but they made no sound. 

And then the fugitives turned through a V-shaped vent in the canyon. The ponderous walls sheered away from the river. There was space andsunshine, and far beyond this league-wide open rose vermilion-coloredcliffs. A mile below the river disappeared in a dark, boxlike passagefrom which came a rumble that made Shefford's flesh creep. 

The Mormon flung high his arms and let out the stentorian yell that hadrolled down to the fugitives as they waited at the mouth of NonnezosheBoco. But now it had a wilder, more exultant note. Strange how heshifted his gaze to Fay Larkin!

"Girl! Get up and look!" he called. "The Ferry! The Ferry!"

Then he bent his brawny back over the steering-oar, and the clumsy craftslowly turned toward the left-hand shore, where a long, low bank ofgreen willows and cottonwoods gave welcome relief to the eyes. Upon theopposite side of the river Shefford saw a boat, similar to the one hewas in, moored to the bank. 

"Shore, if I ain't losin' my eyes, I seen an Injun with a red blanket, "said Lassiter. 

"Yes, Lassiter, " cried Shefford. "Look, Fay! Look, Jane! See!Indians--hogans--mustangs--there above the green bank!"

The boat glided slowly shoreward. And the deep, hungry, terrible rumbleof the remorseless river became something no more to dread. 

XX. WILLOW SPRINGS

Two days' travel from the river, along the saw-toothed range of EchoCliffs, stood Presbrey's trading-post, a little red-stone square housein a green and pretty valley called Willow Springs. 

It was nearing the time of sunset--that gorgeous hour of color in thePainted Desert--when Shefford and his party rode down upon the post. 

The scene lacked the wildness characteristic of Kayenta or Red Lake. There were wagons and teams, white men and Indians, burros, sheep, lambs, mustangs saddled and unsaddled, dogs, and chickens. A young, sweet-faced woman stood in the door of the post and she it was who firstsighted the fugitives. Presbrey was weighing bags of wool on a scale, and when she called he lazily turned, as if to wonder at her eagerness. 

Then he flung up his head, with its shock of heavy hair, in a start ofsurprise, and his florid face lost its lazy indolence to become wreathedin a huge smile. 

"Haven't seen a white person in six months!" was his extraordinarygreeting. 

An hour later Shefford, clean-shaven, comfortably clothed once more, found himself a different man; and when he saw Fay in white again, witha new and indefinable light shining through that old, haunting shadow inher eyes, then the world changed and he embraced perfect happiness. 

There was a dinner such as Shefford had not seen for many a day, andsuch as Fay had never seen, and that brought to Jane Withersteen's eyesthe dreamy memory of the bountiful feasts which, long years ago, hadbeen her pride. And there was a story told to the curious trader andhis kind wife--a story with its beginning back in those past years, ofriders of the purple sage, of Fay Larkin as a child and then as a wildgirl in Surprise Valley, of the flight down Nonnezoshe Boco an thecanyon, of a great Mormon and a noble Indian. 

Presbrey stared with his deep-set eyes and wagged his tousled head andstared again; then with the quick perception of the practical desert manhe said:

"I'm sending teamsters in to Flagstaff to-morrow. Wife and I will goalong with you. We've light wagons. Three days, maybe--or four--andwe'll be there. .. . Shefford, I'm going to see you marry Fay Larkin!"

Fay and Jane and Lassiter showed strangely against this backgroundof approaching civilization. And Shefford realized more than ever theloneliness and isolation and wildness of so many years for them. 

When the women had retired Shefford and the men talked a while. Then JoeLake rose to stretch his big frame. 

"Friends, reckon I'm all in, " he said. "Good night. " In passing he laida heavy hand on Shefford's shoulder. "Well, you got out. I've only aqueer notion how. But SOME ONE besides an Indian and a Mormon guided youout!. .. Be good to the girl. .. . Good-by, pard!"

Shefford grasped the big hand and in the emotion of the moment did notcatch the significance of Joe's last words. 

Later Shefford stepped outside into the starlight for a few moments'quiet walk and thought before he went to bed. It was a white night. Thecoyotes were yelping. The stars shone steadfast, bright, cold. Nas TaBega stalked out of the shadow of the house and joined Shefford. Theywalked in silence. Shefford's heart was too full for utterance and theIndian seldom spoke at any time. When Shefford was ready to go in Nas TaBega extended his hand. 

"Good-by--Bi Nai!" he said, strangely, using English and Navajo in whatShefford supposed to be merely good night. The starlight shone full uponthe dark, inscrutable face of the Indian. Shefford bade him good nightand then watched him stride away in the silver gloom. 

But next morning Shefford understood. Nas Ta Bega and Joe Lake weregone. It was a shock to Shefford. Yet what could he have said to either?Joe had shirked saying good-by to him and Fay. And the Indian had goneout of Shefford's life as he had come into it. 

What these two men represented in Shefford's uplift was too great forthe present to define, but they and the desert that had developed themhad taught him the meaning of life. He might fail often, since failurewas the lot of his kind, but could he ever fail again in faith in man orGod while he had mind to remember the Indian and the Mormon?

Still, though he placed them on a noble height and loved them well, there would always abide with him a sorrow for the Mormon and asleepless and eternal regret for that Indian on his lonely cedar slopewith the spirits of his vanishing race calling him. 

. . . . . . . . . . . 

Willow Springs appeared to be a lively place that morning. Presbrey wasgay and his sweet-faced wife was excited. The teamsters were a jolly, whistling lot. And the lean mustangs kicked and bit at one another. Thetrader had brought out two light wagons for the trip, and, after themanner of desert men, desired to start at sunrise. 

Far across the Painted Desert towered the San Francisco peaks, black-timbered, blue-canyoned, purple-hazed, with white snow, like theclouds, around their summits. 

Jane Withersteen looked at the radiant Fay and lived again in herhappiness. And at last excitement had been communicated to the oldgun-man. 

"Shore we're goin' to live with Fay an' John, an' be near Venters an'Bess, an' see the blacks again, Jane. .. . An' Venters will tell you, ashe did me, how Wrangle run Black Star off his legs!"

All connected with that early start was sweet, sad, hopeful. 

And so they rode away from Willow Springs, through the green fields ofalfalfa and cotton wood, down the valley with its smoking hogans andwhistling mustangs and scarlet-blanketed Indians, and out upon the bare, ridgy, colorful desert toward the rosy sunrise. 

EPILOGUE

On the outskirts of a little town in Illinois there was a farm ofrolling pasture-land. And here a beautiful meadow, green and red inclover, merged upon an orchard in the midst of which a brown-tiled roofshowed above the trees. 

One afternoon in May a group of people, strangely agitated, walked downa shady lane toward the meadow. 

"Wal, Jane, I always knew we'd get a look at them hosses again--I shoreknew, " Lassiter was saying in the same old, cool, careless drawl. Buthis clawlike hands shook a little. 

"Oh! will they know me?" asked Jane Withersteen, turning to a stalwartman--no other than the dark-faced Venters, her rider of other days. 

"Know you? I'll bet they will, " replied Venters. "What do you say, Bess?"

The shadow brightened in Bess's somber blue eyes, as if his words hadrecalled her from a sad and memorable past. 

"Black Star will know her, surely, " replied Bess. "Sometimes he pointshis nose toward the west and watches as if he saw the purple slopes andsmelt the sage of Utah! He has never forgotten. But Night has grown deafand partly blind of late. I doubt if he'd remember. "

Shefford and Fay walked arm in arm in the background. 

Out in the meadow two horses were grazing. They were sleek, shiny, long-maned, long-tailed, black as coal, and, though old, still splendidin every line. 

"Do you remember them?" whispered Shefford. 

"Oh, I only needed to see Black Star, " murmured Fay, her voicequivering. "I can remember being lifted on his back. .. . How strange! Itseems so long ago. .. . Look! Mother Jane is going out to them. "

Jane Withersteen advanced alone through the clover, and it was withunsteady steps. Presently she halted. What glorious and bitter memorieswere expressed in her strange, poignant call!

Black Star started and swept up his noble head and looked. But Nightwent on calmly grazing. Then Jane called again--the same strange call, only louder, and this time broken. Black Star raised his head higherand he whistled a piercing blast. He saw Jane; he knew her as he hadremembered the call; and he came pounding toward her. She met him, encircled his neck with her arms, and buried her face in his mane. 

"Shore I reckon I'd better never say any more about Wrangle runnin' theblacks off their legs thet time, " muttered Lassiter, as if to himself. 

"Lassiter, you only dreamed that race, " replied Venters, with a smile. 

"Oh, Bern, isn't it good that Black Star remembered her--that she'llhave him--something left of her old home?" asked Bess, wistfully. 

"Indeed it is good. But, Bess, Jane Withersteen will find a new spiritand new happiness here. "

Jane came toward them, leading both horses. "Dear friends, I am happy. To-day I bury all regrets. Of the past I shall remember only--my ridersof the purple sage. "

Venters smiled his gladness. "And you--Lassiter--what shall youremember?" he queried. 

The old gun-man looked at Jane and then at his clawlike hands and thenat Fay. His eyes lost their shadow and began to twinkle. 

"Wal, I rolled a stone once, but I reckon now thet time Wrangle--"

"Lassiter, I said you dreamed that race. Wrangle never beat the blacks, "interrupted Venters. .. . "And you, Fay, what shall you remember?"

"Surprise Valley, " replied Fay, dreamily. 

"And you--Shefford?"

Shefford shook his head. For him there could never be one memory only. In his heart there would never change or die memories of the wilduplands, of the great towers and walls, of the golden sunsets on thecanyon ramparts, of the silent, fragrant valleys where the cedars andthe sago-lilies grew, of those starlit nights when his love and faithawoke, of grand and lonely Nonnezoshe, of that red, sullen, thundering, mysterious Colorado River, of a wonderful Indian and a noble Mormon--ofall that was embodied for him in the meaning of the rainbow trail. 

THE END