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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Rainbow Trail, by Zane Grey
+#16 in our series by Zane Grey
+
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+**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts**
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+**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971**
+
+*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!*****
+
+
+Title: The Rainbow Trail
+
+Author: Zane Grey
+
+Release Date: February, 2004 [EBook #5067]
+[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule]
+[This file was first posted on April 14, 2002]
+
+Edition: 10
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE RAINBOW TRAIL ***
+
+
+
+
+This e-text was created by Doug Levy,  _littera scripta manet_
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+Transcriber's note:
+
+In the original text the words "canyon" and "pinyon" are
+spelled in the Spanish form, "canon" and "pinon", with
+tildes above the center "n"s.  Since the plain text format
+precludes the use of tildes, I've changed these words to
+the more familiar spelling to make them easier to read.
+--D.L.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE RAINBOW TRAIL, a Romance.
+
+by ZANE GREY.
+
+
+
+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 see the veils, like purple smoke, in the canyon, and I feel the
+silence.  And it seems that again I must try to pierce both and
+to get at the strange wild life of the last American wilderness--
+wild still, almost, as it ever was.
+
+
+While this romance is an independent story, yet readers of "Riders
+of the 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 different
+form in one of the monthly magazines under the title of "The Desert
+Crucible."
+             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
+dry red basin, denuded and glistening, a hollow in the desert, a
+lonely and desolate door to the vast, wild, and broken upland beyond.
+
+All day Shefford had plodded onward with the clear horizon-line a
+thing unattainable; and for days before that he had ridden the wild
+bare flats and climbed the rocky desert benches.  The great colored
+reaches and steps had led endlessly onward and upward through dim and
+deceiving distance.
+
+A hundred miles of desert travel, with its mistakes and lessons and
+intimations, had not prepared him for what he now saw.  He beheld what
+seemed a world that knew only magnitude.  Wonder and awe fixed his
+gaze, and thought remained aloof.  Then that dark and unknown northland
+flung a menace at him.  An irresistible call had drawn him to this
+seamed and peaked border of Arizona, this broken battlemented
+wilderness of Utah upland; and at first sight they frowned upon him,
+as if to warn him not to search for what lay hidden beyond the ranges.
+But Shefford thrilled with both fear and exultation.  That was the
+country which had been described to him.  Far across the red valley,
+far beyond the ragged line of black mesa and yellow range, lay the
+wild canyon with its haunting secret.
+
+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
+always haunted.  A friend's strange story had prompted his singular
+journey; a beautiful rainbow with its mystery and promise had decided
+him.  Once in his life he had answered a wild call to the kingdom of
+adventure within him, and once in his life he had been happy.  But
+here in the horizon-wide face of that up-flung and cloven desert he
+grew cold; he faltered even while he felt more fatally drawn.
+
+As if impelled Shefford started his horse down the sandy trail, but he
+checked his former far-reaching gaze.  It was the month of April, and
+the waning sun lost heat and brightness.  Long shadows crept down the
+slope ahead of him and the scant sage deepened its gray.  He watched
+the lizards shoot like brown streaks across the sand, leaving their
+slender tracks; he heard the rustle of pack-rats as they darted into
+their brushy 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.  The
+last ridge was a sand-dune, beautifully ribbed and scalloped and lined
+by the wind, and from its knife-sharp crest a thin wavering sheet of
+sand blew, almost like smoke.  Shefford wondered why the sand looked
+red at 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 bareness
+of the slope.  It dominated that long white incline.  Grim, lonely,
+forbidding, how strangely it harmonized with the surroundings!  The
+structure was octagon-shaped, built of uncut stone, and resembled a
+fort.  There was no door on the sides exposed to Shefford's gaze, but
+small apertures two-thirds the way up probably served as windows and
+port-holes.  The roof appeared to be made of poles covered with red
+earth.
+
+Like a huge cold rock on a wide plain this house stood there on the
+windy slope.  It was an outpost of the trader Presbrey, of whom
+Shefford had heard at Flagstaff and Tuba.  No living thing appeared
+in the limit of Shefford's vision.  He gazed shudderingly at the
+unwelcoming habitation, at the dark eyelike windows, at the sweep
+of barren slope merging into the vast red valley, at the bold, bleak
+bluffs.  Could any one live here?  The nature of that sinister valley
+forbade a home there, and the, spirit of the place hovered in the
+silence and space.  Shefford thought irresistibly of how his enemies
+would have consigned him to just such a hell.  He thought bitterly and
+mockingly of the narrow congregation that had proved him a failure in
+the ministry, that had repudiated his ideas of religion and immortality
+and God, that had driven him, at the age of twenty-four, from the
+calling forced upon him by his people.  As a boy he had yearned to make
+himself an artist; his family had made him a clergyman; fate had made
+him a failure.  A failure only so far in his life, something urged him
+to add--for in the lonely days and silent nights of the desert he had
+experienced a strange birth of hope.  Adventure had called him, but
+it was a vague and spiritual hope, a dream of promise, a nameless
+attainment that fortified his wilder impulse.
+
+As he rode around a corner of the stone house his horse snorted and
+stopped.  A lean, shaggy pony jumped at sight of him, almost displacing
+a red long-haired blanket that covered an Indian saddle.  Quick thuds
+of hoofs in sand drew Shefford's attention to a corral made of peeled
+poles, 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, a pile of bags of flour, blankets, and silver-ornamented
+objects, but the persons he had heard were not in that part of the
+house.  Around another corner of the octagon-shaped wall he found
+another open door, and through it saw goat-skins and a mound of dirty
+sheep-wool, black and brown and white.  It was light in this part of
+the building.  When he crossed the threshold he was astounded to see
+a man struggling with a girl--an Indian girl.  She was straining back
+from him, panting, and uttering low guttural sounds.  The man's face
+was corded and dark with passion.  This scene affected Shefford
+strangely.  Primitive emotions were new to him.
+
+Before Shefford could speak the girl broke loose and turned to flee.
+She was an Indian and this place was the uncivilized desert, but
+Shefford knew terror when he saw it.  Like a dog the man rushed after
+her.  It was instinct that made Shefford strike, and his blow laid the
+man flat.  He lay stunned a moment, then raised himself to a sitting
+posture, his hand to his face, and the gaze he fixed upon Shefford
+seemed to combine astonishment 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.  There
+was 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
+and rather stout; he had a smooth tanned face, soft of outline, with a
+weak chin; his eyes were dark.  The look of him and his corduroys and
+his soft shoes 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 had met this stranger stood out strikingly.  He stooped
+to pick up a soft felt hat and, jamming it on his head, he hurried out.
+Shefford followed him 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 was hard, he put the pony to a lope and gradually
+drew away.
+
+"Well!" ejaculated Shefford.  He did not know what to make of this
+adventure.  Presently he became aware that the Indian girl was sitting
+on a roll of blankets near the wall.  With curious interest Shefford
+studied her appearance.  She had long, raven-black hair, tangled and
+disheveled, and she wore a soiled white band of cord above her brow.
+The color of her face struck him; it was dark, but not red nor bronzed;
+it almost had a tinge of gold.  Her profile was clear-cut, bold, almost
+stern.  Long black eyelashes hid her eyes.  She wore a tight-fitting
+waist garment of material resembling velveteen.  It was ripped along
+her side, exposing a skin still more richly gold than that of her face.
+A string of silver ornaments and turquoise-and-white beads encircled
+her neck, and it moved gently up and down with the heaving of her full
+bosom.  Her skirt was some gaudy print goods, torn and stained and
+dusty.  She had little feet, incased in brown moccasins, fitting like
+gloves and buttoning over the ankles with silver coins.
+
+"Who was that man?  Did he hurt you?" inquired Shefford, turning to
+gaze down 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
+in the sunset glow.  Small objects moved around it, so small that
+Shefford thought he saw several dogs led by a child.  But it was the
+distance that deceived him.  There was a man down there watering his
+horses.  That reminded Shefford of the duty owing to his own tired and
+thirsty beast.  Whereupon he untied his pack, took off the saddle, and
+was about ready to 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 as
+black as her hair.  He was puzzled to decide whether or not he thought
+her handsome.
+
+"Thanks, but I'll go," he replied, and, taking the bridle again, he
+started 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 how the trader lived.  Presently Shefford discovered that
+the Indian girl was following him with her own pony.  Looking upward
+at her against the light, he thought her slender, lithe, picturesque.
+At a distance he liked her.
+
+He plodded on, at length glad to get out of the drifts of sand to the
+hard level floor of the valley.  This, too, was sand, but dried and
+baked hard, and red in color.  At some season of the year this immense
+flat must be covered with water.  How wide it was, and empty!  Shefford
+experienced again a feeling that had been novel to him--and it was
+that he was loose, free, unanchored, ready to veer with the wind.
+From the foot of the slope the water hole had appeared to be a few
+hundred rods out in the valley.  But the small size of the figures
+made Shefford doubt; and he had to travel many times a few hundred
+rods before those figures began to grow.  Then Shefford made out
+that they were approaching him.
+
+Thereafter they rapidly increased to normal proportions of man and
+beast.  When Shefford met them he saw a powerful, heavily built young
+man leading 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
+beyond Tuba to-day."
+
+"Glad to see you," said Presbrey.  He offered his hand.  He was a
+stalwart man, clad in gray shirt, overalls, and boots.  A shock of
+tumbled light hair covered his massive head; he was tanned, but not
+darkly, and there was 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.
+"Reckon here's the jumping-off place."
+
+"It's pretty--lonesome," said Shefford, hesitating as if at a loss
+for words.
+
+Then the Indian girl came up.  Presbrey addressed her in her own
+language, which Shefford did not understand.  She seemed shy and
+would not answer; she stood with downcast face and eyes.  Presbrey
+spoke again, at which she pointed down the valley, and then moved
+on with her pony toward the water-hole.
+
+Presbrey's keen eyes fixed on the receding black dot far down that
+oval expanse.
+
+"That fellow left--rather abruptly," said Shefford, constrainedly.
+"Who was he?"
+
+"His name's Willetts.  He's a missionary.  He rode in to-day with this
+Navajo girl.  He was taking her to Blue Canyon, where he lives and
+teaches the Indians.  I've met him only a few times.  You see, not
+many white men ride in here.  He's the first white man I've seen in
+six months, and you're the second.  Both the same day! . . . Red Lake's
+getting popular!  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
+was the 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't
+think.  Indeed, I'm surprised at myself."
+
+Presbrey made no comment and his face was as hard to read as one of
+the distant bluffs.
+
+"But what did the man mean?" asked Shefford, conscious of a little
+heat.  "I'm a stranger out here.  I'm ignorant of Indians--how they're
+controlled.  Still I'm no fool. . . . If Willetts didn't mean evil, at
+least he was brutal."
+
+"He was teaching her religion," replied Presbrey.  His tone held faint
+scorn and implied a joke, but his face did not change in the slightest.
+
+Without understanding just why, Shefford felt his conviction justified
+and his action approved.  Then he was sensible of a slight shock of
+wonder and disgust.
+
+"I am--I was a minister of the Gospel," he said to Presbrey.  "What you
+hint seems impossible.  I can't believe it."
+
+"I didn't hint," replied Presbrey, bluntly, and it was evident that
+he was a sincere, but close-mouthed, man.  "Shefford, so you're a
+preacher? . . . 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
+for wanderers. . . . Go water your horse and take him up to the corral.
+You'll find 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 the
+margin of the pool.  The thirsty horse splashed in and eagerly bent his
+head.  But he did not like the taste.  Many times he refused to drink,
+yet always lowered his nose again.  Finally he drank, though not his
+fill.  Shefford saw the Indian girl drink from her hand.  He scooped up
+a handful and found it too sour to swallow.  When he turned to retrace
+his steps she mounted her pony and followed him.
+
+A golden flare lit up the western sky, and silhouetted dark and lonely
+against it stood the trading-post.  Upon his return Shefford found the
+wind rising, and it chilled him.  When he reached the slope thin gray
+sheets of sand were blowing low, rising, whipping, falling, sweeping
+along with soft silken rustle.  Sometimes the gray veils hid his boots.
+It was a long, toilsome climb up that yielding, dragging ascent, and
+he had already been lame and tired.  By the time he had put his horse
+away twilight was everywhere except in the west.  The Indian girl left
+her pony in the corral and came like a shadow toward the house.
+
+Shefford had difficulty in finding the foot of the stairway.  He
+climbed to 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 the
+valley side, and here, too, there were windows.  How attractive the
+place was in comparison with the impressions gained from the outside!
+The furnishings consisted of Indian blankets on the floor, two beds,
+a desk and table, several chairs and a couch, a gun-rack full of
+rifles, innumerable silver-ornamented belts, bridles, and other Indian
+articles upon the walls, and in one corner a wood-burning stove with
+teakettle steaming, and a great cupboard with shelves packed full of
+canned foods.
+
+Shefford leaned in the doorway and looked out.  Beneath him on a roll
+of blankets sat the Indian girl, silent and motionless.  He wondered
+what was in her mind, what she would do, how the trader would treat
+her.  The slope now was a long slant of sheeted moving shadows of sand.
+Dusk had gathered in the valley.  The bluffs loomed beyond.  A pale
+star twinkled above.  Shefford suddenly became aware of the intense
+nature of the stillness about him.  Yet, as he listened to this
+silence, he heard an intermittent and immeasurably low moan, a fitful,
+mournful murmur.  Assuredly it was only the wind.  Nevertheless, it
+made his blood run cold.  It was a different wind from that which had
+made music under the eaves of his Illinois home.  This was a lonely,
+haunting wind, with desert hunger in it, and more which he could not
+name.  Shefford listened to this spirit-brooding sound while he watched
+night envelop the valley.  How black, how thick the mantle!  Yet it
+brought no comforting sense of close-folded protection, of walls of
+soft sleep, of a home.  Instead there was the feeling of space, of
+emptiness, of an infinite hall down which 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 off
+the 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 his ablutions.  "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 was the first time in four days that Shefford had sat at a table,
+and he made up for lost opportunity.
+
+His host's actions indicated pleasure, yet the strange, hard face
+never relaxed, never changed.  When the meal was finished Presbrey
+declined assistance, 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 skill and despatch of an accomplished housewife cleared the
+table, after which work he filled a pipe and evidently prepared to
+listen.
+
+It took only one question for Shefford to find that the trader was
+starved for news of the outside world; and for an hour Shefford fed
+that appetite, even as he had been done by.  But when he had talked
+himself out 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 wonderful
+spring 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.  Your
+horse 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 a
+dollar from you.  But you can buy from the Indians as you go.  Where
+are you 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
+can understand how the desert appeals to you.  Preachers lead easy,
+safe, crowded, bound lives.  They're shut up in a church with a Bible
+and good people.  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
+and sympathetic glance, and then he caught himself.  "I want to see
+some wild life.  Do you know the country north of here?"
+
+"Only what the Navajos tell me.  And they're not much to talk.  There's
+a trail goes north, but I've never traveled it.  It's a new trail every
+time an Indian goes that way, for here the sand blows and covers old
+tracks.  But few Navajos ride in from the north.  My trade is mostly
+with Indians 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 about
+grass, though the sheep and ponies from the north are always fat. . . .
+But, say, Shefford, if you'll excuse me for advising you--don't go
+north."
+
+"Why?" asked Shefford, and it was certain that he thrilled.
+
+"It's unknown country, terribly broken, as you can see from here, and
+there are bad Indians biding in the canyon.  I've never met a man who
+had been over the pass between here and Kayenta.  The trip's been made,
+so there must be a trail.  But it's a dangerous trip for any man, let
+alone a 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 little
+trading-post, the last and the wildest in northern Arizona.  Withers,
+the trader 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 him except hearsay.  Reckon he's a nervy and strong man to hold that
+post.  If you want to go there, better go by way of Keams Canyon, and
+then around the 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
+are trails at all. . . . I've heard rumors of a fine tribe of Navajos
+living in there, rich in sheep and horses.  It may be true and it may
+not.  But I do know 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 are unfriendly 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 more
+information on that score.  The conversation lagged.  Then Shefford
+inquired about the Indian girl and learned that she lived up the
+valley somewhere.  Presbrey had never seen her before Willetts came
+with her to Red Lake.  And this query brought out the fact that
+Presbrey was comparatively new to Red Lake and vicinity.  Shefford
+wondered why a lonely six months there had not made the trader old in
+experience.  Probably the desert did not readily give up its secrets.
+Moreover, this Red Lake house was only an occasionally used branch of
+Presbrey's main trading-post, which was situated at Willow Springs,
+fifty miles westward over the mesa.
+
+"I'm closing up here soon for a spell," said Presbrey, and now his
+face lost its set hardness and seemed singularly changed.  It was a
+difference, of light and softness.  "Won't be so lonesome over at
+Willow Springs. . . . I'm being married soon."
+
+"That's fine," replied Shefford, warmly.  He was glad for the sake of
+this lonely desert man.  What good a wife would bring into a trader's
+life!
+
+Presbrey's naive admission, however, appeared to detach him from his
+present surroundings, and with his massive head enveloped by a cloud
+of smoke he lived in dreams.
+
+Shefford respected his host's serene abstraction.  Indeed, he was
+grateful for silence.  Not for many nights had the past impinged so
+closely upon the present.  The wound in his soul had not healed, and
+to speak of himself made it bleed anew.  Memory was too poignant; the
+past was too close; he wanted to forget until he had toiled into the
+heart of this forbidding wilderness--until time had gone by and he
+dared to face his unquiet soul.  Then he listened to the steadily
+rising roar of the wind.  How strange and hollow!  That wind was
+freighted with heavy sand, and he heard it sweep, sweep, sweep by in
+gusts, and then blow with dull, steady blast against the walls.  The
+sound was provocative of thought.  This moan and rush of wind was no
+dream--this presence of his in a night-enshrouded and sand-besieged
+house of the lonely desert was reality--this adventure was not one
+of fancy.  True indeed, then, must be the wild, strange story that
+had led him hither.  He was going on to seek, to strive, to find.
+Somewhere northward in the broken fastnesses lay hidden a valley
+walled in from the world.  Would they be there, those lost fugitives
+whose story had thrilled him?  After twelve years would she be alive,
+a child grown to womanhood in the solitude of a beautiful canyon?
+Incredible!  Yet he believed his friend's story and he indeed knew
+how strange and tragic life was.  He fancied he heard her voice on
+the sweeping wind.  She called to him, haunted him.  He admitted the
+improbability of her existence, but lost nothing of the persistent
+intangible hope that drove him.  He believed himself a man stricken
+in soul, unworthy, through doubt of God, to minister to the people
+who had banished him.  Perhaps a labor of Hercules, a mighty and
+perilous work of rescue, the saving of this lost and imprisoned
+girl, would help him in his trouble.  She might be his salvation.
+Who could tell?  Always as a boy and as a man he had fared forth
+to find the treasure at the foot of the rainbow.
+
+
+
+
+II. THE SAGI
+
+
+Next morning the Indian girl was gone and the tracks of her pony led
+north.  Shefford's first thought was to wonder if he would overtake
+her on the trail; and this surprised him with the proof of how
+unconsciously his resolve to go on had formed.
+
+Presbrey made no further attempt to turn Shefford back.  But he
+insisted on replenishing the pack, and that Shefford take weapons.
+Finally Shefford was persuaded to accept a revolver.  The trader bade
+him good-by and stood in the door while Shefford led his horse down
+the slope toward the water-hole.  Perhaps the trader believed he was
+watching the departure of a man who would never return.  He was still
+standing at the door of the post when Shefford halted at the pool.
+
+Upon the level floor of the valley lay thin patches of snow which had
+fallen during the night.  The air was biting cold, yet stimulated
+Shefford while it stung him.  His horse drank rather slowly and
+disgustedly.  Then Shefford mounted and reluctantly turned his back
+upon the 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-moving mass and coming with a precision almost like a march.
+This fact surprised Shefford, for there was not an Indian in sight.
+Presently he saw that a dog was leading the flock, and a little later
+he discovered another dog in the rear of the sheep.  They were
+splendid, long-haired dogs, of a wild-looking shepherd breed.  He
+halted his horse to watch the procession pass by.  The flock covered
+fully an acre of ground and the sheep were black, white, and brown.
+They passed him, making a little pattering roar on the hard-caked sand.
+The dogs were taking the sheep in to 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
+he espied a bunch of ponies.  A shrill whistle told him that they had
+seen him.  They were wild, shaggy, with long manes and tails.  They
+stopped, threw up their heads, and watched him.  Shefford certainly
+returned the attention.  There was no Indian with them.  Presently,
+with a snort, the leader, which appeared to be a stallion, trotted
+behind the others, seemed to be driving them, and went clear round
+the band to get in the lead again.  He was taking them in to water,
+the same as the dogs had taken the sheep.
+
+These incidents were new and pleasing to Shefford.  How ignorant he
+had been of life in the wilderness!  Once more he received subtle
+intimations of what he might learn out in the open; and it was with a
+less weighted heart that he faced the gateway between the huge yellow
+bluffs on his left and the slow rise of ground to the black mesa on
+his right.  He looked back in time to see the trading-post, bleak
+and lonely on the bare slope, pass out of sight behind the bluffs.
+Shefford felt no fear--he really had little experience of physical
+fear--but it was certain that he gritted his teeth and welcomed
+whatever was to come to him.  He had lived a narrow, insulated life
+with his mind on spiritual things; his family and his congregation
+and his friends--except that one new friend whose story had enthralled
+him--were people of quiet religious habit; the man deep down in him
+had never had a chance.  He breathed hard as he tried to imagine the
+world opening to him, and almost 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
+there were other tracks, not so plain, and these Shefford decided had
+been made by Willetts and the girl the day before.  He climbed a ridge,
+half soft sand and half hard, and saw right before him, rising in
+striking form, two great yellow buttes, like elephant legs.  He rode
+between them, amazed at their height.  Then before him stretched a
+slowly ascending valley, walled on one side by the black mesa and on
+the other by low bluffs.  For miles a dark-green growth of greasewood
+covered the valley, and Shefford could see where the green thinned and
+failed, to give place to sand.  He trotted his horse and made good time
+on this stretch.
+
+The day contrasted greatly with any he had yet experienced.  Gray
+clouds obscured the walls of rock a few miles to the west, and Shefford
+saw squalls of snow like huge veils dropping down and spreading out.
+The wind 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 the driving white pellets of snow, almost like hail, was so
+freezing bitter cold that the former wind seemed warm in comparison.
+The squall passed as swiftly as it had come, and it left Shefford so
+benumbed he could not hold the bridle.  He tumbled off his horse and
+walked.  By and by the sun came out and soon warmed him and melted
+the thin layer of snow on the sand.  He was still on the trail of the
+Indian girl, but hers were now the only tracks he could see.
+
+All morning he gradually climbed, with limited view, until at last he
+mounted to a point where the country lay open to his sight on all
+sides except where the endless black mesa ranged on into the north.  A
+rugged yellow peak dominated the landscape to the fore, but it was far
+away.  Red and jagged country extended westward to a huge flat-topped
+wall of gray rock.  Lowering swift clouds swept across the sky, like
+drooping mantles, and darkened the sun.  Shefford built a little fire
+out of dead greasewood sticks, and with his blanket round his shoulders
+he hung over the blaze, scorching his clothes and hands.  He had been
+cold before in his life but he had never before appreciated fire.
+This desert blast pierced him.  The squall enveloped him, thicker and
+colder and windier than 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 sun had once more warmed him.
+
+This last squall had rendered the Indian girl's trail difficult to
+follow.  The snow did not quickly melt, and, besides, sheep tracks and
+the tracks of horses gave him trouble, until at last he was compelled
+to admit that he could not follow her any longer.  A faint path or
+trail led north, however, and, following that, he soon forgot the
+girl.  Every surmounted ridge held a surprise for him.  The desert
+seemed never to change in the vast whole that encompassed him, yet
+near him it was always changing.  From Red Lake he had seen a peaked,
+walled, and canyoned country, as rough as a stormy sea; but when he
+rode into that country the sharp and broken features held to the
+distance.
+
+He was glad to get out of the sand.  Long narrow flats, gray with grass
+and dotted with patches of greasewood, and lined by low bare ridges of
+yellow rock, stretched away from him, leading toward the yellow peak
+that seemed never to be gained upon.
+
+Shefford had pictures in his mind, pictures of stone walls and wild
+valleys and domed buttes, all of which had been painted in colorful
+and vivid words by his friend Venters.  He believed he would recognize
+the distinctive and remarkable landmarks Venters had portrayed, and he
+was certain that he had not yet come upon one of them.  This was his
+second lonely day of travel and he had grown more and more susceptible
+to the influence of horizon and the different prominent points.  He
+attributed a gradual change in his feelings to the loneliness and the
+increasing wildness.  Between Tuba and Flagstaff he had met Indians
+and an occasional prospector and teamster.  Here he was alone, and
+though he felt some strange gladness, he could not help but see the
+difference.
+
+He rode on during the gray, lowering, chilly day, and toward evening
+the clouds broke in the west, and a setting sun shone through the
+rift, burnishing the desert to red and gold.  Shefford's instinctive
+but deadened love of the beautiful in nature stirred into life, and
+the moment of its rebirth was a melancholy and sweet one.  Too late
+for the artist'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
+like an island in a sea of grass.  There was an abundance of dead
+greasewood for a camp-fire, and, after searching over the rock, he
+found little pools of melted snow in the depressions.  He took off
+the saddle and pack, watered his horse, and, hobbling him as well as
+his inexperience permitted, he turned him loose on the grass.
+
+Then while he built a fire and prepared a meal the night came down
+upon him.  In the lee of the rock he was well sheltered from the wind,
+but the air, was bitter cold.  He gathered all the dead greasewood in
+the vicinity, replenished the fire, and rolled in his blanket, back to
+the blaze.  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 awaken until 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 indeed when 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.
+From a high stone ridge Shefford searched the grassy flats and slopes,
+all to no purpose.  Then he tried to track the horse, but this was
+equally futile.  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 his shoulder, and set forth, sure at least of one thing--that he
+was a very much 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 the different landmarks that had grown familiar.  It took
+hours of steady walking to reach and pass the yellow peak that had
+been a kind of goal.  He saw many sheep trails and horse tracks in
+the vicinity of this mountain, and once he was sure he espied an
+Indian watching him from a bold ridge-top.
+
+The day was bright and warm, with air so clear it magnified objects he
+knew to be far away.  The ascent was gradual; there were many narrow
+flats connected by steps; and the grass grew thicker and longer.  At
+noon Shefford halted under the first cedar-tree, a lonely, dwarfed
+shrub that seemed to have had a hard life.  From this point the rise
+of ground was more perceptible, and straggling cedars led the eye on
+to a purple slope that merged into green of pinyon and pine.  Could
+that purple be the sage Venters had so feelingly described, or was it
+merely the purple of deceiving distance?  Whatever it might be, it
+gave Shefford a thrill and made him think of the strange, shy, and
+lovely woman Venters had won out here in  this purple-sage country.
+
+He calculated that he had ridden thirty miles the day before and had
+already traveled ten miles today, and therefore could hope to be in
+the pass before night.  Shefford resumed his journey with too much
+energy and enthusiasm to think of being tired.  And he discovered
+presently that the straggling cedars and the slope beyond were much
+closer than he had judged them to be.  He reached the sage to find it
+gray instead of purple.  Yet it was always purple a little way ahead,
+and if he half shut his eyes it was purple near at hand.  He was
+surprised to find that he could not breathe freely, or it seemed so,
+and soon made the discovery that the sweet, pungent, penetrating
+fragrance of sage and cedar had this strange effect upon him.  This
+was an exceedingly dry and odorous forest, where every open space
+between the clumps of cedars was choked with luxuriant sage.  The
+pinyons were higher up on the mesa, and the pines still higher.
+Shefford appeared to lose himself.  There were no trails; the black
+mesa on the right and the wall of stone on the left could not be seen;
+but he pushed on with what was either singular confidence or rash
+impulse.  And he did not know whether that slope was long or short.
+Once at the summit he saw with surprise that it broke abruptly and the
+descent was very steep and short on that side.  Through the trees he
+once more saw the black mesa, rising to the dignity of a mountain;
+and he had glimpses of another flat, narrow valley, this time with
+a red wall running parallel with the mesa.  He could not help but
+hurry down to get an unobstructed view.  His eagerness was rewarded
+by a splendid scene, yet to his regret he could not force himself to
+believe it had any relation to the pictured scenes in his mind.  The
+valley was half a mile wide, perhaps several miles long, and it
+extended in a curve between the cedar-sloped mesa and a looming wall
+of red stone.  There was not a bird or a beast in sight.  He found a
+well-defined trail, but it had not been recently used.  He passed a
+low structure made of peeled logs and mud, with a dark opening like a
+door.  It did not take him many minutes to learn that the valley was
+longer than he had calculated.  He walked swiftly and steadily, in
+spite of the fact that the pack had become burdensome.  What lay beyond
+the jutting corner of the mesa had increasing fascination for him and
+acted as a spur.  At last he turned the 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 the distance, and it disappeared as his
+striding forward made the crest of the slope rise toward the sky.
+
+Again his view became restricted, and he lost the sense of a slow and
+gradual 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
+was slanting 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 heart beat thick and fast.
+
+He saw lofty crags and cathedral spires, and a wonderful canyon winding
+between huge beetling red walk.  He heard the murmur of flowing water.
+The trail led down to the canyon floor, which appeared to be level and
+green and cut by deep washes in red earth.  Could this canyon be the
+mouth of Deception Pass?  It bore no resemblance to any place Shefford
+had heard described, yet somehow he felt rather than saw that it was
+the portal to the wild fastness he had traveled so far to enter.
+
+Not till he had descended the trail and had dropped his pack did he
+realize how weary and footsore he was.  Then he rested.  But his eyes
+roved to and fro, and his mind was active.  What a wild and lonesome
+spot!  The low murmur of shallow water came up to him from a deep,
+narrow cleft.  Shadows were already making the canyon seem full of blue
+haze.  He saw a bare slope of stone out of which cedar-trees were
+growing.  And as he looked about him he became aware of a singular and
+very perceptible change in the lights and shades.  The sun was setting;
+the crags were gold-tipped; the shadows crept upward; the sky seemed
+to darken swiftly; then the gold changed to red, slowly dulled, and
+the grays and purples stood out.  Shefford was entranced with the
+beautiful changing effects, and watched till the walls turned black
+and the sky grew steely and a faint star peeped out.  Then he set
+about the necessary camp tasks.
+
+Dead cedars right at hand assured him a comfortable night with steady
+fire; and when he had satisfied his hunger he arranged an easy seat
+before 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
+the moan of the wind in the cedars--wild, sweet sounds that were balm
+to his wounded spirit!  They seemed a part of the silence, rather than
+a break in it or a hindrance to the feeling of it.  But suddenly that
+silence did break to the rattle of a rock.  Shefford listened, thinking
+some wild animal was prowling around.  He felt no alarm.  Presently
+he heard the sound again, and again.  Then he recognized the crack of
+unshod hoofs upon rock.  A horse was coming down the trail.  Shefford
+rather resented the interruption, though he still had no alarm.  He
+believed he was perfectly safe.  As a matter of fact, he had never in
+his life been anything but safe and padded around with wool, hence,
+never having experienced peril, he did not know what fear was.
+
+Presently he saw a horse and rider come into dark prominence on the
+ridge just above his camp.  They were silhouetted against the starry
+sky.  The horseman stopped and he and his steed made a magnificent
+black statue, somehow wild and strange, in Shefford's sight.  Then he
+came on, vanished in the darkness under the ridge, presently to emerge
+into the circle of camp-fire light.
+
+He rode to within twenty feet of Shefford and the fire.  The horse was
+dark, wild-looking, and seemed ready to run.  The rider appeared to be
+an Indian, and yet had something about him suggesting the cowboy.  At
+once Shefford remembered what Presbrey had said about half-breeds.  A
+little shock, 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
+about him was dark except the glint of a rifle across the saddle.  The
+face under the sombrero was only a shadow.  Shefford kicked the fire-
+logs and a brighter blaze lightened the scene.  Then he saw this
+stranger a little more clearly, and made out an unusually large head,
+broad dark face, a sinister tight-shut mouth, and gleaming black eyes.
+
+Those eyes were unmistakably hostile.  They roved searchingly over
+Shefford's pack and then over his person.  Shefford felt for the gun
+that Presbrey had given him.  But it was gone.  He had left it back
+where he had lost his horse, and had not thought of it since.  Then a
+strange, slow-coming cold agitation possessed Shefford.  Something
+gripped his throat.
+
+Suddenly Shefford was stricken at a menacing movement on the part of
+the horseman.  He had drawn a gun.  Shefford saw it shine darkly in
+the firelight.  The Indian meant to murder him.  Shefford saw the grim,
+dark face in a kind of horrible amaze.  He felt the meaning of that
+drawn weapon as he had never felt anything before in his life.  And
+he collapsed back into his seat with an icy, sickening terror.  In a
+second he was dripping wet with cold sweat.  Lightning-swift thoughts
+flashed through his mind.  It had been one of his platitudes that he
+was not afraid of death.  Yet here he was a shaking, helpless coward.
+What had he learned about either life or death?  Would this dark savage
+plunge him into the unknown?  It was then that Shefford realized his
+hollow philosophy 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 were they to this ruthless night-wanderer, this raw and
+horrible wildness of the desert?
+
+Incapable of voluntary movement, with tongue cleaving to the roof of
+his mouth, Shefford watched the horseman and the half-poised gun.  It
+was not yet leveled.  Then it dawned upon Shefford that the stranger's
+head was turned a little, his ear to the wind.  He was listening.  His
+horse was listening.  Suddenly he straightened up, wheeled his horse,
+and trotted away into the darkness.  But he did not climb the ridge
+down which he had come.
+
+Shefford heard the click of hoofs upon the stony trail.  Other horses
+and riders were descending into the canyon.  They had been the cause of
+his deliverance, and in the relaxation of feeling he almost fainted.
+Then he sat there, slowly recovering, slowly ceasing to tremble,
+divining that this situation was somehow to change his attitude
+toward life.
+
+Three horses, two with riders, moved in dark shapes across the skyline
+above the ridge, disappeared as had Shefford's first visitor, and
+then rode into the light.  Shefford saw two Indians--a man and a woman;
+then with surprise recognized the latter to be the Indian girl he had
+met at Red Lake.  He was still more surprised to recognize in the third
+horse the one he had lost at the last camp.  Shefford rose, a little
+shaky on his legs, to thank these Indians for a double service.  The
+man slipped from his saddle and his moccasined feet thudded lightly.
+He was tall, lithe, erect, a singularly graceful figure, and as he
+advanced Shefford saw a dark face and sharp, dark eyes.  The Indian
+was bareheaded, with his hair bound in a band.  He resembled the girl,
+but appeared to have a finer 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.  Then
+the Indian gave Shefford the bridle of the horse, and made signs that
+appeared to indicate the horse had broken his hobbles and strayed.
+Shefford thanked him.  Thereupon the Indian unsaddled and led the
+horses away, evidently to water them.  The girl remained behind.
+Shefford addressed her, but she was shy and did not respond.  He then
+set about cooking a meal for his visitors, and was busily engaged at
+this when the Indian returned without the horses.  Presently Shefford
+resumed his seat by the fire and watched the two eat what he had
+prepared.  They certainly were hungry and soon had the pans and cups
+empty.  Then the girl drew back a little into the shadow, while the
+man sat with his legs crossed and 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 him as this one.  Looked at superficially, he appeared
+young, wild, silent, locked in his primeval apathy, just a healthy
+savage; but looked at more attentively, he appeared matured, even
+old, a strange, sad, brooding figure, with a burden on his shoulders.
+Shefford found himself growing curious.
+
+"What place?" asked Shefford, waving his hand toward the dark opening
+between the black cliffs.
+
+"Sagi," replied the Indian.
+
+That did not mean anything to Shefford, and he asked if the Sagi was
+the pass, 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 the
+white man's language did not please him, but the clearness and correct
+pronunciation 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
+stay here long."
+
+Nas Ta Bega's dark eyes were fixed steadily upon Shefford.  He
+reflected that he could not remember having felt so penetrating a
+gaze.  But neither the Indian's eyes nor face gave any clue to his
+thoughts.
+
+"Navajo no savvy Jesus Christ," said the Indian, and his voice rolled
+out low and deep.
+
+Shefford felt both amaze and pain.  The Indian had taken him for a
+missionary.
+
+"No! . . . Me no missionary," cried Shefford, and he flung up a
+passionately repudiating hand.
+
+A singular flash shot from the Indian's dark eyes.  It struck Shefford
+even 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
+to indicate 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
+his hands he tried to show that his was a trouble of the heart.
+
+Shefford received instant impression of this Indian's intelligent
+comprehension, but he could not tell just what had given him the
+feeling.  Nas Ta Bega rose then and walked away into the shadow.
+Shefford heard him working around the dead cedar-tree, where he had
+probably gone to get fire-wood.  Then Shefford heard a splintering
+crash, which was followed by a crunching, bumping sound.  Presently he
+was astounded to see the Indian enter the lighted circle dragging the
+whole cedar-tree, trunk first.  Shefford would have doubted the ability
+of two men to drag that tree, and here came Nas Ta Bega, managing it
+easily.  He laid the trunk on the fire, and then proceeded to break
+off small branches, to place them advantageously where the red coals
+kindled them into a blaze.
+
+The Indian's next move was to place his saddle, which he evidently
+meant to use for a pillow.  Then he spread a goat-skin on the ground,
+lay down upon it, with his back to the fire, and, pulling a long-
+haired saddle-blanket over his shoulders, he relaxed and became
+motionless.  His sister, Glen Naspa, did likewise, except that she
+stayed farther away from the fire, and she had a larger blanket,
+which covered her well.  It appeared to Shefford that they went to
+sleep at once.
+
+Shefford felt as tired as he had ever been, but he did not think he
+could soon drop into slumber, and in fact he did not want to.
+
+There was something in the companionship of these Indians that he had
+not experienced before.  He still had a strange and weak feeling--the
+aftermath of that fear which had sickened him with its horrible icy
+grip.  Nas Ta Bega's arrival had frightened away that dark and silent
+prowler of the night; and Shefford was convinced the Indian had saved
+his 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 with
+death.  That was something to know.  It helped him.  And he gathered
+from his strange feeling that the romantic quest which had brought him
+into the wilderness might turn out to be an antidote for the morbid
+bitterness of heart.
+
+With new sensations had come new thoughts.  Right then it was very
+pleasant to sit in the warmth and light of the roaring cedar fire.
+There was 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 just finished the longest, hardest day's work of
+his life!  Had that anything to do with a something almost like peace
+which seemed to hover near in the shadows, trying to come to him?  He
+had befriended an Indian girl, and now her brother had paid back the
+service.  Both the giving and receiving were somehow sweet to Shefford.
+They opened up hitherto vague channels 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 an Indian girl had somehow operated to
+make a change in John Shefford's existence.  It had liberated a spirit
+in him.  Moreover, it had worked its influence outside his mind.  The
+Indian girl and her brother had followed his trail to return his horse,
+perhaps to guide him safely, but, unknowingly perhaps, they had done
+infinitely more than that for him.  As Shefford's eye wandered over
+the dark, still figures of the sleepers he had a strange, dreamy
+premonition, or perhaps only a fancy, that there was to be more come
+of this fortunate meeting.
+
+For the rest, it was good to be there in the speaking silence, to feel
+the heat on his outstretched palms and the cold wind on his cheek, to
+see the black wall lifting its bold outline and the crags reaching for
+the white stars.
+
+
+
+
+III. KAYENTA
+
+
+The stamping of horses awoke Shefford.  He A saw a towering crag, rosy
+in the morning light, like a huge red spear splitting the clear blue
+of sky.  He got up, feeling cramped and sore, yet with unfamiliar
+exhilaration.  The whipping air made him stretch his hands to the fire.
+An odor of coffee and broiled meat mingled with the fragrance of wood
+smoke.  Glen Naspa was on her knees broiling a rabbit on a stick
+over the red coals.  Nas Ta Bega was saddling the ponies.  The canyon
+appeared to be full of purple shadows under one side of dark cliffs
+and golden streaks 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
+had impressed 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 the most striking and attractive feature about him; they
+were coal-black and piercing; the intent look out of them seemed to
+come from a keen and inquisitive mind.
+
+Shefford ate breakfast with the Indians, and then helped with the few
+preparations for departure.  Before they mounted, Nas Ta Bega pointed
+to horse tracks in the dust.  They were those that had been made by
+Shefford's threatening visitor of the night before.  Shefford explained
+by word and sign, and succeeded at least in showing that he had been
+in danger.  Nas Ta Bega followed the tracks a little way and presently
+returned.
+
+"Shadd," he said, with an ominous shake of his head.  Shefford did not
+understand 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 pleased
+Shefford.  He climbed a little stiffly into his own saddle.  Then Nas
+Ta Bega 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 one
+leading to the right along the base of the slope.  Shefford saw down
+into the red wash that bisected the canyon floor.  It was a sheer wall
+of red 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
+of greasewood hid the surroundings from Shefford's sight.  Presently
+the trail led out into the open, and Shefford saw that he was at the
+neck of a wonderful valley that gradually widened with great jagged
+red peaks on the 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 that canyon.
+
+Soon Glen Naspa put her pony to a long, easy, swinging canter and her
+followers did likewise.  As they got outward into the valley Shefford
+lost the sense of being overshadowed and crowded by the nearness of
+the huge walls and crags.  The trail appeared level underfoot, but at
+a distance it was seen to climb.  Shefford found where it disappeared
+over the foot of a slope that formed a graceful rising line up to the
+cedared 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 of the country held Shefford's gaze until the Indian drew
+his attention to things near at hand.  Then Shefford saw flocks of
+sheep dotting the gray-green valley, and bands of beautiful long-
+maned, long-tailed ponies.
+
+For several miles the scene did not change except that Shefford
+imagined he 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 to halt upon the edge of a steep slope leading
+down into a valley vast in its barren gray reaches.
+
+"Kayenta," said Nas Ta Bega.
+
+Shefford at first saw nothing except the monotonous gray valley
+reaching far to the strange, grotesque monuments of yellow cliff.
+Then close under the foot of the slope he espied two squat stone
+houses with red roofs, 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--the
+crude stone structures with their earthen roofs, the piles of dirty
+wool, 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 and
+weather-beaten, and appeared young in activity rather than face.  A
+gun swung at his hip and a row of brass-tipped cartridges showed in
+his belt.  Shefford looked into a face that he thought he had seen
+before, until he realized the similarity was only the bronze and hard
+line and rugged cast common to desert men.  The gray searching eyes
+went right through him.
+
+"Glad to see you.  Get down and come in.  Just heard from an Indian
+that you were coming.  I'm the trader Withers," he said to Shefford.
+His voice was 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
+arrive at Kayenta.
+
+"Hello!  Nas Ta Bega!" exclaimed Withers.  His tone expressed a
+surprise his face did not show.  "Did this Indian bring you in?"
+
+Withers shook hands with the Navajo while Shefford briefly related
+what he owed to him.  Then Withers looked at Nas Ta Bega and spoke
+to him in the Indian tongue.
+
+"Shadd," said Nas Ta Bega.  Withers let out a dry little laugh and his
+strong hand tugged at his mustache.
+
+"Who's Shadd?" asked Shefford.
+
+"He's a half-breed Ute--bad Indian, outlaw, murderer.  He's in with a
+gang of outlaws who hide in the San Juan country. . . . Reckon you're
+lucky.  How'd you come to be there in the Sagi alone?"
+
+"I traveled from Red Lake.  Presbrey, the trader there, advised against
+it, but I came anyway."
+
+"Well."  Withers's gray glance was kind, if it did express the
+foolhardiness of Shefford's act.  "Come into the house. . . . Never
+mind the horse.  My wife will sure be glad to see you."
+
+Withers led Shefford by the first stone house, which evidently was
+the trading-store, into the second.  The room Shefford entered was
+large, with logs smoldering in a huge open fireplace, blankets
+covering every foot of floor space, and Indian baskets and silver
+ornaments everywhere, and strange Indian designs painted upon the
+whitewashed walls.  Withers called his wife and made her acquainted
+with Shefford.  She was a slight, comely little woman, with keen,
+earnest, dark eyes.  She seemed to be serious and quiet, but she made
+Shefford feel at home immediately.  He refused, however, to accept the
+room offered him, saying that he me meant to sleep out under the open
+sky.  Withers laughed at this and said he understood.  Shefford,
+remembering Presbrey's hunger for news of the outside world, told this
+trader and his wife all he could think of; and he was listened to with
+that close attention a traveler always gained in the remote places.
+
+"Sure am glad you rode in," said Withers, for the fourth time.  "Now
+you make yourself at home.  Stay here--come over to the store--do
+what you like.  I've got to work.  To-night we'll talk."
+
+Shefford went out with his host.  The store was as interesting as
+Presbrey's, though much smaller and more primitive.  It was full of
+everything, and smelled strongly of sheep and goats.  There was a
+narrow aisle between sacks of flour and blankets on one side and a
+high counter on the other.  Behind this counter Withers stood to wait
+upon the buying Indians.  They sold blankets and skins and bags of
+wool, and in exchange took silver money.  Then they lingered and with
+slow, staid reluctance bought one thing and then another--flour, sugar,
+canned goods, coffee, tobacco, ammunition.  The counter was never
+without two or three Indians leaning on their dark, silver-braceleted
+arms.  But as they were slow to sell and buy and go, so were others
+slow to come in.  Their voices were soft and low and it seemed to
+Shefford they were whispering.  He liked to hear them and to look at
+the banded heads, the long, twisted rolls of black hair tied with
+white cords, the still dark faces and watchful eyes, the silver ear-
+rings, the slender, shapely brown hands, the lean and sinewy shapes,
+the corduroys with a belt and gun, and the small, close-fitting
+buckskin moccasins buttoned with coins.  These Indians all appeared
+young, and under the quiet, slow demeanor there was fierce blood and
+fire.
+
+By and by two women came in, evidently squaw and daughter.  The former
+was a huge, stout Indian with a face that was certainly pleasant if
+not jolly.
+
+She had the corners of a blanket tied under her chin, and in the folds
+behind on her broad back was a naked Indian baby, round and black of
+head, brown-skinned, with eyes as bright as beads.  When the youngster
+caught sight of Shefford he made a startled dive into the sack of the
+blanket.  Manifestly, however, curiosity got the better of fear, for
+presently Shefford caught a pair of wondering dark eyes peeping at him.
+
+"They're good spenders, but slow," said Withers.  "The Navajos are
+careful 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, and his sun-blistered face and watery eyes told of the open
+desert.  He was engaged in weighing sacks of wool brought in by the
+Indians.  Near by stood a framework of poles from which an immense
+bag was suspended.  From the top of this bag protruded the head and
+shoulders of an Indian who appeared to be stamping and packing wool
+with his feet.  He grinned at the curious Shefford.  But Shefford was
+more interested in the Mormon.  So far 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 been of a long-past generation
+of Mormons, fanatical, ruthless, and unchangeable.  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 had come West to find.  Shefford
+was somewhat amazed and discomfited to have his polite and friendly
+overtures repulsed.  Whisner might have been an Indian.  He was cold,
+incommunicative, aloof; and there was something about him that made
+the sensitive Shefford feel his presence was resented.
+
+Presently Shefford strolled on to the corral, which was full of shaggy
+mustangs.  They snorted and kicked at him.  He had a half-formed wish
+that he would never be called upon to ride one of those wild brutes,
+and then he found himself thinking that he would ride one of them, and
+after a while any of them.  Shefford did not understand himself, but
+he fought his natural instinctive reluctance to meet obstacles, peril,
+suffering.
+
+He traced the white-bordered little stream that made the pool in the
+corral, and when he came to where it oozed out of the sand under the
+bluff he decided that was not the spring which had made Kayenta
+famous.  Presently down below the trading-post he saw a trough from
+which burros were drinking.  Here he found the spring, a deep well
+of eddying water walled in by stones, and the overflow made a shallow
+stream meandering away between its borders of alkali, like a crust of
+salt.  Shefford tasted the water.  It bit, but it was good.
+
+Shefford had no trouble in making friends with the lazy sleepy-eyed
+burros.  They let him pull their long ears and rub their noses, but
+the mustangs standing around were unapproachable.  They had wild eyes;
+they raised 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
+others riding away.  Big wagons told how the bags of wool were
+transported out of the wilds and how supplies were brought in.  A
+wide, hard-packed road led off to the east, and another, not so
+clearly defined, wound away to the north.  And Indian trails streaked
+off in all directions.
+
+Shefford discovered, however, when he had walked off a mile or so
+across the valley to lose sight of the post, that the feeling of
+wildness and loneliness returned to him.  It was a wonderful country.
+It held something for him besides the possible rescue of an imprisoned
+girl from a wild canyon.
+
+   .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .
+
+That night after supper, when Withers and Shefford sat alone before
+the blazing logs in the huge fireplace, the trader laid his hand on
+Shefford's and said, with directness and force:
+
+"I've lived my life in the desert.  I've met many men and have been a
+friend 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
+give you 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
+to do, how long I shall stay.  My thoughts put in words would seem
+so like dreams.  Maybe they are dreams.  Perhaps I'm only chasing a
+phantom--perhaps I'm only hunting the treasure at the foot of the
+rainbow."
+
+"Well, this is the country for rainbows," laughed Withers.  "In
+summer from June to August when it storms we have rainbows that'll
+make you think you're in another world.  The Navajos have rainbow
+mountains, rainbow canyons, rainbow bridges of stone, rainbow trails.
+It sure is rainbow country."
+
+That deep and mystic chord in Shefford thrilled.  Here it was again--
+something tangible at the bottom of his dream.
+
+Withers did not wait for Shefford to say any more, and almost as if
+he read his visitor's mind he began to talk about the wild country
+he called home.
+
+He had lived at Kayenta for several years--hard and profitless years by
+reason of marauding outlaws.  He could not have lived there at all but
+for the protection of the Indians.  His father-in-law had been friendly
+with the Navajos and Piutes for many years, and his wife had been
+brought up among them.  She was held in peculiar reverence and
+affection by both tribes in that part of the country.  Probably she
+knew more of the Indians' habits, religion, and life than any white
+person in the West.  Both tribes were friendly and peaceable, but there
+were bad Indians, half-breeds, and outlaws that made the trading-post
+a venture Withers had long considered precarious, and he wanted to move
+and intended to some day.  His nearest neighbors in New Mexico and
+Colorado were a hundred miles distant and at some seasons the roads
+were impassable.  To the north, however, twenty miles or so, was
+situated a Mormon village named Stonebridge.  It lay across the Utah
+line.  Withers did some business with this village, but scarcely enough
+to warrant the risks he had to run.  During the last year he had lost
+several pack-trains, one of which he had never heard of after it left
+Stonebridge.
+
+"Stonebridge!" exclaimed Shefford, and he trembled.  He had heard that
+name.  In his memory it had a place beside the name of another village
+Shefford 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 and
+Monticello are far north across the San Juan. . . . There used to be
+another 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 a
+semblance of the aloofness Shefford had observed in Whisner.
+
+"Withers, pardon an impertinence--I am deeply serious. . . . Are you
+a Mormon?"
+
+"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 a
+misunderstood people."
+
+"That's for them."
+
+"No.  I'm only fair-minded."
+
+Shefford paused, trying to curb his thrilling impulse, but it was too
+strong.
+
+"You said there used to be another village. . . . Was the name of
+it--Cottonwoods?"
+
+Withers gave a start and faced round to stare at Shefford in blank
+astonishment.
+
+"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's gone now, all except a few stone walls."
+
+"What became of it?"
+
+"Torn down by Mormons years ago.  They destroyed it and moved away.
+I've heard 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 help seeing what a tenderfoot--stranger--you are to the
+desert.  Yet, here you are--speaking of what you should know nothing
+of. . . . And there's more behind 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, with
+increasing 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
+caught a 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 long
+and then appeared satisfied.
+
+"I've heard the name Fay Larkin," he said, slowly.  "I reckon that's
+all I'll say till you tell your story."
+
+   .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .
+
+Shefford stood with his back to the fire and he turned the palms of
+his hands to catch the warmth.  He felt cold.  Withers had affected
+him strangely.  What was the meaning of the trader's somber gravity?
+Why was the very mention of Mormons attended by something austere and
+secret?
+
+"My name is John Shefford.  I am twenty-four," began Shefford.  "My
+family--"
+
+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 said
+something in Navajo to the trader.
+
+"How," he said to Shefford, and extended his hand.  He was stately, but
+there was no mistaking his friendliness.  Then he sat down before the
+fire, doubled his legs under him after the Indian fashion, and with
+dark eyes on the blazing logs seemed to lose himself in meditation.
+
+
+"He likes the fire," explained Withers.  "Whenever he comes to Kayenta
+he always 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 on
+Shefford.  "When I was a boy we moved from the country to a town called
+Beaumont, Illinois.  There was a college in Beaumont and eventually I
+was sent to it to study for the ministry.  I wanted to be--  But never
+mind that. . . . By the time I was twenty-two I was ready for my career
+as a clergyman.  I preached for a year around at different places and
+then got a church in my home town of Beaumont.  I became exceedingly
+good friends with a man named Venters, who had recently come to
+Beaumont.  He was a singular man.  His wife was a strange, beautiful
+woman, very reserved, and she had wonderful dark eyes.  They had money
+and were devoted to each other, and perfectly happy.  They owned the
+finest horses ever seen in Illinois, and their particular enjoyment
+seemed to be riding.  They were always taking long rides.  It was
+something worth going far for to see Mrs. Venters on a horse.
+
+"It was through my own love of horses that I became friendly with
+Venters.  He and his wife attended my church, and as I got to see more
+of them, gradually we grew intimate.  And it was not until I did get
+intimate with them that I realized that both seemed to be haunted by
+the past.  They were sometimes sad even in their happiness.  They
+drifted off into dreams.  They lived back in another world.  They
+seemed to be listening.  Indeed, they were a singularly interesting
+couple, and I grew genuinely fond of them.  By and by they had a
+little girl whom they named Jane.  The coming of the baby made a
+change in my friends.  They were happier, and I observed that the
+haunting shadow did not so often return.
+
+"Venters had spoken of a journey west that he and his wife meant to
+take some time.  But after the baby came he never mentioned his wife
+in connection with the trip.  I gathered that he felt compelled to go
+to clear 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--the strangest, wildest, and most tragic I ever heard.  I can't
+tell it all now.  It is enough to say that fifteen years before he had
+been a rider for a rich Mormon woman named Jane Withersteen, of this
+village Cottonwoods.  She had adopted a beautiful Gentile child named
+Fay Larkin.  Her interest in Gentiles earned the displeasure of her
+churchmen, and as she was proud there came a breach.  Venters and a
+gunman named Lassiter became involved in her quarrel.  Finally Venters
+took to the canyon.  Here in the wilds he found the strange girl he
+eventually married.  For a long time they lived in a wonderful hidden
+valley, the entrance to which was guarded by a huge balancing rock.
+Venters got away with the girl.  But Lassiter and Jane Withersteen and
+the child Fay Larkin were driven into the canyon.  They escaped to the
+valley where Venters had lived.  Lassiter rolled the balancing rock,
+and, crashing down the narrow trail, it loosened the weathered walls
+and closed the narrow outlet for ever."
+
+
+
+
+IV. NEW FRIENDS
+
+
+Shefford ended his narrative out of breath, pale, and dripping with
+sweat.  Withers sat leaning forward with an expression of intense
+interest.  Nas Ta Bega's easy, graceful pose had succeeded to one
+of strained rigidity.  He seemed a statue of bronze.  Could a few
+intelligible words, Shefford wondered, have created that strange,
+listening posture?
+
+"Venters got out of Utah, of course, as you know," went on Shefford.
+"He got out, knowing--as I feel I would have known--that Jane,
+Lassiter, and little Fay Larkin were shut up, walled up in Surprise
+Valley.  For years Venters considered it would not have been safe for
+him to venture to rescue them.  He had no fears for their lives.  They
+could live in Surprise Valley.  But Venters always intended to come
+back with Bess and find 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 he had to go alone.  And he was thinking
+seriously of starting when--when there were developments that made
+it desirable for me to leave Beaumont.  Venters's story haunted me
+as he had been haunted.  I dreamed of that wild valley--of little Fay
+Larkin grown to womanhood--such a woman as 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 whom
+emotion 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
+country there's a village of Mormons' sealed wives.  It's in Arizona,
+perhaps twenty miles from here, and near the Utah line.  When the
+United States government began to persecute, or prosecute, the Mormons
+for polygamy, the Mormons over here in Stonebridge took their sealed
+wives and moved them out of Utah, just across the line.  They built
+houses, established a village there.  I'm the only Gentile who knows
+about it.  And I pack supplies every few weeks in to these women.
+There are perhaps fifty women, mostly young--second or third or fourth
+wives of Mormons--sealed wives.  And I want you to understand that
+sealed means SEALED in all that religion or loyalty can get out of
+the word.  There are also some old women and old men in the village,
+but they hardly count.  And there's a flock of the finest children
+you ever saw in your life.
+
+"The idea of the Mormons must have been to escape prosecution.  The
+law of the government is one wife for each man--no more.  All over
+Utah polygamists have been arrested.  The Mormons are deeply concerned.
+I believe they are a good, law-abiding people.  But this law is a
+direct blow at their religion.  In my opinion they can't obey both.
+And therefore they have not altogether given up plural wives.  Perhaps
+they will some day.  I have no proof, but I believe the Mormons of
+Stonebridge pay secret night visits to their sealed wives across the
+line in the lonely, hidden village.
+
+"Now once over in Stonebridge I overheard some Mormons talking about a
+girl who was named Fay Larkin.  I never forgot the name.  Later I heard
+the name in this sealed-wife village.  But, as I told you, I never
+heard of Lassiter or Jane Withersteen.  Still, if Mormons had found
+them I would never have heard of it.  And Deception Pass--that might
+be the Sagi. . . . I'm not surprised at your rainbow-chasing adventure.
+It's a great story. . . . This Fay Larkin I've heard of MIGHT be your
+Fay Larkin--I almost believe so.  Shefford, I'll help you find out."
+
+"Yes, yes--I must know," replied Shefford.  "Oh, I hope, I pray we can
+find her!  But--I'd rather she was dead--if she's not still hidden in
+the valley."
+
+"Naturally.  You've dreamed yourself into rescuing this lost Fay
+Larkin. . . . But, Shefford, you're old enough to know life doesn't
+work out as you want it to.  One way or another I fear you're in for
+a bitter disappointment."
+
+"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," persisted
+Withers.
+
+"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
+through this.  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 turn that over to a Mormon cowboy--Joe Lake.  The job shall
+be yours, and I'll go with you first trip.  Here's my hand on it. . . .
+Now, Shefford, I'm more curious about you than I was before you told
+your story.  What ruined you?  As we're to be partners, you can tell
+me now.  I'll keep your secret.  Maybe I can do you good."
+
+Shefford wanted to confess, yet it was hard.  Perhaps, had he not been
+so agitated, he would not have answered to impulse.  But this trader
+was a man--a man of the desert--he would understand.
+
+"I told you I was a clergyman," said Shefford in low voice.  "I didn't
+want to be one, but they made me one.  I did my best.  I failed. . . .
+I had doubts 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 of religion as my congregation lived it.  I preached what I
+believed.  I alienated 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
+the God of the Bible. . . . Well, I've been in the desert long enough
+to know there 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 Withers
+had likewise.  At this juncture the Indian rose to his full height, and
+he folded his arms to stand with the somber pride of a chieftain while
+his dark, inscrutable eyes were riveted upon Shefford.  At that moment
+he seemed magnificent.  How infinitely more he seemed than just a
+common Indian who had chanced to befriend a white man!  The difference
+was obscure to Shefford.  But he felt that it was there in the Navajo's
+mind.  Nas Ta Bega's strange look was not to be interpreted.  Presently
+he turned and passed from the room.
+
+"By George!" cried Withers, suddenly, and he pounded his knee with his
+fist.  "I'd forgotten."
+
+"What?" ejaculated Shefford.
+
+"Why, that Indian understood every word we said.  He knows English.
+He's educated.  Well, if this doesn't beat me. . . . Let me tell you
+about Nas Ta Bega."
+
+Withers appeared to be recalling something half forgotten.
+
+"Years ago, in fifty-seven, I think, Kit Carson with his soldiers
+chased the Navajo tribes and rounded them up to be put on
+reservations.  But he failed to catch all the members of one tribe.
+They escaped up into wild canyon like the Sagi.  The descendants of
+these fugitives live there now and are the finest Indians on earth--
+the finest because unspoiled by the white man.  Well, as I got the
+story, years after Carson's round-up one of his soldiers guided some
+interested travelers in here.  When they left they took an Indian boy
+with them to educate.  From what I know of Navajos 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 goes that he was educated
+somewhere.  Years afterward, and perhaps not long before I came in
+here, he returned to his people.  There have been missionaries and
+other interested fools who have given Indians a white man's education.
+In all the instances I know of, these educated Indians returned to
+their tribes, repudiating the white man's knowledge, habits, life,
+and religion.  I have heard that Nas Ta Bega came back, laid down
+the white man's clothes along with the education, and never again
+showed that he had known either.
+
+"You have just seen how strangely he acted.  It's almost certain he
+heard our conversation.  Well, it doesn't matter.  He won't tell.  He
+can hardly be made to use an English word.  Besides, he's a noble red
+man, if there ever was one.  He has been a friend in need to me.  If
+you stay long out here you'll learn something from the Indians.  Nas
+Ta Bega has befriended you, 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 he
+proceeded to tell of the incident that occurred at Red Lake.
+
+"Willetts!" exclaimed Withers, with much the same expression that
+Presbrey 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
+good men--good for the Indians, in a way, but sometimes one drifts
+out here who is bad.  A bad missionary teaching religion to savages!
+Queer, isn't it?  The queerest part is the white people's blindness--
+the blindness of those who send the missionaries.  Well, I dare say
+Willetts isn't very good.  When Presbrey said that was Willetts's way
+of teaching religion he meant just what he said.  If Willetts drifts
+over here he'll be risking much. . . . This you told me explains Nas
+Ta Bega's friendliness toward you, and also his bringing his sister
+Glen Naspa to live with relatives up in the pass.  She had been living
+near Red Lake."
+
+"Do you mean Nas Ta Bega wants to keep his sister far removed from
+Willetts?" 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,
+but the stars made light enough to cast his shadow on the ground.
+The dark, illimitable expanse of blue sky seemed to be glittering
+with numberless points of fire.  The air was cold and still.  A
+dreaming silence lay over the land.  Shefford saw and felt all these
+things, and their effect was continuous and remained with him and
+helped calm him.  He was conscious of a burden removed from his mind.
+Confession of his secret had been like tearing a thorn from his flesh,
+but, once done, it afforded him relief 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 standards he had been made to suffer.  Here,
+if he were judged at all, it would be by what he could do, how he
+sustained himself and helped others.
+
+He walked far across the valley toward the low bluffs, but they did
+not seem to get any closer.  And, finally, he stopped beside a stone
+and looked around at the strange horizon and up at the heavens.  He
+did not feel utterly aloof from them, nor alone in a waste, nor a
+useless atom amid incomprehensible forces.  Something like a loosened
+mantle fell from about him, dropping down at his feet; and all at once
+he was conscious of freedom.  He did not understand in the least why
+abasement left him, 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 the stars and the wind, the silence of the night,
+the loneliness of this vast country where there was room for a thousand
+cities--these somehow vaguely, yet surely, bade him lift his head.
+They withheld their secret, but they made a promise.  The thing which
+he had been feeling every day and every night was a strange enveloping
+comfort.  And it was at this moment that Shefford, divining whence his
+help was to come, embraced all that wild and speaking nature around
+and above him and surrendered himself utterly.
+
+"I am young.  I am free.  I have my life to live," he said.  "I'll be
+a man.  I'll take what comes.  Let me learn here!"
+
+When he had spoken out, settled once and for ever his attitude toward
+his future, he seemed to be born again, wonderfully alive to the
+influences around him, ready to trust what yet remained a mystery.
+
+Then his thoughts reverted to Fay Larkin.  Could this girl be known to
+the Mormons?  It was possible.  Fay Larkin was an unusual name.  Deep
+into Shefford's heart had sunk the story Venters had told.  Shefford
+found that he had unconsciously created a like romance--he had been
+loving a wild and strange and lonely girl, like beautiful Bess Venters.
+It was a shock to learn the truth, but, as it had been only a dream,
+it could hardly be vital.
+
+Shefford retraced his steps toward the post.  Halfway back he espied a
+tall, dark figure moving toward him, and presently the shape and the
+step seemed familiar.  Then he recognized Nas Ta Bega.  Soon they were
+face to face.  Shefford felt that the Indian had been trailing him over
+the sand, and that this was to be a significant meeting.  Remembering
+Withers's revelation about the Navajo, Shefford scarcely knew how to
+approach him now.  There was no difference to be made out in Nas Ta
+Bega's dark face and inscrutable eyes, yet there was a difference to
+be felt in his presence.  But the Indian did not speak, and turned to
+walk by 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, Shefford
+would have thought him a white man.  For Shefford there was indeed an
+instinct in this meeting, and he turned to face the Navajo.
+
+"Withers told me you had been educated, that you came back to the
+desert, that you never showed your training. . . . Nas Ta Bega, did
+you understand 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 wanted
+to ask this Indian if he cared to be the white man's friend, but the
+question was not easy to put, and, besides, seemed unnecessary.  "I
+am alone and strange in this wild country.  I must learn."
+
+"Nas Ta Bega will show you the trails and the water-holes and how to
+hide from Shadd."
+
+"For money--for silver you will do this?" inquired Shefford.
+
+Shefford felt that the Indian's silence was a rebuke.  He remembered
+Withers's singular praise of this red man.  He realized he must change
+his 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
+must find a new voice and a new life. . . . You heard my story to
+Withers.  I am an 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 that
+was more beautiful for its silence.  So they stood for a moment in
+the starlight.
+
+"Nas Ta Bega, what did Withers mean when he said go to the Navajo for
+a faith?" asked Shefford.
+
+"He meant the desert is my mother. . . . Will you go with Nas Ta Bega
+into the 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
+you returned 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
+it was not wholly responsible for the Indian's subtle sympathy.
+
+"Bi Nai!  The Navajo will call his white friend Bi Nai--brother," said
+Nas 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
+to California.  They kept me ten years in a mission at San Bernardino
+and four years in a school.  They said my color and my hair were all
+that was left of the Indian in me.  But they could not see my heart.
+They took fourteen years of my life.  They wanted to make me a
+missionary among my own people.  But the white man's ways and his
+life and his God are not the Indian's.  They never can be."
+
+How strangely productive of thought for Shefford to hear the Indian
+talk!  What fatality in this meeting and friendship!  Upon Nas Ta Bega
+had been forced education, training, religion, that had made him
+something more and something less than an Indian.  It was something
+assimilated from the white man which made the Indian unhappy and alien
+in his own home--something meant to be good for him and his kind that
+had ruined him.  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 and
+wonderful with its intensity of feeling.  "The white man robbed the
+Indian of lands and homes, drove him into the deserts, made him a
+gaunt and sleepless spiller of blood. . . . The blood is all spilled
+now, for the Indian is broken.  But the white man sells him rum and
+seduces his daughters. . . . 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 the
+stars.  The earth had never meant much to him, and now it was a bed.
+He had preached of the heavens, but until now had never studied them.
+An Indian slept beside him.  And not until the gray of morning had
+blotted out the starlight did Shefford close his eyes.
+
+   .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .
+
+With break of the next day came full, varied, and stirring incidents
+to Shefford.  He was strong, though unskilled at most kinds of outdoor
+tasks.  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 that
+rest was a blessing.
+
+He never succeeded in getting on a friendly footing with the Mormon
+Whisner, though he kept up his agreeable and kindly advances.  He
+listened to the trader's wife as she told him about the Indians, and
+what he learned he did not forget.  And his wonder and respect
+increased in proportion to his knowledge.
+
+One day there rode into Kayenta the Mormon for whom Withers had been
+waiting.  His name was Joe Lake.  He appeared young, and slipped off
+his superb bay with a grace and activity that were astounding in one
+of his huge bulk.  He had a still, smooth face, with the color of red
+bronze and the expression of a cherub; big, soft, dark eyes; and a
+winning smile.  He was surprisingly different from Whisner or any
+Mormon character that Shefford had naturally conceived.  His costume
+was that of the cowboy on active service; and he packed a gun at his
+hip.  The hand-shake he gave Shefford was an ordeal for that young man
+and left him with his whole right side momentarily benumbed.
+
+"I sure am glad to meet you," he said in a lazy, mild voice.  And he
+was taking friendly stock of Shefford when the bay mustang reached
+with vicious muzzle to bite at him.  Lake gave a jerk on the bridle
+that almost brought the mustang to his knees.  He reared then, snorted,
+and came down to plant his forefeet wide apart, and watched his master
+with defiant eyes.  This mustang was the finest horse Shefford had
+ever seen.  He appeared quite large for his species, was almost red
+in color, had a racy and powerful build, and a fine thoroughbred head
+with dark, fiery eyes.  He did not look mean, but he had spirit.
+
+"Navvy, you've sure got bad manners," said Lake, shaking the mustang's
+bridle.  He spoke as if he were chiding a refractory little boy.
+"Didn't I 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
+announced his intention of packing at once for the trip.  Indians were
+sent out on the ranges to drive in burros and mustangs.  Shefford had
+his thrilling expectancy somewhat chilled by what he considered must
+have been Lake's reception of the trader's plan.  Lake seemed to oppose
+him, and evidently it took vehemence and argument on Withers's part to
+make the Mormon tractable.  But Withers won him over, and then he
+called Shefford to his side.
+
+"You fellows got to be good friends," he said.  "You'll have charge of
+my pack-trains.  Nas Ta Bega wants to go with you.  I'll feel safer
+about my supplies and stock than I've ever been. . . . Joe, I'll back
+this stranger for all I'm worth.  He's square. . . . And, Shefford,
+Joe Lake is a Mormon of the younger generation.  I want to start you
+right.  You can trust him as you trust me.  He's white clean through.
+And he's the best horse-wrangler in Utah."
+
+It was Lake who first offered his hand, and Shefford made haste to
+meet it with his own.  Neither of them spoke.  Shefford intuitively
+felt an alteration in Lake's regard, or at least a singular increase
+of interest.  Lake had been told that Shefford had been a clergyman,
+was now a wanderer, without any religion.  Again it seemed to Shefford
+that he owed a forming of friendship to this singular fact.  And it
+hurt him.  But strangely 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 way
+up the slope.  Following him climbed half a dozen patient, plodding,
+heavily laden burros.  Withers came next, and he turned in his saddle
+to wave good-by to his wife.  Joe Lake appeared to be busy keeping a
+red mule and a wild gray mustang and a couple of restive blacks in the
+trail.  Shefford brought up in the rear.
+
+His mount was a beautiful black mustang with three white feet, a white
+spot on his nose, and a mane that swept to his knees.  "His name's
+Nack-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 very
+much indeed, but, once upon his back, he grew dubious.  The mustang
+acted queer.  He actually looked back at Shefford, and it was a look
+of speculation and disdain.  Shefford took exception to Nack-yal's
+manner and to his reluctance to go, and especially to a habit the
+mustang had of turning off the trail to the left.  Shefford had
+managed some rather spirited horses back in Illinois; and though he
+was willing and eager to learn all over again, he did not enjoy the
+prospect of Lake and Withers seeing this black mustang make a novice
+of him.  And he guessed that was just what Nack-yal intended to do.
+However, once up over the hill, with Kayenta out of sight, Nack-yal
+trotted along fairly well, needing only now and then to be pulled back
+from his strange swinging to the left off the trail.
+
+The pack-train traveled steadily and soon crossed the upland plain to
+descend into the valley again.  Shefford saw the jagged red peaks with
+an emotion he could not name.  The canyon between them were purple in
+the shadows, the great walls and slopes brightened to red, and the
+tips were gold in the sun.  Shefford forgot all about his mustang and
+the trail.
+
+Suddenly with a pound of hoofs Nack-yal seemed to rise.  He leaped
+sidewise out of the trail, came down stiff-legged.  Then Shefford shot
+out 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 the trail.  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, and any mustang looking for an excuse to jump might
+have mistaken it for a rattlesnake.  Nack-yal appeared disposed to be
+satisfied, and gave Shefford no trouble in mounting.  The incident
+increased Shefford's dubiousness.  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 and
+spires, loomed so close and so beautiful that he did not care if Nack-
+yal did throw him.  Along here, however, the mustang behaved well, and
+presently Shefford decided that if it had been otherwise he would have
+walked.  The trail suddenly stood on end and led down into the deep
+wash, 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-
+yal sank deep as he took short and careful steps down.  The burros and
+other mustangs were drinking, and Nack-yal followed suit.  The Indian,
+with a hand clutching his mustang's mane, rode up a steep, sandy slope
+on the other 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 the red mule; and the way the two kicked was a revelation and
+a warning to Shefford.  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 sandy
+stretches.  The looming walls made the valley look narrow, yet it must
+have been half a mile wide.  The slopes under the cliffs were dotted
+with huge stones and cedar-trees.  There were deep indentations in the
+walls, running back to form box canyon, choked with green of cedar and
+spruce and pinyon.  These notches haunted Shefford, and he was ever on
+the lookout 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 sure
+a 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 out
+a cliff-dwelling to me.  See it? . . . There 'way up in that cave of
+the wall."
+
+Shefford saw a steep, rough slope leading up to a bulge of the cliff,
+and finally he made out strange little houses with dark, eyelike
+windows.  He wanted to climb up there.  Withers called his attention
+to more caves with what he believed were the ruins of cliff-dwellings.
+And as they rode along the trader showed him remarkable formations of
+rock where the elements were slowly hollowing out a bridge.  They came
+presently to a region of intersecting canyon, and here the breaking of
+the trail up and down the deep washes took Withers back to his task
+with the 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
+hard away from the opening canyon on the left.  It seemed strange to
+Shefford that the mustang never swerved to the right.  This habit of
+Nack-yal's and the increasing caution needed on the trail took all of
+Shefford's attention.  When he dismounted, however, he had a chance
+to look around, and more and more he was amazed at the increasing
+proportions and wildness of the Sagi.
+
+He came at length to a place where a fallen tree blocked the trail.
+All of the rest of the pack-train had jumped the log.  But Nack-yal
+balked.  Shefford dismounted, pulled the bridle over the mustang's
+head, and tried to lead him.  Nack-yal, however, refused to budge.
+Whereupon Shefford got a stick and, remounting, he gave the balky
+mustang a cut across the flank.  Then something violent happened.
+Shefford received a sudden propelling jolt, and then he was rising
+into the air, and then falling.  Before he alighted he had a clear
+image of Nack-yal in the air above him, bent double, and seemingly
+possessed of devils.  Then Shefford hit the ground with no light thud.
+He was thoroughly angry when he got dizzily 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 his bridle.  Shefford hurried
+after him, and the faster he went just by so much the cunning Nack-yal
+accelerated his gait.  As the pack-train was out of sight somewhere
+ahead, Shefford could not call to his companions to halt his mount,
+so he gave up trying, and walked on now with free and growing
+appreciation of his surroundings.
+
+The afternoon had waned.  The sun blazed low in the west in a notch
+of the canyon ramparts, and one wall was darkening into purple shadow
+while the other shone through a golden haze.  It was a weird, wild
+world to Shefford, and every few strides he caught his breath and
+tried to realize actuality was not a dream.
+
+Nack-yal kept about a hundred paces to the fore and ever and anon he
+looked back to see how his new master was progressing.  He varied these
+occasions by reaching down and nipping a tuft of grass.  Evidently he
+was too intelligent to go on fast enough to be caught by Withers.  Also
+he kept continually looking up the slope to the left as if seeking a
+way to climb out of the valley in that direction.  Shefford thought it
+was well the trail lay at the foot of a steep slope that ran up to
+unbroken bluffs.
+
+The sun set and the canyon lost its red and its gold and deepened its
+purple. Shefford calculated he had walked five miles, and though he
+did not mind the effort, he would rather have ridden Nack-yal into
+camp.  He mounted a cedar ridge, crossed some sandy washes, turned a
+corner of bold wall to enter a wide, green level.  The mustangs were
+rolling and snorting.  He heard the bray of a burro.  A bright blaze of
+camp-fire greeted him, and the dark figure of the Indian approached to
+intercept and catch Nack-yal.  When he stalked into camp Withers wore
+a beaming smile, 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
+and somewhat painful manner--to me."
+
+"Sure, I saw that in his eye," replied Lake; and Withers laughed with
+him.
+
+"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 Indian
+stock will buck on a man once in a while."
+
+"I'll take the bucking along with the rest," said Shefford.  Both men
+liked his reply, and the Indian smiled for the first time.
+
+Soon they all sat round a spread tarpaulin and ate like wolves.  After
+supper 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 if he
+was not joking. Withers talked about the canyon, the Indians, the
+mustangs, the scorpions running out of the heated sand; and to Shefford
+it was all like a fascinating book. Nas Ta Bega smoked in silence, his
+brooding eyes upon the fire.
+
+
+
+
+V. ON THE TRAIL
+
+
+Shefford was awakened next morning by a sound he had never heard before
+--the plunging of hobbled horses on soft turf.  It was clear daylight,
+with a ruddy color in the sky and a tinge of red along the canyon rim.
+He saw Withers, Lake, and the Indian driving the mustangs toward camp.
+
+The burros appeared lazy, yet willing.  But the mustangs and the mule
+Withers called Red and the gray mare Dynamite were determined not to
+be driven into camp.  It was astonishing how much action they had, how
+much ground they could cover with their forefeet hobbled together.
+They were exceedingly skilful; they lifted both forefeet at once, and
+then plunged.  And they all went in different directions.  Nas Ta Bega
+darted in here and there to head off escape.
+
+Shefford pulled on his boots and went out to help.  He got too close to
+the gray mare and, warned by a yell from Withers, he jumped back just
+in time to avoid her vicious heels.  Then Shefford turned his attention
+to Nack-yal and chased him all over the flat in a futile effort to
+catch him. Nas Ta Bega came to Shefford's assistance and put a rope
+over Nack-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'll soon be out of here."
+
+Shefford had been late in awakening.  The others had breakfasted.  He
+found eating somewhat difficult in the excitement that ensued.  Nas Ta
+Bega held ropes which were round the necks of Red and Dynamite.  The
+mule showed his cunning and always appeared to present his heels to
+Withers, who tried to approach him with a pack-saddle.  The patience
+of the trader was a revelation to Shefford.  And at length Red was
+cornered by the three men, the pack-saddle was strapped on, and then
+the packs.  Red promptly 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 this
+was his first sight of a wild horse.  The gray mare had fiery eyes that
+rolled and showed the white.  She jumped straight up, screamed, pawed,
+bit, and then plunged down to shoot her hind hoofs into the air as
+high as her head had been.  She was amazingly agile and she seemed mad
+to kill something.  She dragged the Indian about, and when Joe Lake got
+a rope on her hind foot she dragged them both.  They lashed her with
+the ends of the lassoes, which action only made her kick harder.  She
+plunged into camp, drove Shefford flying for his life, knocked down two
+of the burros, and played havoc with the unstrapped packs.  Withers ran
+to the assistance of Lake, and the two of them hauled back with all
+their strength and weight.  They were both powerful and heavy men.
+Dynamite circled round and finally, after kicking the camp-fire to
+bits, fell down on her haunches in the hot embers.  "Let--her--set--
+there!" panted Withers.  And Joe Lake shouted, "Burn up, you durn
+coyote!"  Both men appeared delighted that she had brought upon herself
+just punishment.  Dynamite sat in the remains of the fire long enough
+to get burnt, and then she got up and meekly allowed Withers to throw
+a tarpaulin and a roll 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?" asked
+Shefford.
+
+"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
+rising over the ramparts of the canyon, and he had already seen more
+difficult and dangerous work accomplished than half a dozen men of his
+type could do in a whole day.  He liked the outlook of his new duty as
+Withers's assistant, but he felt helplessly inefficient.  Still, all
+he needed was experience.  He passed over what he anticipated would be
+pain and peril--the cost was of no moment.
+
+Soon the pack-train was on the move, with the Indian leading.  This
+morning Nack-yal began his strange swinging off to the left, precisely
+as he had done the day before.  It got to be annoying to Shefford, and
+he 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 ride
+beside 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
+a rifle in your saddle-sheath."
+
+Shefford had already discovered that he had been armed this morning, a
+matter which had caused him reflection.  These animals certainly looked
+like deer; he had seen a few deer, though not in their native wild
+haunts; and he experienced the thrill of the hunter.  Dismounting, he
+drew the rifle out of the sheath and started toward the little canyon.
+
+"Hyar!  Where you going with that gun?" yelled Withers.  "That's a
+bunch of burros. . . . Joe's up to his old tricks.  Shefford, look
+out for Joe!"
+
+Rather sheepishly Shefford returned to his mustang and sheathed the
+rifle, 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.
+He appeared absolutely sincere and innocent.  Shefford hardly knew how
+to take this likable Mormon, but vowed he would be on his guard in
+the future.
+
+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 the
+cliff 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 burros
+started stones rolling, making danger for those below.  Shefford
+dismounted and led Nack-yal and turned aside many a rolling rock.  The
+Indian and the burros, with the red mule leading, climbed steadily.
+But the mustangs had trouble.  Joe's spirited bay had to be coaxed to
+face the ascent; Nack-yal balked at every difficult step; and Dynamite
+slipped on a flat slant of rock and slid down forty feet.  Withers and
+Lake with ropes hauled the mare out of the dangerous position.
+Shefford, who brought up the rear, saw all the action, and it was
+exciting, but his pleasure in the climb was spoiled by sight of blood
+and hair on the stones.  The ascent was crooked, steep, and long, and
+when Shefford reached the top of the wall he was glad to rest.  It made
+him gasp to look down and see what he had surmounted.  The canyon floor,
+green and level, lay a thousand feet below; and the wild burros which
+had followed on the trail looked like rabbits.
+
+Shefford mounted presently, and rode out upon a wide, smooth trail
+leading into a cedar forest.  There were bunches of gray sage in the
+open places.  The air was cool and crisp, laden with a sweet fragrance.
+He saw Lake and Withers bobbing along, now on one side of the trail,
+now on the other, and they kept to a steady trot.  Occasionally the
+Indian and his bright-red saddle-blanket showed in an opening of the
+cedars.
+
+It was level country, and there was nothing for Shefford to see except
+cedar and sage, an outcropping of red rock in places, and the winding
+trail.  Mocking-birds made melody everywhere.  Shefford seemed full of
+a strange pleasure, and the hours flew by.  Nack-yal still wanted to
+be everlastingly turning off the trail, and, moreover, now he wanted
+to go faster.  He was eager, restless, dissatisfied.
+
+At noon the pack-train descended into a deep draw, well covered with
+cedar and sage.  There was plenty of grass and shade, but no water.
+Shefford was surprised to see that every pack was removed; however,
+the roll of blankets was left on Dynamite.
+
+The men made a fire and began to cook a noonday meal.  Shefford, tired
+and warm, sat in a shady spot and watched.  He had become all eyes.  He
+had almost forgotten Fay Larkin; he had forgotten his trouble; and the
+present seemed sweet and full.  Presently his ears were filled by a
+pattering roar and, looking up the draw, he saw two streams of sheep
+and goats coming down.  Soon an Indian shepherd appeared, riding a fine
+mustang.  A cream-colored colt bounded along behind, and presently
+a shaggy dog came in sight.  The Indian dismounted at the camp, and
+his flock 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 sat down round the canvas.  The shepherd did not tie his horse.
+
+Presently Shefford noticed that Nack-yal had returned to camp and was
+acting strangely.  Evidently he was attracted by the Indian's mustang
+or the cream-colored colt.  At any rate, Nack-yal hung around, tossed
+his head, whinnied in a low, nervous manner, and looked strangely
+eager and wild.  Shefford was at first amused, then curious.  Nack-yal
+approached too close to the mother of the colt, and she gave him a
+sounding kick in the 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 some words, whereupon the trader turned to Shefford:
+
+"I bought Nack-yal from this Indian three years ago.  This mare is
+Nack-yal's mother.  He was born over here to the south.  That's why
+he always swung left off the trail.  He wanted to go home.  Just now
+he recognized his mother and she whaled away and gave him a whack for
+his pains.  She's got a colt now and probably didn't recognize Nack-
+yal.  But he's broken-hearted."
+
+The trader laughed, and Joe said, "You can't tell what these durn
+mustangs will do."  Shefford felt sorry for Nack-yal, and when it came
+time 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 the
+top 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
+distant round-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.
+"Navajo Mountain.  And there in the north are the canyon."
+
+Shefford followed the Indian down the trail and soon lost sight of
+that wide green-and-red wilderness.  Nas Ta Bega turned at an
+intersecting trail, 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 shallow canyon.  Troops of wild mustangs whistled at them,
+stood on ridge-tops to watch, and then dashed away with manes and
+tails flying.
+
+Withers rode forward presently and halted the pack-train.  He had some
+conversation with Nas Ta Bega, whereupon the Indian turned his horse
+and trotted back, to disappear in the cedars.
+
+"I'm some worried," explained Withers.  "Joe thinks he saw a bunch of
+horsemen trailing us.  My eyes are bad and I can't see far.  The Indian
+will find out.  I took a roundabout way to reach the village because
+I'm always dodging Shadd."
+
+This communication lent an added zest to the journey.  Shefford could
+hardly believe the truth that his eyes and his ears brought to his
+consciousness.  He turned in behind Withers and rode down the rough
+trail, helping the mustang all in his power.  It occurred to him that
+Nack-yal had been entirely different since that meeting with his mother
+in the draw.  He turned no more off the trail; he answered readily to
+the rein; he did not look afar from every ridge.  Shefford conceived a
+liking for 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 can
+look down on the grandest scene in the world," said he. "Two hundred
+miles of wind-worn rock, all smooth and bare, without a single straight
+line--canyon, caves, bridges--the most wonderful country in the world!
+Even the Indians haven't explored it. It's haunted, for them, and they
+have strange gods. The Navajos will hunt on this side of the mountain,
+but not on the other. That north side is consecrated ground. My wife has
+long been trying to get the Navajos to tell her the secret of Nonnezoshe.
+Nonnezoshe means Rainbow Bridge. The Indians worship it, but as far as
+she can find out only a few have ever seen it. I imagine it'd be worth
+some trouble."
+
+"Maybe that's the bridge Venters talked about--the one overarching the
+entrance to Surprise Valley," Said Shefford.
+
+"It might be," replied the trader.  "You've got a good chance of
+finding out.  Nas Ta Bega is the man.  You stick to that Indian.
+. . . Well, we start down here into this canyon, and we go down some,
+I reckon.  In half an hour you'll see sago-lilies and Indian paint-
+brush and vermilion cactus."
+
+   .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .
+
+About the middle of the afternoon the pack-train and its drivers
+arrived at the hidden Mormon village.  Nas Ta Bega had not returned
+from his scout back along the trail.
+
+Shefford's sensibilities had all been overstrained, but he had left
+in him enthusiasm and appreciation that made the situation of this
+village a fairyland.  It was a valley, a canyon floor, so long that
+he could not 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 trees surrounded the little log and stone houses, and along
+the walls of the canyon stood sharp-pointed, dark-green spruce-trees.
+These walls were singular of shape and color.  They were not imposing
+in height, but they waved like the long, undulating swell of a sea.
+Every foot of surface was perfectly smooth, and the long curved lines
+of darker tinge that streaked the red followed the rounded line of the
+slope at the top.  Far above, yet overhanging, were great yellow crags
+and peaks, and between these, still higher, showed the pine-fringed
+slope of Navajo Mountain with snow in the sheltered places, and
+glistening streams, like silver threads, running down.
+
+All this Shefford noticed as he entered the valley from round a corner
+of wall.  Upon nearer view he saw and heard a host of children, who,
+looking up to see the intruders, scattered like frightened quail.  Long
+gray grass covered the ground, and here and there wide, smooth paths
+had been worn.  A swift and murmuring brook ran through the middle of
+the valley, and its banks were bordered with flowers.
+
+Withers led the way to one side near the wall, where a clump of cedar-
+trees and a dark, swift spring boiling out of the rocks and banks of
+amber moss with purple blossoms made a beautiful camp site.  Here
+the mustangs were unsaddled and turned loose without hobbles.  It
+was certainly unlikely that they would leave such a spot.  Some of
+the burros were unpacked, and the others Withers drove off into the
+village.
+
+"Sure's pretty nice," said Joe, wiping his sweaty face.  "I'll never
+want to leave.  It suits me to lie on this moss. . . . Take a drink of
+that spring."
+
+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
+mossy bank.  He did not reply to Joe.  In fact, all his faculties were
+absorbed in watching and feeling, and he lay there long after Joe went
+off to the village.  The murmur of water, the hum of bees, the songs
+of strange birds, the sweet, warm air, the dreamy summer somnolence
+of the valley--all these added drowsiness to Shefford's weary
+lassitude, and he fell asleep.  When he awoke Nas Ta Bega was
+sitting near him and Joe was busy 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 his
+visitor 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 way
+home."
+
+Shefford regarded Joe with both concern and doubt.  Joe's words were at
+variance 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.  These outlaws
+are all poor shots with a rifle.  So 'm I.  But I can handle a six-
+shooter.  I reckon we'll make Shadd sweat if he pushes us."
+
+Withers returned, driving the burros, all of which had been unpacked
+down to the saddles.  Two gray-bearded men accompanied him.  One of
+them appeared to be very old and venerable, and walked with a stick.
+The other had a sad-lined face and kind, mild blue eyes.  Shefford
+observed that Lake seemed unusually respectful.  Withers introduced
+these Mormons merely as Smith and Henninger.  They were very cordial
+and pleasant in their greetings to Shefford.  Presently another,
+somewhat younger, man joined the group, a stalwart, jovial fellow with
+ruddy face.  There was certainly 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 the outside.  Finally they went away, taking
+Joe with them.  Withers took up the task of getting supper where Joe
+had been made to leave it.
+
+"Shefford, listen," he said, presently, as he knelt before the fire.
+"I told them right out that you'd been a Gentile clergyman--that you'd
+gone back 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.  Of course 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 to find your Fay Larkin.  To-morrow you'll meet some of
+the women.  They're good souls, but, like any women, crazy for news.
+Think what it is to be shut 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'll
+come back here, and when you both feel like leaving, and if Nas Ta
+Bega thinks it safe, you'll take a trail over to some Indian hogans
+and pack me out a load of skins and blankets. . . . My boy, you've all
+the time there is, and I wish you luck.  This isn't a bad place to
+loaf.  I always get sentimental over here.  Maybe it's the women.  Some
+of them are pretty, and one of them--Shefford, they call her the Sago
+Lily.  Her first 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.  You drop in here with rather peculiar credentials, so to
+speak--as my helper and as a man with no religion!  You'll not only
+be fully trusted, but you'll be welcome to these lonely women.  So be
+careful.  Remember it's my secret belief they are sealed wives and are
+visited occasionally at night by their husbands.  I don't know this,
+but I believe it.  And you're not 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
+the only 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 time
+over in Stonebridge. With Mormons it's 'sufficient unto the day is the
+evil 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 I knew in Durango would ride over here there'd simply be hell.
+But that's a long way, and probably this village will be deserted
+before news of it ever reaches Colorado.  There's more danger of Shadd
+and his gang coming in.  Shadd's half Piute.  He must know of this
+place.  And he's got some white outlaws in his gang. . . . Come on.
+Grub's ready, and I'm too hungry to talk."
+
+Later, when shadows began to gather in the valley and the lofty peaks
+above were gold in the sunset glow, Withers left camp to look after
+the straying mustangs, and Shefford strolled to and fro under the
+cedars.  The lights and shades in the Sagi that first night had moved
+him to enthusiastic watchfulness, but here they were so weird and
+beautiful that he was enraptured.  He actually saw great shafts of
+gold and shadows of purple streaming from the peaks down into the
+valley.  It was day on the heights and twilight in the valley.  The
+swiftly changing colors were like rainbows.
+
+While he strolled up and down several women came to the spring and
+filled their buckets.  They wore shawls or hoods and their garments
+were somber, 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 a woman--a girl in lighter garb.  It was almost white.  She
+was shapely and walked with free, graceful step, reminding him of the
+Indian girl, Glen Naspa.  This one wore a hood shaped like a huge
+sunbonnet and it concealed her face.  She carried a bucket.  When she
+reached the spring and went down the few stone steps Shefford saw that
+she did not have on shoes. As she braced herself to lift the bucket
+her bare foot clung to the mossy stone.  It was a strong, sinewy,
+beautiful foot, instinct with youth.  He was curious enough, he
+thought, but the awakening artist in him made him more so.  She
+dragged at the full bucket and had difficulty in lifting it out of
+the hole.  Shefford strode forward and took the bucket-handle from her.
+
+"Won't you let me help you?" he said, lifting the bucket.  "Indeed--
+it's very heavy."
+
+"Oh--thank you," she said, without raising her head.  Her voice seemed
+singularly young and sweet.  He had not heard a voice like it.  She
+moved down the path and he walked beside her.  He felt embarrassed, yet
+more curious 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 makes
+my 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
+her face was hidden from him by the hood, he turned to observe her at
+better advantage.  A long braid of hair hung down her back.  In the
+twilight it gleamed dull gold.  She came up to his shoulder.  The
+sleeve nearest him was rolled up to her elbow, revealing a fine round
+arm.  Her hand, like her foot, was brown, strong, and well shaped.  It
+was a hand that had been developed by labor.  She was full-bosomed, yet
+slender, and she walked with a free stride that made Shefford admire
+and wonder.
+
+They passed several of the little stone and log houses, and women
+greeted 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 bucket
+now--please.  My house is near."
+
+"Am I lame? . . . Guess so, a little," he replied.  "It was a hard
+ride for me.  But I'll carry the bucket just the same."
+
+They went on under some pinyon-trees, down a path to a little house
+identical with the others, except that it had a stone porch.
+Shefford smelled 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. Withers spoke 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
+porch and turned he was able to see under the hood.  The face there
+was in shadow, and for that very reason he answered to ungovernable
+impulse and took a step closer to her.  Dark, grave, sad eyes looked
+down at him, and he felt as if he could never draw his own glance
+away.  He seemed not to see the rest of her face, and yet felt that
+it was lovely.  Then a downward movement of the hood hid from him the
+strange eyes and the shadowy 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.  I wondered 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 was
+hidden.
+
+"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
+the bucket and went into the dark house.  Shefford hurried away into
+the gathering darkness.
+
+
+
+
+VI. IN THE HIDDEN VALLEY
+
+
+Shefford had hardly seen her face, yet he was more interested in a
+woman than he had ever been before.  Still, he reflected, as he
+returned to camp, he had been under a long strain, he was unduly
+excited by this new and adventurous life, and these, with the mystery
+of this village, were perhaps 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 stars
+through the needle-like fringe of the pinyons.  It seemed impossible to
+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 feel
+alone, yet not alone.  He raised himself to see the quiet forms of
+Withers and Nas Ta Bega prone in the starlight, and their slow, deep
+breathing was that of tired men.  A bell on a mustang rang somewhere
+off in the valley and gave out a low, strange, reverberating echo from
+wall to wall.  When it ceased a silence set in that was deader than any
+silence he had ever felt, but gradually he became aware of the low
+murmur of the brook.  For the rest there was no sound of wind, no bark
+of dog or yelp of coyote, no sound of voice in the village.
+
+He tried to sleep, but instead thought of this girl who was called
+the Sago Lily.  He recalled everything incident to their meeting and
+the walk to her home.  Her swift, free step, her graceful poise, her
+shapely form--the long braid of hair, dull gold in the twilight, the
+beautiful bare foot and the strong round arm--these he thought of and
+recalled vividly.  But of her face he had no idea except the shadowy,
+haunting loveliness, and that grew more and more difficult to remember.
+The tone of her voice and what she had said--how the one had thrilled
+him and the other mystified!  It was her voice that had most attracted
+him.  There was something in it besides music--what, he could not tell
+--sadness, depth, something like that in Nas Ta Bega's beauty springing
+from disuse.  But this  seemed absurd.  Why should he imagine her voice
+one that had not been 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, and he tried to throw it off, or imagine
+it one he might have felt in any other of these strange women of the
+hidden village.
+
+But Shefford's intelligence and his good sense, which became operative
+when he was fully roused and set the situation clearly before his
+eyes, had no effect upon his deeper, mystic, and primitive feelings.
+He saw the truth and he felt something that he could not name.  He
+would not be a fool, but there was no harm in dreaming.  And
+unquestionably, beyond all doubt, the dream and the romance that
+had lured him to the wilderness were here; hanging over him like the
+shadows of the great peaks.  His heart swelled with emotion when he
+thought of how the black and incessant despair of the past was gone.
+So he embraced any attraction that made him forget and think and feel;
+some instinct stronger than intelligence bade him drift.
+
+   .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .    .
+
+Joe's rolling voice awoke him next morning and he rose with a singular
+zest.  When or where in his life had he awakened in such a beautiful
+place?  Almost he understood why Venters and Bess had been haunted by
+memories of Surprise Valley.  The morning was clear, cool, sweet; the
+peaks were dim and soft in rosy cloud; shafts of golden sunlight shot
+down into the purple shadows.  Mocking-birds were singing.  His body
+was sore and tired from the unaccustomed travel, but his heart was
+full, happy.  His spirit wanted to run, and he knew there was something
+out there waiting to meet it.  The Indian and the trader and the Mormon
+all meant more to him this morning.  He had grown a little overnight.
+Nas Ta Bega's deep "Bi Nai" rang in his ears, and the smiles of Withers
+and Joe were greetings.  He had friends; he had work; and there was
+rich, strange, and helpful life to live.  There was even a difference
+in the mustang Nack-yal.  He came readily; he did not look wild; he
+had a friendly 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-day
+you can meet the women. Make yourself popular. I've already made you
+that. These women are most all young and lonesome. Talk to them. Make
+them like you. Then some day you may be safe to ask questions. Last
+night I wanted to ask old Mother Smith if she ever heard the name Fay
+Larkin. But I thought better of it. If there's a girl here or at
+Stonebridge of that name we'll learn it. If there's mystery we'd better
+go slow. Mormons are hell on secret and mystery, and to pry into their
+affairs is to queer yourself. My advice is--just be as nice as you can
+be, and let things happen."
+
+Fay Larkin!  All in a night Shefford had forgotten her.  Why?  He
+pondered over 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?" asked
+Withers 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
+me in Navajo, 'Bi Nai has lost his God.  He has come far to find a
+wife.  Nas Ta Bega is his brother.' . . . He meant he'll find both God
+and wife for you.  I don't know about that, but I say take the Indian
+as he thinks he is--your brother.  Long before I knew Nas Ta Bega well
+my wife used to tell me about him.  He's a sage and a poet--the very
+spirit of this desert.  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 for you."
+
+"I shall take Nas Ta Bega as my brother--and be proud," replied
+Shefford.
+
+"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
+and he knows you.  He's ready to fight for you now.  He's taken your
+trouble to heart.  You wouldn't think Joe is deeply religious.  Yet
+he is.  He may never 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'll lead somewhere."
+
+"I'm singularly fortunate--I--who had lost all friends.  Withers, I am
+grateful.  I'll prove it.  I'll show--"
+
+Withers's upheld hand checked further speech, and Shefford realized
+that beneath the rough exterior of this desert trader there was fine
+feeling.  These men of crude toil and wild surroundings were beginning
+to loom up large in Shefford's mind.
+
+The day began leisurely.  The men were yet at breakfast when the women
+of the village began to come one by one to the spring.  Joe Lake made
+friendly and joking remarks to each.  And as each one passed on down
+the path 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 got to get me a woman like her."
+
+Shefford saw and heard, yet he was all the time half unconsciously
+watching with strange eagerness for a white figure to appear.  At last
+he saw her--the same girl with the hood, the same swift step.  A little
+shock or quiver passed over him, and at the moment all that was
+explicable 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, all
+right.  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 the
+heavy 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 like
+her," he said.  But the former jocose tone was lacking and he appeared
+thoughtful.
+
+   .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .
+
+Withers first took Shefford to the building used for a school.  It was
+somewhat larger than the other houses, had only one room with two doors
+and 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
+embarrassed as her pupils were shy, and the visitors withdrew without
+having heard a word of lessons.
+
+Withers then called upon Smith, Henninger, and Beal, and their wives.
+Shefford found himself cordially received, and what little he did say
+showed him how he would be listened to when he cared to talk.  These
+folk were plain and kindly, and he found that there was nothing about
+them to dislike.  The men appeared mild and quiet, and when not
+conversing seemed austere.  The repose of the women was only on the
+surface; underneath he felt their intensity.  Especially in many of the
+younger women, whom he met in the succeeding hour, did he feel this
+power of restrained emotion.  This surprised him, as did also the fact
+that almost every one of them was attractive and some of them were
+exceedingly pretty.  He became so interested in them all as a whole
+that he could not individualize one.  They were as widely different in
+appearance and temperament as women of any other class, but it seemed
+to Shefford that one common trait united them--and it was a strange,
+checked yearning for something that he could not discover.  Was it
+happiness?  They certainly seemed to be happy, far more so than those
+millions of women who were chasing 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 stumbled upon a remarkable situation.
+
+He had been told the last names of only three women, and their husbands
+were in the village.  The names of the others were Ruth, Rebecca,
+Joan--he could not recall them all.  They were the mothers of these
+beautiful children.  The fathers, as far as he was concerned, were as
+intangible as myths.  Shefford was an educated clergyman, a man of the
+world, and, as such, knew women in his way.  Mormons might be strange
+and different, yet the fundamental truth was that all over the world
+mothers of children were wives; there was a relation between wife and
+mother that did not need to be named to be felt; and he divined from
+this that, whatever the situation of these lonely and hidden women,
+they knew themselves to be wives.  Shefford absolutely satisfied
+himself on that score.  If they were miserable they certainly did not
+show it, and the question came to him how just was the criticism of
+uninformed men?  His judgment 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 had studied the totemism and exogamy of the primitive
+races, and here was his opportunity to understand polygamy.  One wife
+for one man--that was the law.  Mormons broke it openly; Gentiles broke
+it secretly.  Mormons acknowledged all their wives and protected their
+children; Gentiles acknowledged one wife only.  Unquestionably the
+Mormons were wrong, but were not the Gentiles still more wrong?
+
+    .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .
+
+The following day Joe Lake appeared reluctant to start for Stonebridge
+with Withers.
+
+"Joe, you'd better come along," said the trader, dryly.  "I reckon
+you've seen a little too much of the Sago Lily."
+
+Lake offered no reply, but it was evident from his sober face that
+Withers had not hit short of the mark.  Withers rode off, with a
+parting word to Shefford, and finally Joe somberly mounted his bay
+and trotted down 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.  He
+made friends with the children and he talked to the women until he was
+hoarse.  Their ignorance of the world was a spur to him, and never in
+his life had he had such an attentive audience.  And as he showed no
+curiosity, asked no difficult questions, gradually what reserve he had
+noted wore away, and the end of the day saw him on a footing with them
+that Withers had predicted.
+
+By the time several like days had passed it seemed from the interest
+and friendliness of these women that he might have lived long among
+them.  He was possessed of wit and eloquence and information, which
+he freely gave, and not with selfish motive.  He liked these women;
+he liked to see the somber shade pass from their faces, to see them
+brighten.  He had met the girl Mary at the spring and along the path,
+but he had not yet seen her face.  He was always looking for her,
+hoping to meet her, and confessed to himself that the best of the day
+for him were the morning and evening visits she made to the spring.
+Nevertheless, for some reason hard to divine, he was reluctant to seek
+her deliberately.
+
+Always while he had listened to her neighbors' talk, he had hoped they
+might let fall something about her.  But they did not.  He received an
+impression that she was not so intimate with the others as he had
+supposed.  They all made one big family.  Still, she seemed a little
+outside.  He could bring no proofs to strengthen this idea.  He merely
+felt it, and many of his feelings were independent of intelligent
+reason.  Something had been added to curiosity, that was sure.
+
+It was his habit to call upon Mother Smith in the afternoons.  From
+the first her talk to him hinted of a leaning toward thought of making
+him a Mormon.  Her husband and the other men took up her cue and spoke
+of their religion, casually at first, but gradually opening their minds
+to free and simple discussion of their faith.  Shefford lent respectful
+attention.  He would rather have been a Mormon than an atheist, and
+apparently they considered him the latter, and were earnest to save
+his soul.  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 Smith happened to be the only woman in the village who had
+ever mentioned religion to him.  She was old, of a past generation;
+the young women belonged to the present.  Shefford pondered the
+significant difference.
+
+Every day made more steadfast his impression of the great mystery that
+was like a twining shadow round these women, yet in the same time many
+little ideas shifted and many new characteristics became manifest.
+This last was of course the result of acquaintance; he was learning
+more about the villagers.  He gathered from keen interpretation of
+subtle words and looks that here in this lonely village, the same as
+in all the 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 demands of an increasingly interesting position.  He
+discovered, with a somewhat grim amusement, that a clergyman's
+experience in a church full of women had not been entirely useless.
+
+One afternoon he let fall a careless remark that was a subtle question
+in regard to the girl Mary, whom Withers called the Sago Lily.  In
+response he received an answer couched in the sweet poisoned honey
+of woman's jealousy.  He said no more.  Certain ideas of his were
+strengthened, 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 even
+the decision and the strange thrill it imparted did not change his
+reluctance.
+
+Twilight was darkening the valley when he reached her house, and the
+shadows were thick under the pinyons.  There was no light in the door
+or window.  He saw a white shape on the porch, and as he came down the
+path it rose.  It was the girl Mary, and she appeared startled.
+
+"Good evening," he said.  "It's Shefford.  May I stay and talk a little
+while?"
+
+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 blanket
+on 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
+in a 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 dense twilight.
+
+"I've been wanting to call on you."
+
+She made some slight movement.  Shefford felt a strange calm, yet he
+knew the 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, in
+the twilight.  And it struck him mute.  But he had no glimpse such as
+had flashed upon him from under her hood that other night.  He thought
+of a white flower in shadow, and received his first impression of the
+rare and perfect lily Withers had said graced the wild canyon.  She
+was only a girl.  She sat very still, looking straight before her, and
+seemed to be waiting, 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 and
+hours.  But the thing in my mind I haven't spoken of.  I've never asked
+any questions.  That makes my part so strange.  I want to tell why I
+came out here.  I need some one who will keep my secret, and perhaps
+help me. . . . Would you?"
+
+"Yes, if I could," she replied.
+
+"You see I've got to trust you, or one of these other women.  You're
+all Mormons.  I don't mean that's anything against you.  I believe
+you're all good and noble.  But the fact makes--well, makes a liberty
+of speech impossible.  What can I do?"
+
+Her silence probably meant that she did not know.  Shefford sensed
+less strain in her and more excitement.  He believed he was on the
+right track and did not regret his impulse.  Even had he regretted
+it he would have gone on, for opposed to caution and intelligence
+was his driving mystic force.
+
+Then he told her the truth about his boyhood, his ambition to be an
+artist, his renunciation to his father's hope, his career as a
+clergyman, his failure in religion, and the disgrace that had made
+him a wanderer.
+
+"Oh--I'm sorry!" she said.  The faint starlight shone on her face,
+in her eyes, and if he ever saw beauty and soul he saw them then.
+She seemed deeply moved.  She had forgotten herself.  She betrayed
+girlhood then--all the quick sympathy, the wonder, the sweetness of
+a heart innocent and untutored.  She looked at him with great, starry,
+questioning eyes, as if they had just become aware of his presence,
+as if a man had been strange to her.
+
+"Thank you.  It's good of you to be sorry," he said.  "My instinct
+guided me 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
+of myself. . . . Oh, I'm afraid I can't help you."
+
+How strange the pathos of her voice!  Almost he believed she was in
+need of help or sympathy or love.  But he could not wholly trust a
+judgment formed from observation of a class different from hers.
+
+"Maybe you CAN help me.  Let's see," he said.  "I don't seek to make
+you talk 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 has
+renounced the world.  In some ways you Mormon women here resemble nuns.
+It is sacrifice that nails you in this lonely valley. . . . You
+see--how I talk!  One word, one thought brings another, and I speak
+what perhaps should be unsaid.  And it's hard, because I feel I could
+unburden myself to 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 she
+was warming to his influence.  Her shadowy eyes were fixed upon him.
+The starlight, growing brighter, shone on her golden hair and white
+face.
+
+"I'll tell you presently," he said.  "I've trusted you.  I'll trust
+you with 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 ax to grind.  I hope I won't wrong you.  That's why I'm going
+to be perfectly frank.  I might wait for days to get better acquainted.
+But the impulse is on me.  I've been so interested in all you Mormon
+women.  The fact--the meaning of this hidden village is so--so terrible
+to me.  But that's none of my business.  I have spent my afternoons and
+evenings with these women at 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 afraid or 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?  Maybe I really don't want
+to know.  I came with selfish motive and now I'd like to--to--what
+shall I say?  Make your life a little less lonely for the while I'm
+here.  That's all.  It needn't offend.  And if you accept it, how much
+easier I can tell you my secret.  You are a Mormon and I--well, I am
+only a wanderer in these wilds.  But--we might help each other. . . .
+Have I made 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.
+He did not stop to analyze his own emotions, but he had an inkling
+that once 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.  Excitement alone could not be accountable for this.  He had
+not divined the cause for such agitation.  He was puzzled, troubled,
+and drawn irresistibly.  He had not said what he had planned to say.
+The moment had given birth to his 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 the
+unconsciousness of a child and the passion of a woman.  He gazed out
+into the dark shadows and up at the white stars, and then at the bowed
+head with its mass of glinting hair.  But her agitation was no longer
+strange to him.  A few gentle and kind words had proved her undoing.
+He knew then that whatever her life was, no kindness or sympathy
+entered it.  Presently she recovered, and sat as before, only whiter
+of face it seemed, and with something tragic in her dark eyes.  She
+was growing cold and 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 an
+inexplicable sweetness in the power his voice seemed to have upon her.
+She bowed her head in acquiescence.  And Shefford began his story.  Did
+she grow still, like stone, or was that only his vivid imagination?  He
+told her of Venters and Bess--of Lassiter and Jane--of little Fay
+Larkin--of the romance, and then the tragedy of Surprise Valley.
+
+"So, when my Church disowned me," he concluded, "I conceived the idea
+of wandering into the wilds of Utah to save Fay Larkin from that canyon
+prison.  It grew to be the best and strongest desire of my life.  I
+think if 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
+seen her--when she's only a dream girl?  But I believe if she were to
+become a reality--a flesh-and-blood girl--that I would love her."
+
+That was more than Shefford had ever confessed to any one, and it
+stirred 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 me
+it is a country of rainbows, both in the evanescent air and in the
+changeless stone.  Always as a boy there had been for me some haunting
+promise, some treasure at the foot of the rainbow.  I shall expect the
+curve of a rainbow to lead me down into Surprise Valley.  A dreamer,
+you will call me.  But I have had strange dreams come true. . . . Mary,
+do you think 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,
+will you answer a few little questions, if I swear by my honor I'll
+never reveal what you tell me?"
+
+"I'll try."
+
+He moistened his lips.  Why did she seem so strange, so far away?  The
+hovering shadows made him nervous.  Always he had been afraid of the
+dark.  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 the
+portent of his next query.  He had not dreamed it would be so hard to
+put, or would affect him so powerfully.  A warmth, a glow, a happiness
+pervaded his spirit; and the chill, the gloom were as if they had never
+been.
+
+"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
+he strode away into the starlight.
+
+
+
+
+VII.  SAGO-LILIES
+
+
+The Indian returned to camp that night, and early the next day, which
+was Sunday, Withers rode in, accompanied by a stout, gray-bearded
+personage wearing a long black coat.
+
+"Bishop Kane, this is my new man, John Shefford," said the trader.
+
+Shefford acknowledged the introduction with the respectful courtesy
+evidently in order, and found himself being studied intently by clear
+blue eyes.  The bishop appeared old, dry, and absorbed in thought; he
+spoke quaintly, using in every speech some Biblical word or phrase;
+and he had an air of authority.  He asked Shefford to hear him preach
+at the morning 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--
+a handsome young fellow left alone with a lot of pretty Mormon women!
+You'll understand when you learn to know Mormons.  Bishop Kane's a
+square old 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
+Stonebridge were huffy because I hadn't consulted them before fetching
+you over here.  If I had, of course you'd never have gotten here.  It
+was Joe Lake who made it all right with them.  Joe's well thought of,
+and he certainly stood up for you."
+
+"I owe him something, then," replied Shefford.  "Hope my obligations
+don'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 up
+rough.  His gang shot up some Piutes over here across the line.  Then
+he got run out of Durango a few weeks ago for murder.  A posse of
+cowboys trailed him.  But he slipped them.  He's a fox.  You know he
+was trailing us here.  He left the trail, Nas Ta Bega said.  I learned
+at Stonebridge that Shadd is well disposed toward Mormons.  It takes
+the Mormons to handle Indians.  Shadd knows of this village and that's
+why he shunted off our trail.  But he might hang down in the pass and
+wait for us.  I think I'd better go back to Kayenta alone, across
+country.  You stay here till Joe and the Indian think it safe to leave.
+You'll be going up on the slope of Navajo to load a pack-train, and
+from there it may be well to go down West Canyon to Red Lake, and home
+over the divide, the way you came.  Joe'll decide what's best.  And
+you might as well buckle on a gun and get used to it.  Sooner or later
+you'll have to shoot your way through."
+
+Shefford did not respond with his usual enthusiasm, and the omission
+caused 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 this
+morning.  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, beautiful
+place."
+
+"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've been 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
+danger here for any man, Shefford.  Even for you who think you've
+turned your back 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 holds them, not love.  And the peculiar thing is this:
+they're second, third, or fourth wives, all sealed.  That means their
+husbands are old, have picked them out for youth and physical charms,
+have chosen the very opposite to their first wives, and then have hidden
+them here in this lonely 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.
+Be as nice as you can, Shefford.  Lord knows it would be good for these
+poor women if every last one of them fell in love with you.  That won't
+hurt them so long as you keep your head.  Savvy?  Perhaps I seem rough
+and coarse to a man of your class.  Well, that may be.  But human
+nature is human nature.  And in this strange and beautiful place
+you might love an Indian girl, let alone the Sago Lily.  That's all.
+I sure feel better with that load off my conscience.  Hope I don't
+offend."
+
+"No indeed.  I thank you, Withers," replied Shefford, with his hand
+on the trader's shoulder.  "You are right to caution me.  I seem to
+be wild--thirsting for adventure--chasing a gleam.  In these unstable
+days I can't answer for my heart.  But I can for my honor.  These
+unfortunate women 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
+STRANGE woman, if you want to put it that way.  It's nature.  It seems
+all the beautiful young women in Utah are corralled in this valley.
+When I come over here I feel natural, but I'm not happy.  I'd like to
+make love to--to that flower-faced girl.  And I'm not ashamed to own
+it.  I've told Molly, my wife, and she understands.  As for Joe, it's
+much harder for him.  Joe never has had a wife or sweetheart.  I tell
+you he's sick, and if 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 to
+Shefford, but, once spoken, not at all strange.  The trader was a man
+who spoke his inmost thought.  And what he said suddenly focused
+Shefford's mental vision clear and whole upon the appalling
+significance of the tragedy 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 off
+about his tasks.
+
+Shefford and Withers attended the morning service, which was held in
+the school-house.  Exclusive of the children every inhabitant of the
+village was there.  The women, except the few eldest, were dressed in
+white and looked exceedingly well.  Manifestly they had bestowed care
+upon this Sabbath morning's toilet.  One thing surely this dress
+occasion brought out, and it was evidence that the Mormon women were
+not poor, whatever their misfortunes might be.  Jewelry was not
+wanting, nor fine lace.  And they all wore beautiful wild flowers of a
+kind unknown to Shefford.  He received many a bright smile.  He looked
+for Mary, hoping to see her face for the first time in the daylight,
+but she sat far forward and did not turn.  He saw her graceful white
+neck, the fine lines of her throat, and her colorless cheek.  He
+recognized her, yet in the light she seemed a stranger.
+
+The service began with a short prayer and was followed by the singing
+of a hymn.  Nowhere had Shefford heard better music or sweeter voices.
+How deeply they affected him!  Had any man ever fallen into a stranger
+adventure than this?  He had only to shut his eyes to believe it all a
+creation of his fancy--the square log cabin with its red mud between
+the chinks and a roof like an Indian hogan--the old bishop in his black
+coat, standing solemnly, his hand beating time to the tune--the few old
+women, dignified and stately--the many young women, fresh and handsome,
+lifting their voices.
+
+Shefford listened intently to the bishop's sermon.  In some respects
+it was the best he had ever heard.  In others it was impossible for an
+intelligent man to regard seriously.  It was very long, lasting an hour
+and a half, and the parts that were helpful to Shefford came from the
+experience and wisdom of a man who had grown old in the desert.  The
+physical things that had molded characters of iron, the obstacles that
+only strong, patient men could have overcome, the making of homes in a
+wilderness, showed the greatness of this alien band of Mormons.
+Shefford conceded greatness to them.  But the strange religion--the
+narrowing down of the world to the soil of Utah, the intimations of
+prophets on earth who had direct converse with God, the austere self-
+conscious omnipotence of this old bishop--these were matters that
+Shefford felt he must understand better, and see more favorably, if
+he were not to consider them impossible.
+
+Immediately after the service, forgetting that his intention had been
+to get the long-waited-for look at Mary in the light of the sun,
+Shefford hurried back to camp and to a secluded spot among the cedars.
+Strikingly it had come to him that the fault he had found in Gentile
+religion he now found in the Mormon religion.  An old question returned
+to haunt him--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 Church of his own kind was a place where narrow men and
+women went to think of their own salvation.  They did not go there
+to think of others.  And now Shefford's keen mind saw something of
+Mormonism and found it wanting.  Bishop Kane was a sincere, good,
+mistaken man.  He believed what he preached, but that would not stand
+logic.  He taught blindness and mostly it appeared to be directed at
+the women.  Was there no religion divorced from power, no religion as
+good for one man as another, no religion in the spirit of brotherly
+love?  Nas Ta Bega's "Bi Nai" (brother)--that was love, 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 of the
+Mormons.
+
+Later, when opportunity afforded, he did speak to the Indian.  Nas Ta
+Bega threw away his cigarette and made an impressive gesture that
+conveyed as much sorrow as scorn.
+
+"The first Mormon said God spoke to him and told him to go to a
+certain place and dig.  He went there and found the Book of Mormon.
+It said follow me, marry many wives, go into the desert and multiply,
+send your sons out into the world and bring us young women, many young
+women.  And when the first Mormon became strong with many followers
+he said again: Give to me part of your labor--of your cattle and sheep
+--of your silver--that I may build me great cathedrals for you to
+worship in.  And I will commune with God and make it right and good
+that you have more wives.  That is Mormonism."
+
+"Nas Ta Bega, you mean the Mormons are a great and good people blindly
+following 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 creeping
+growths 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 and
+halted on his way to speak to Shefford.  He was kind and fatherly.
+"Young man, 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 desert
+I heard its cry.' . . . God bless you.  Visit me when you ride to
+Stonebridge."
+
+He flicked his horse with a cedar branch and trotted away beside the
+trader, and presently the green-choked neck of the valley hid them
+from view.  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 the
+sunset gilding the peaks, he was visited by three of the young Mormon
+women--Ruth, Joan, and Hester.  They deliberately sought him and
+merrily led him off to the village and to the evening service of
+singing and prayer.  Afterward he was surrounded and made much of.  He
+had been popular before, but this was different.  When he thoughtfully
+wended his way campward under the quiet stars he realized that the
+coming of Bishop Kane had made a subtle change in the women.  That
+change was at first hard to define, but from every point by which he
+approached it he came to the same conclusion--the bishop had not
+objected to his presence in the village.  The women became natural,
+free, and unrestrained.  A dozen or twenty young and attractive
+women thrown much into companionship with one man.  He might become
+a Mormon.  The idea made him laugh.  But upon reflection it was not
+funny; it sobered him.  What a situation!  He felt instinctively that
+he ought to fly from this hidden valley.  But he could not have done
+it, even had he not been in the trader's employ.  The thing was
+provokingly seductive.  It was like an Arabian Nights' tale.  What
+could these strange, fatally bound women do?  Would any one of them
+become involved in sweet toils such as were possible to him?  He was
+no fool.  Already eyes had flashed and lips had smiled.
+
+A thousand like thoughts whirled through his mind.  And when he had
+calmed down somewhat two things were not lost upon him--an intricate
+and fascinating situation, with no end to its possibilities, threatened
+and attracted him--and the certainty that, whatever change the bishop
+had inaugurated, it had made these poor women happier.  The latter
+fact weighed more with Shefford than fears for himself.  His word was
+given to Withers.  He would have felt just the same without having
+bound himself.  Still, in the light of the trader's blunt philosophy,
+and of his own assurance that he was no fool, Shefford felt it
+incumbent upon him to accept a belief that there were situations no
+man could resist without an anchor.  The ingenuity of man could not
+have devised a stranger, a more enticing, a more overpoweringly fatal
+situation.  Fatal in that it could not be left untried!  Shefford gave
+in and clicked his teeth as he let himself go.  And suddenly he thought
+of her whom these bitter women called the Sago Lily.
+
+The regret that had been his returned with thought of her.  The saddest
+disillusion 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 then never go near her again.  And now it came to him that if he
+did see much of her these other women would find him like the stone
+wall in the valley.  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 the
+work and play of the village.  He helped the women and made games for
+the children.  And he talked or listened.   In the early evening he
+called on Ruth, 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 path to 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
+to express something that would not come.  She was happier to see him
+than she should have been, Shefford thought.  He talked, swiftly,
+eloquently, about whatever he believed would interest her.  He stayed
+long, and finally left, not having seen her face except in pale
+starlight and shadow; and the strong clasp of her hand remained with
+him as he went away under the pinyons.
+
+Days passed swiftly.  Joe Lake did not return.  The Indian rode in and
+out of camp, watered and guarded the pack-burros and the mustangs.
+Shefford grew strong and active.  He made gardens for the women; he cut
+cords of fire-wood; he dammed the brook and made an irrigation ditch;
+he learned to love these fatherless children, and they loved him.
+
+In the afternoons there was leisure for him and for the women.  He had
+no favorites, and let the occasion decide what he should do and with
+whom he should be.  They had little parties at the cottages and picnics
+under the cedars.  He rode up and down the valley with Ruth, who could
+ride a horse as no other girl he had ever seen.  He climbed with
+Hester.  He walked with Joan.  Mostly he contrived to include several
+at once in the little excursions, though it was not rare for him to be
+out alone with one.
+
+It was not a game he was playing.  More and more, as he learned to know
+these young women, he liked them better, he pitied them, he was good
+for them.  It shamed him, hurt him, somehow, to see how they tried to
+forget something when they were with him.  Not improbably a little of
+it was coquetry, as natural as a laugh to any pretty woman.  But that
+was not what hurt him.  It was to see Ruth or Rebecca, as the case
+might be, full of life and fun, thoroughly enjoying some jest or play,
+all of a sudden be strangely recalled from the wholesome pleasure of
+a girl to become a deep and somber woman.  The crimes in the name of
+religion!  How he thought of the blood and the ruin laid at the door
+of religion!  He wondered if that were so with Nas Ta Bega's religion,
+and he meant to find out some day.  The women he liked best he imagined
+the least religious, and they made less effort to attract him.
+
+Every night in the dark he went to Mary's home and sat with her on the
+porch.  He never went inside.  For all he knew, his visits were unknown
+to her neighbors.  Still, it did not matter to him if they found out.
+To her he could talk as he had never talked to any one.  She liberated
+all his thought 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 when
+Shefford could not but see that she lived and dragged through the long
+day for the sake of those few hours in the shadow of the stars with
+him.  She seldom spoke.  She listened.  Wonderful to him--sometimes
+she laughed--and it seemed the sound was a ghost of childhood pleasure.
+When he stopped to consider that she might fall in love with him he
+drove the thought from him.  When he realized that his folly had become
+sweet and that the sweetness imperiously drew him, he likewise cast
+off that thought.  The present was enough.  And if he had any treasures
+of mind and heart he gave them to her.
+
+She never asked him to stay, but she showed that she wanted him to.
+That made it hard to go.  Still, he never stayed late.  The moment
+of parting was like a break.  Her good-by was sweet, low music; it
+lingered on his ear; it bade him come to-morrow night; and it sent
+him away into the valley 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
+a clouded 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
+to her face and the name of the flower, but her unconsciousness made
+him hold 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'll
+take you."
+
+   .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .
+
+Next morning Joe Lake returned and imparted news that was perturbing
+to Shefford.  Reports of Shadd had come in to Stonebridge from
+different Indian villages; Joe was not inclined to linger long at the
+camp, and favored taking the trail with the pack-train.
+
+Shefford discovered that he did not want to leave the valley, and the
+knowledge made him reflective.  That morning he did not go into the
+village, and stayed in camp alone.  A depression weighed upon him.
+It was dispelled, however, early in the afternoon by the sight of a
+slender figure in white swiftly coming down the path to the spring.
+He had an appointment with Mary to go to see the sago lilies;
+everything else slipped his mind.
+
+Mary wore the long black hood that effectually concealed her face.  It
+made of her a woman, a Mormon woman, and strangely belied the lithe
+form and the braid of gold hair.
+
+"Good day," she said, putting down her bucket.  "Do you still want to
+go--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.
+He was aware that Nas Ta Bega watched them walk away.  This day, so
+far, at least, Shefford did not feel talkative; and Mary had always
+been one who mostly listened.  They came at length to a place where
+the wall rose in low, smooth swells, not steep, but certainly at an
+angle Shefford would not of his own accord have attempted to scale.
+
+Light, quick, and sure as a mountain-sheep Mary went up the first
+swell to an offset above.  Shefford, in amaze and admiration, watched
+the little moccasins as they flashed and held on to the smooth rock.
+
+When he essayed to follow her he slipped and came to grief.  A second
+attempt resulted in like failure.  Then he backed away from the wall,
+to run forward fast and up the slope, only to slip, halfway up, and
+fall again.
+
+He made light of the incident, but she was solicitous.  When he assured
+her 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 wall
+it'll be easy," she said.
+
+In his stocking-feet he had no great difficulty walking up the first
+bulge of the walls.  And from there she led him up the strange waves of
+wind-worn rock.  He could not attend to anything save the red, polished
+rock under him, and so saw little.  The ascent was longer than he would
+have imagined, and steep enough to make him pant, but at last a huge
+round summit was reached,
+
+From here he saw down into the valley where the village lay.  But for
+the lazy columns of blue smoke curling up from the pinyons the place
+would have seemed uninhabited.  The wall on the other side was about
+level with the one upon which he stood.  Beyond rose other walls and
+cliffs, up and up to the great towering peaks between which the green-
+and-black mountain loomed.  Facing the other way, Shefford had only a
+restricted view.  There were low crags and smooth stone ridges, between
+which were aisles green with cedar and pinyon.  Shefford's companion
+headed toward one of these, and when he had followed her a few steps
+he could no longer see down into the valley.  The Mormon village where
+she lived was as if it were lost, and when it vanished Shefford felt
+a difference.  Scarcely had the thought passed when Mary removed the
+dark hood.  Her small head glistened like gold in the sunlight.
+
+Shefford caught up with her and walked at her side, but could not
+bring himself at once deliberately to look at her.  They entered a
+narrow, low-walled lane where cedars and pinyons grew thickly, their
+fragrance heavy in the warm air, and flowers began to show in the
+grassy patches.
+
+"This is Indian paint-brush," she said, pointing to little, low,
+scarlet flowers.  A gray sage-bush with beautiful purple blossoms she
+called purple sage; another bush with yellow flowers she named buck-
+brush, and there were vermilion cacti and low, flat mounds of lavender
+daisies which she said had no name.  A whole mossy bank was covered
+with lace like green leaves and tiny blossoms the color of violets,
+which she called loco.
+
+"Loco?  Is this what makes the horses go crazy when they eat it?" he
+asked.
+
+"It is, indeed," she said, laughing.
+
+When she laughed it was impossible not to look at her.  She walked a
+little in advance.  Her white cheek and temple seemed framed in the
+gold of her hair.  How white her skin!  But it was like pearl, faintly
+veined and flushed.  The profile, clear-cut and pure, appeared cold,
+almost stern.  He knew now that she was singularly beautiful, though
+he had yet to see her full face.
+
+They walked on.  Quite suddenly the lane opened out between two rounded
+bluffs, and Shefford looked down upon a grander and more awe-inspiring
+scene than ever he had viewed in his dreams.
+
+What appeared to be a green mountainside sloped endlessly down to a
+plain, and that rolled and billowed away to a boundless region of
+strangely carved rock.  The greatness of the scene could not be grasped
+in a glance.  The slope was long; the plain not as level as it seemed
+to be on first sight; here and there round, red rocks, isolated and
+strange, like lonely castles, rose out of the green.  Beyond the green
+all  the  earth  seemed naked,  showing smooth, glistening bones.  It
+was a formidable wall of rock that flung itself up in the distance,
+carved into a thousand canyon and walls and domes and peaks, and there
+was not a straight nor a broken nor a jagged line in all that wildness.
+The color low down was red, dark blue, and purple in the clefts, yellow
+upon the heights, and in the distance rainbow-hued.  A land of curves
+and color!
+
+Shefford uttered an exclamation.
+
+"That's Utah," said Mary.  "I come often to sit here.  You see that
+winding blue line.  There. . . . That's San Juan Canyon.  And the other
+dark line,  that's Escalante Canyon.  They  wind  down into this great
+purple chasm--'way over here to the left--and that's the Grand Canyon.
+They say not even the Indians have been in there."
+
+Shefford had nothing to say.  The moment was one of subtle and vital
+assimilation.  Such places as this to be unknown to men!  What
+strength, what wonder, what help, what glory, just to sit there an
+hour, slowly and appallingly to realize!  Something came to Shefford
+from the distance, out of the purple canyon and from those dim, wind-
+worn peaks.  He resolved to come here to this promontory again and
+again, alone and in humble spirit, and learn to know why he had been
+silenced, why peace pervaded his soul.
+
+It was with this emotion upon him that he turned to find his companion
+watching him.  Then for the first time he saw her face fully, and was
+thrilled that chance had reserved the privilege for this moment.  It
+was a girl's face he saw, flower-like, lovely and pure as a Madonna's,
+and strangely, tragically sad.  The eyes were large, dark gray, the
+color of the 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 midnight stars.  They disturbed him.  Her mouth had the sweet
+curves and redness of youth, 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
+plain rose to blot out the scrawled wall of rock, down into a verdant
+canyon where a brook made swift music over stones, where the air was
+sultry and hot, laden with the fragrant breath of flower and leaf.
+This was a canyon 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
+and pink ones are deeper down in the canyon."
+
+Shefford took the flower and regarded it with great interest.  He
+had never seen such an exquisite thing.  It had three large petals,
+curving cuplike, 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 at it the petals drooped and their whiteness
+shaded and the gold paled.  In a 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 places
+along the brook.  They swayed with stately grace in the slow, warm
+wind.  They seemed like three-pointed stars shining out of the green.
+He bent over one with a particularly lofty stem, and after a close
+survey of it he 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 Sago Lily.  She had no coquetry; she spoke as she would
+have spoken of the stones at her feet; she did not know that she was
+beautiful.  Shefford imagined there was some resemblance in her to the
+lily--the same whiteness, the same rich gold, and, more striking than
+either, a strange, rare quality of beauty, of life, intangible as
+something fleeting, the spirit that had swiftly faded from the plucked
+flower.  Where had the girl been born--what had her life been?
+Shefford was intensely curious about her.  She seemed as different
+from any other women he had known as this rare canyon lily was
+different from the tame flowers at home.
+
+On the return up the slope she outstripped him.  She climbed lightly
+and tirelessly.  When he reached her upon the promontory there was a
+stain of red in her cheeks and her expression had changed.
+
+"Let's go back up over the rocks," she said.  "I've not climbed for--
+for so long."
+
+"I'll go where you go," he replied.
+
+Then she was off, and he followed.  She took to the curves of the bare
+rocks and climbed.  He sensed a spirit released in her.  It was so
+strange, so keen, so wonderful to be with her, and when he did catch
+her he feared to speak lest he break this mood.  Her eyes grew dark
+and daring, and often she stopped to look away across the wavy sea of
+stones to something beyond the great walls.  When they got high the
+wind blew her hair loose and it flew out, a golden stream, with the
+sun bright upon it.  He saw that she changed her direction, which
+had been in line with the two peaks, and now she climbed toward the
+heights.  They came to a more difficult ascent, where the stone still
+held to the smooth curves, yet was marked by steep bulges and slants
+and crevices.  Here she became a wild thing.  She ran, she leaped,
+she would have left him far behind 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
+the walls again--to feel the wind--to see!"
+
+Thereafter he kept close to her, no matter what the effort.  He would
+not miss a moment of her, if he could help it.  She was wonderful.  He
+imagined she must be like an Indian girl, or a savage who loved the
+lofty places and the silence.  When she leaped she uttered a strange,
+low, sweet cry of wildness and exultation.  Shefford guessed she was
+a girl freed from her prison, forgetting herself, living again youthful
+hours.  Still she did not forget him.  She waited for him at the bad
+places, lent him a strong hand, and sometimes let it stay long in his
+clasp.  Tireless and agile, sure-footed as a goat, fleet and wild she
+leaped and climbed and ran until Shefford marveled at her.  This
+adventure was indeed fulfilment of a dream.  Perhaps she might lead
+him to the treasure at the foot of the rainbow.  But that thought, sad
+with memory daring forth from its grave, was irrevocably linked with
+a girl who was dead.  He could not remember her, in the presence of
+this wonderful creature who was as strange as she was beautiful.  When
+Shefford reached for the brown hand stretched forth to help him in a
+leap, when he felt its strong clasp, the youth and vitality and life
+of it, he had the fear of a man who was running towards a precipice
+and who could not draw back.  This was a climb, a lark, a wild race
+to the Mormon girl, bound now in the village, and by the very freedom
+of it she betrayed her bonds.  To Shefford it was also a wild race,
+but toward one sure goal he dared not name.
+
+They went on, and at length, hand in hand, even where no steep step
+or wide fissure gave reason for the clasp.  But she seemed unconscious.
+They were nearing the last height, a bare eminence, when she broke
+from him and ran up the smooth stone.  When he surmounted it she was
+standing on the very summit, her arms wide, her full breast heaving,
+her slender body straight as an Indian's, her hair flying in the wind
+and blazing in the 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 the exertion of the climb, and her broad brow was
+moist.  Her eyes had the piercing light of an eagle's, though now
+they were dark.  Shefford instinctively grasped the essence of this
+strange spirit, primitive and wild.  She was not the woman who had
+met him at the spring.  She had dropped some side of her with that
+Mormon hood, and now she stood totally strange.
+
+She belonged up here, he divined.  She was a part of that wildness.
+She must have been born and brought up in loneliness, where the wind
+blew and the peaks loomed and silence held dominion.  The sinking sun
+touched the rim of the distant wall, and as if in parting regret shone
+with renewed golden fire.  And the girl was crowned as with a glory.
+
+Shefford loved her then.  Realizing it, he thought he might have
+loved her before, but that did not matter when he was certain of
+it now.  He trembled a little, fearfully, though without regret.
+Everything pertaining to his desert experience had been strange--
+this the strangest of all.
+
+The sun sank swiftly, and instantly there was a change in the golden
+light.  Quickly it died out.  The girl changed as swiftly.  She seemed
+to remember herself, and sat down as if suddenly weary.  Shefford went
+closer 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 of
+her face.  The whiteness stole back, and with it the sadness.  He had
+to bite his tongue to keep from telling her what he felt, to keep from
+pouring out a thousand questions.  But the privilege of having seen
+her, of having been with her when she had forgotten herself--that he
+believed was enough.  It had been wonderful; it had made him love her
+But it need not add to the tragedy of her life, whatever that was.  He
+tried to eliminate himself.  And he watched her.
+
+Her eyes were fixed upon the gold-rimmed ramparts of the distant wall
+in the west.  Plain it was how she loved that wild upland.  And there
+seemed to be some haunting memory of the past in her gaze--some happy
+part of life, agonizing to think of now.
+
+"We must go," she said, and rose.
+
+Shefford rose to accompany her.  She looked at him, and her haunting
+eyes seemed to want him to know that he had helped her to forget the
+present, to remember girlhood, and that somehow she would always
+associate a wonderful happy afternoon with him.  He divined that
+her silence then was a Mormon seal on lips.
+
+"Mary, this has been the happiest, the best, the most revealing day of
+my life," he said, simply.
+
+Swiftly, as if startled, she turned and faced down the slope.  At the
+top of the wall above the village she put on the dark hood, and with
+it that somber something which was Mormon.
+
+Twilight had descended into the valley, and shadows were so thick
+Shefford had difficulty in finding Mary's bucket.  He filled it at
+the spring, 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 form
+slowly 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 in the
+flare of the blaze.  Later, after the meal, when Shefford appeared
+restless 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 the
+remark, which was either jealousy or admonition, haunted him with the
+possibility of its meaning.
+
+He walked away from the camp-fire, under the dark pinyons, out into
+the starry open; and every step was hard to take, unless it pointed
+toward the home of the girl whose beauty and sadness and mystery had
+bewitched him.  After what seemed hours he took the well-known path
+toward her cabin, and then every step seemed lighter.  He divined he
+was rushing to some fate--he knew not what.
+
+The porch was in shadow.  He peered in vain for the white form against
+the dark background.  In the silence he seemed to hear his heart-beats
+thick and muffled.
+
+Some distance down the path he heard the sound of hoofs.  Withdrawing
+into the gloom of a cedar, he watched.  Soon he made out moving horses
+with riders.  They filed past him to the number of half a score.  Like
+a flash of fire the truth burned him.  Mormons come for one of those
+mysterious night visits to sealed wives!
+
+Shefford stalked far down the valley, into the lonely silence and the
+night 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 craggy
+yellow cliffs and the black canyon and the pine-fringed top of Navajo
+Mountain behind, and to the fore the vast, rolling descent of cedar
+groves and sage flats and sandy washes.  No dim, dark range made bold
+outline along the horizon; the stretch of gray and purple and green
+extended to the blue line of sky.
+
+Down the length of one sage level Shefford saw a long lane where the
+brush and the grass had been beaten flat.  This, the Navajo said,
+was a track where the young braves had raced their mustangs and had
+striven for supremacy before the eyes of maidens and the old people
+of the tribe.
+
+"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
+cannot ride well enough to race the braves of my tribe," the Indian
+replied, bitterly.
+
+In another place Joe Lake halted his horse and called Shefford's
+attention to a big yellow rock lying along the trail.  And then he
+spoke in Navajo to the Indian.
+
+"I've heard of this stone--Isende Aha," said Joe, after Nas Ta Bega
+had spoken.  "Get down, and let's see."  Shefford dismounted, but the
+Indian kept his seat in the saddle.
+
+Joe placed a big hand on the stone and tried to move it.  According
+to Shefford's eye measurement the stone was nearly oval, perhaps three
+feet high, by a little over two in width.  Joe threw off his sombrero,
+took a deep breath, and, bending over, clasped the stone in his arms.
+He was an exceedingly heavy and powerful man, and it was plain to
+Shefford that he meant to lift the stone if that were possible.  Joe's
+broad shoulders strained, flattened; his arms bulged, his joints
+cracked, his neck corded, and his face turned black.  By gigantic
+effort he lifted the stone and moved it about six inches.  Then as
+he released his hold he fell, and when he sat up his face was wet
+with sweat.
+
+"Try it," he said to Shefford, with his lazy smile.  "See if you can
+heave it."
+
+Shefford was strong, and there had been a time when he took pride in
+his strength.  Something in Joe's supreme effort and in the gloom of
+the Indian's eyes made Shefford curious about this stone.  He bent over
+and grasped it as Joe had done.  He braced himself and lifted with all
+his power, until a red blur obscured his sight and shooting stars
+seemed to explode in his head.  But he could not even stir the stone.
+
+"Shefford, maybe you'll be able to heft it some day," observed Joe.
+Then he 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 young
+braves are always trying to carry this stone.  As soon as one of them
+can carry it he is a man.  He who carries it farthest is the biggest
+man.  And just so soon as any Indian can no longer lift it he is old.
+Nas Ta Bega says the stone has been carried two miles in his lifetime.
+His own father carried it the length of six steps."
+
+"Well!  It's plain to me that I am not a man," said Shefford, "or else
+I am old."
+
+Joe Lake drawled his lazy laugh and, mounting, rode up the trail.  But
+Shefford lingered beside the Indian.
+
+"Bi Nai," said Nas Ta Bega, "I am a chief of my tribe, but I have
+never been a man.  I never lifted that stone.  See what the pale-
+face education has done for the Indian!"
+
+The Navajo's bitterness made Shefford thoughtful.  Could greater injury
+be 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 the
+smoke of the hogans curled upward, and soon the whistling of mustangs,
+the barking of dogs, the bleating of sheep, told of his reception.
+And presently Shefford was in the midst of an animated scene.  Great,
+woolly, fierce dogs, like wolves, ran out to meet the visitors.  Sheep
+and goats were everywhere, and little lambs scarcely able to walk,
+with others frisky and frolicsome.  There were pure-white lambs, and
+some that appeared to be painted, and some so beautiful with their
+fleecy white all except black faces or ears or tails or feet.  They
+ran right under Nack-yal's legs and bumped against Shefford, and kept
+bleating their thin-piped welcome.  Under the cedars surrounding the
+several hogans were mustangs that took Shefford's eye.  He saw an iron-
+gray with white mane and tail sweeping to the ground; and a fiery
+black, wilder than any other beast he had ever seen; and a pinto as
+wonderfully painted as the little lambs; and, most striking of all,
+a pure, cream-colored mustang with grace and fine lines and beautiful
+mane and tail, and, strange to see, eyes as blue as azure.  This albino
+mustang came right up to Shefford, an action in singular contrast with
+that of the others, and showed 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,
+half naked, with tangled manes of raven-black hair and skin like gold
+bronze.  They appeared bold and shy by turns.  Then a little, sinewy
+man, old and beaten and gray, came out of the principal hogan.  He wore
+a blanket round his bent shoulders.  His name was Hosteen Doetin, and
+it meant gentle man.  His fine, old, wrinkled face lighted with a smile
+of kindly interest.  His squaw followed him, and she was as venerable
+as he.  Shefford caught a glimpse of the shy, dark Glen Naspa, Nas
+Ta Bega's sister, but she did not come out.  Other Indians appeared,
+coming from adjacent 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 a run through the cedars.  Joe Lake began
+picking over stacks of goat-skins and 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 pile
+was only a half of the load to be packed to Kayenta, and the other
+half was round the corner of the mountain in the camp of Piutes.
+Hosteen Doetin said he would send to the camp and have the Piutes
+bring their share over.  The suggestion suited Joe, who wanted to
+save his burros as much as possible.  Accordingly, a messenger was
+despatched to the Piute camp.  And Shefford, with time on his hands
+and poignant memory to combat, 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 his natural life be?
+
+In the gray of dawn, when the hush of the desert night still lay deep
+over the land, the Navajo stirred in his blanket and began to chant
+to the 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
+mournful tone was slowly lost in one of hope and joy.  The Indian's
+soul was coming out of night, blackness, the sleep that resembled
+death, into the day, the light that was life.
+
+Then he stood in the door of his hogan, his blanket around him, and
+faced the east.
+
+Night was lifting out of the clefts and ravines; the rolling cedar
+ridges and the sage flats were softly gray, with thin veils like smoke
+mysteriously rising and vanishing; the colorless rocks were changing.
+A long, horizon-wide gleam of light, rosiest in the center, lay low
+down in the east and momentarily brightened.  One by one the stars
+in the deep-blue sky paled and went out and the blue dome changed and
+lightened.  Night had vanished on invisible wings and silence broke to
+the music of a mockingbird.  The rose in the east deepened; a wisp of
+cloud 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
+and valleys crept a wondrous transfiguration.  It was as if every blade
+of grass, 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 a golden fire burned over the glowing face of that lonely waste.
+
+The Navajo, dark, stately, inscrutable, faced the sun--his god.  This
+was his 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
+the maker 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 bride
+would 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 the
+visitors of night.  His mustangs whistled to him from the ridge-tops,
+standing clear with heads up and manes flying, and then trooped down
+through the sage.  The shepherd-dogs, guardians of the flocks, barked
+him a 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 cooked
+his meat.  And he satisfied his hunger.  Then he took choice meat to
+the hogan of a sick relative, and joined in the song and the dance and
+the prayer 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 the water 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 that
+you may be strong.  Talk straight.  Love your brother.  Give half to
+your friend.  Honor your mother that you may honor your wife.  Pray
+and listen to 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
+the wind and steps on his trail.  The lofty pine, the lichened rock,
+the tiny bluebell, the seared crag--all whispered their secrets.  For
+him their spirits spoke.  In the morning light Old Stone Face, the
+mountain, was a red god calling him to the chase.  He was a brother
+of the eagle, at home on 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 blue
+canyon at his feet, he knew the joy of doing nothing.  He did not
+need rest, for he was never tired.  The sage-sweet breath of the open
+was thick in his nostrils, the silence that had so many whisperings
+was all about him, the loneliness of the wild was his.  His falcon
+eye saw mustang and sheep, the puff of dust down on the cedar level,
+the Indian riding on a distant ridge, the gray walls, and the blue
+clefts.  Here was home, still free, still wild, still untainted.  He
+saw with the eyes of his ancestors.  He felt them around him.  They
+had gone into the elements from which their voices came on the wind.
+They were the watchers on his trails.
+
+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
+the red die out of the west and the gray shadows creep out of the
+canyon to meet the twilight and the slow, silent, mysterious approach
+of night with its gift of stars.
+
+Night fell.  The white stars blinked.  The wind sighed in the cedars.
+The sheep bleated.  The shepherd-dogs bayed the mourning coyotes.
+And the Indian lay down in his blankets with his dark face tranquil
+in the starlight.  All was well in his lonely world.  Phantoms hovered,
+illness lingered, injury and pain and death were there, the shadow of
+a strange white hand flitted across the face of the moon--but now all
+was well--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
+killed in the Indian tribes, was reaching out now to kill in this
+wild remnant of the Navajos.  The padre, the trapper, the trader,
+the prospector, and the 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 could never be quenched at the cold, sweet
+spring of his forefathers, and the 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-up
+with 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
+a horse-hair that's the fellow who's been here.  Old Hosteen Doetin
+just told me.  First visits he ever had from the priest with the long
+gown.  That's what he called the missionary.  These old fellows will
+never forget what's come down from father to son about the Spanish
+padres.  Well, anyway, Willetts has been here twice after Glen Naspa.
+The old chap is impressed, but he doesn't want to let the girl go.
+I'm inclined to think Glen Naspa would as lief go as stay.  She may
+be a Navajo, but she'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.  These
+Indians are slow.  They may take a week to pack that load over here.
+But if Nas Ta Bega or some one doesn't come with a message to-day I'll
+ride over 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 out
+something.  I heard of Willetts before Withers spoke of him.  He's
+friendly with Mormons.  I understand he's worked for Mormon interests,
+someway or other.  That's on the quiet.  Savvy?  This matter of him
+coming after Glen Naspa, reckon that's all right.  The missionaries
+all go after the 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, the younger he is the better."
+
+"You approve of the missionary?"
+
+"Shefford, if you understood a Mormon you wouldn't ask that.  Did
+you ever read or hear of Jacob Hamblin? . . . Well, he was a Mormon
+missionary among the Navajos.  The Navajos were as fierce as Apaches
+till Hamblin worked among them.  He made them friendly to the white
+man."
+
+"That doesn't prove he made converts of them," replied Shefford, still
+bluntly.
+
+"No.  For the matter of that, Hamblin let religion alone.  He made
+presents, then traded with them, then taught them useful knowledge.
+Mormon or not, Shefford, I'll admit this: a good man, strong with his
+body, and learned in ways with his hands, with some knowledge of
+medicine, can better the condition of these Indians.  But just as soon
+as he begins to preach his religion, then his influence wanes.  That's
+natural.  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
+after Glen Naspa.  And if I know Indian girls he'll persuade her to go
+to his school."
+
+"Persuade her!"  Then Shefford broke off and related the incident that
+had occurred at Red Lake.
+
+"Reckon any means justifies the end," replied Joe, imperturbably. "Let
+him talk love to her or rope her or beat her, so long as he makes a
+Christian 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," continued
+Shefford.  "But--if old Hosteen Doetin objects to the girl leaving,
+and if 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 go
+she'll go."
+
+Shefford thought best to drop the discussion.  For the first time he
+had occasion 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 the sealed wives in the hidden valley, so he could not talk of
+women to Joe Lake.
+
+Nas Ta Bega did not return that day, but, next morning a messenger
+came calling Lake to the Piute camp.  Shefford spent the morning high
+on the slope, learning more with every hour in the silence and
+loneliness, that he was stronger of soul than he had dared to hope,
+and that the added pain which had come to him could be borne.
+
+Upon his return toward camp, in the cedar grove, he caught sight of
+Glen Naspa with a white man.  They did not see him.  When Shefford
+recognized Willetts an embarrassment as well as an instinct made him
+halt and step into a bushy, low-branched cedar.  It was not his
+intention to spy on them.  He merely wanted to avoid a meeting.  But
+the missionary's hand on the girl's arm, and her up-lifted head, her
+pretty face, strange, intent, troubled, struck Shefford with an unusual
+and irresistible curiosity.  Willetts was talking earnestly; Glen Naspa
+was listening intently.  Shefford watched long enough to see that the
+girl loved the missionary, and that he reciprocated or was pretending.
+His manner scarcely savored of pretense, Shefford concluded, as he
+slipped away under the trees.
+
+He did not go at once into camp.  He felt troubled, and wished that he
+had not encountered the two.  His duty in the matter, of course, was to
+tell Nas Ta Bega what he had seen.  Upon reflection Shefford decided to
+give the missionary the benefit of a doubt; and if he really cared for
+the Indian girl, and admitted or betrayed it, to think all the better
+of him for the fact.  Glen Naspa was certainly pretty enough, and
+probably lovable enough, to please any lonely man in this desert.  The
+pain and the yearning in Shefford's heart made him lenient.  He had to
+fight himself--not to forget, for that was impossible--but to keep
+rational and 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
+ride into the cleared space before the hogans.  They were superbly
+mounted and well armed, and impressed him as being different from
+Navajos.  Perhaps they were Piutes.  They dismounted and led the
+mustangs down to the pool below the spring.  Shefford saw another
+mustang, standing bridle down and carrying a pack behind the saddle.
+Some squaws with children hanging behind 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 face worked convulsively as he
+tried to lift his bent form to some semblance of dignity, and his
+voice rolled out, sonorously: "Me no savvy Jesus Christ!  Me hungry!
+. . . Me no eat Jesus Christ!"
+
+Shefford drew back as if he had received a blow.  That had been Hosteen
+Doetin's reply to the importunities of the missionary.  The old Navajo
+could work no longer.  His sons were gone.  His squaw was worn out.  He
+had no one save Glen Naspa to help him.  She was young, strong.  He was
+hungry.  What was the white man's religion to him?
+
+With long, swift stride Shefford entered the hogan.  Willetts, seeing
+him, did not look so mild as Shefford had him pictured in memory, nor
+did he appear surprised.  Shefford touched Hosteen Doetin's shoulder
+and said, "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 to
+take the girl away.  "Him come--big talk--Jesus--all Jesus. . . . Me
+no want Glen 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,"
+replied Willetts.
+
+"Then don't you think you'd better wait till Nas Ta Bega returns?  He's
+her brother."
+
+"What for?" demanded Willetts.  "That Indian may be gone a week.  She's
+willing 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 accompany
+the missionary.  Shefford pondered a moment.  How he hoped Nas Ta Bega
+would come back!  It was thought of the Indian that made Shefford
+stubborn.  What his stand ought to be was hard to define, unless he
+answered to impulse; and here in the wilds he had become imbued with
+the idea 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 deliberately
+and searchingly into the other's face.  The missionary's gaze shifted
+and a 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," he
+replied, with the lofty tone of prayer.
+
+"Has Glen Naspa no--no other interest in you--except to be taught
+religion?"
+
+The missionary's face flamed, and his violent tremor showed that under
+his exterior there was a different man.
+
+"What right have you to question me?" he demanded.  "You're an
+adventurer--an outcast.  I've my duty here.  I'm a missionary with
+Church and state and government behind me."
+
+"Yes, I'm an outcast," replied Shefford, bitterly.  "And you may be
+all you say.  But we're alone now out here on the desert.  And this
+girl's brother is absent.  You haven't answered me yet. . . . Is
+there anything between you and Glen Naspa except religion?"
+
+"No, you insulting beggar?"
+
+Shefford had forced the reply that he had expected and which damned
+the missionary beyond any consideration.
+
+"Willetts, you are a liar!" said Shefford, steadily.
+
+"And what are you?" cried Willetts, in shrill fury.  "I've heard all
+about you.  Heretic!  Atheist!  Driven from your Church!  Hated and
+scorned for your blasphemy!"
+
+Then he gave way to ungovernable rage, and cursed Shefford as a
+religious fanatic might have cursed the most debased sinners.
+Shefford heard with the blood beating, strangling the pulse in his
+ears.  Somehow this missionary had learned his secret--most likely
+from the Mormons in Stonebridge.  And the terms of disgrace were
+coals of fire upon Shefford's head.  Strangely, however, he did
+not bow to them, as had been his humble act in the past, when his
+calumniators had arraigned and flayed 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 difficult to control.
+
+"You can't take the girl," he replied, when the other had ceased.  "Not
+without her brother's consent."
+
+"I will take her!"
+
+Shefford threw him out of the hogan and strode after him.  Willetts
+had stumbled.  When he straightened up he was white and shaken.  He
+groped for the bridle of his horse while keeping his eyes upon
+Shefford, and when he found it he whirled quickly, mounted, and rode
+off.  Shefford saw him halt 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 been unconscious of the last strained moment
+of that encounter.  He seemed all cold, tight, locked, and was amazed
+to find his hand on his gun.  Verily the wild environment had liberated
+strange instincts and impulses, which he had answered.  That he had no
+regrets proved how he had changed.
+
+Shefford heard the old woman scolding.  Peering into the hogan, he
+saw Glen Naspa flounce sullenly down, for all the world like any
+other thwarted girl.  Hosteen Doetin came out and pointed down the
+slope at the departing 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 felt
+that he had made a bitter enemy, and perhaps a powerful one.
+
+He prepared and ate his supper alone that evening, for Joe Lake and
+Nas Ta Bega did not put in an appearance.  He observed that the three
+strange Indians, whom he took for Piutes, kept to themselves, and, so
+far as he knew, had no intercourse with any one at the camp.  This
+would not have seemed unusual, considering the taciturn habit of
+Indians, had he not remembered seeing Willetts speak to the trio.
+What had he to do with them?  Shefford was considering the situation
+with vague doubts when, to his relief, the three strangers rode off
+into the twilight.  Then he went to bed.
+
+He was awakened by violence.  It was the gray hour before dawn.  Dark
+forms knelt over him.  A cloth pressed down hard over his mouth: Strong
+hands 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 his feet.  Then he was rolled over, securely bound, and carried,
+to be thrown like a sack over the back of a horse.
+
+All this happened so swiftly as to be bewildering.  He was too
+astounded to be frightened.  As he hung head downward he saw the legs
+of a horse and 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 his head, and cramps in his arms and legs.  This kept on
+and grew worse for what seemed a long time.  Then the horse was stopped
+and a rude hand tumbled him to the ground.  Again he was rolled over on
+his face.  Strong fingers 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 they took 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 few steps, and dropped upon what seemed a soft,
+low mound, and left lying there, still tied and naked.  Shefford heard
+the rustle of sage and the dull thud of hoofs as his assailants went
+away.
+
+His first sensation was one of immeasurable relief.  He had not been
+murdered.  Robbery was nothing.  And though roughly handled, he had
+not been hurt.  He associated the assault with the three strange
+visitors of the preceding day.  Still, he had no proof of that.  Not
+the slightest clue remained to help him ascertain who had attacked him.
+
+It might have been a short while or a long one, his mind was so filled
+with growing conjectures, but a time came when he felt cold.  As he lay
+face down, only his back felt cold at first.  He was grateful that he
+had not been thrown upon the rocks.  The ground under him appeared
+soft, spongy, and gave somewhat as he breathed.  He had really sunk
+down a little in this pile of soft earth.  The day was not far off, as
+he could tell 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 roll over upon his back he discovered that his position, or
+his being bound, or the numbness of his muscles was responsible for
+the fact that he could not move.  Here was a predicament.  It began
+to look serious.  What would a few hours of the powerful sun do to his
+uncovered skin?  Somebody would 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
+caused it; probably a bee.  Then he felt another upon his leg, and
+about simultaneously with it a tiny, fiery stab in his side.  A
+sickening sensation pervaded his body, slowly moving, as if poison had
+entered the blood of his veins.  Then a puncture, as from a hot wire,
+entered the skin of his breast.  Unmistakably it was a bite.  By dint
+of great effort he twisted his head to see a big red ant on his breast.
+Then he heard a faint sound, so exceedingly faint that he could not
+tell what it was like.  But presently his strained ears detected a
+low, swift, rustling, creeping sound, like the slipping rattle of an
+infinite number of tiny bits of moving gravel.  Then it was a sound
+like the seeping of wind-blown sand.  Several hot bites occurred at
+once.  And then with his head twisted he saw a red stream of ants
+pour out of the mound and spill over his quivering flesh.
+
+In an instant he realized his position.  He had been dropped
+intentionally upon an ant-heap, which had sunk with his weight,
+wedging him between the crusts.  At the mercy of those terrible desert
+ants!  A frantic effort to roll out proved futile, as did another and
+another.  His violent muscular contractions infuriated the ants, and in
+an instant he was writhing in pain so horrible and so unendurable that
+he nearly fainted.  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 in the fangs of these ants.  Was this an Indian's brutal
+trick or was it the missionary's revenge?  Shefford realized that it
+would kill him soon.  He sweat what seemed blood, although perhaps the
+blood came from the bites.  A strange, hollow, buzzing roar filled his
+ears, and it must have been the pouring of the angry ants from their
+mound.
+
+Then followed a time that was hell--worse than fire, for fire would
+have given merciful death--agony under which his physical being began
+spasmodically to jerk and retch--and his eyeballs turned and his
+breast caved 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 grass
+and sage, rolled him over and over, and brushed his burning skin with
+strong, swift sweep.
+
+
+
+
+IX.  IN THE DESERT CRUCIBLE
+
+
+That hard experience was but the beginning of many cruel trials for
+John Shefford.
+
+He never knew who his assailants were, nor their motive other than
+robbery; and they had gotten little, for they had not found the large
+sum of money sewed in the lining of his coat.  Joe Lake declared it
+was Shadd's work, and the Mormon showed the stern nature that lay
+hidden under his mild manner.  Nas Ta Bega shook his head and would
+not tell what he thought.  But a somber fire burned in his eyes.
+
+The three started with a heavily laden pack-train and went down the
+mountain slope into West Canyon.  The second day they were shot at from
+the rim of the walls.  Lake was wounded, hindering the swift flight
+necessary to escape deeper into the canyon.  Here they hid for days,
+while the Mormon recovered and the Indian took stealthy trips to try
+to locate the enemy.  Lack of water and grass for the burros drove
+them on.  They climbed out of a side canyon, losing several burros on
+a rough trail, and had proceeded to within half a day's journey of
+Red Lake when they were attacked while making camp in a cedar grove.
+Shefford sustained an exceedingly painful injury to his leg, but,
+fortunately, the bullet went through without breaking a bone.   With
+that burning pain there came to Shefford the meaning of fight, and his
+rifle grew hot in his hands.  Night alone saved the trio from certain
+fatality.  Under the cover of darkness the Indian helped Shefford to
+escape.  Joe Lake looked out for himself.  The pack-train was lost,
+and the mustangs, except Nack-yal.
+
+Shefford learned what it meant to lie out at night, listening for
+pursuit, cold to his marrow, sick with dread, and enduring frightful
+pain from a ragged bullet-hole.  Next day the Indian led him down into
+the 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 flying sand.  Through a heavy, stifling pall Nas Ta Bega somehow
+got Shefford to the trading-post at Red Lake.  Presbrey attended to
+Shefford's injury and 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 gotten away with the pack-train.
+
+In short time Shefford was able to ride, and with his companions went
+over the pass to Kayenta.  Withers already knew of his loss, and all
+he said was that he hoped to meet Shadd some day.
+
+Shefford showed a reluctance to go again to the hidden village in the
+silent canyon with the rounded walls.  The trader appeared surprised,
+but did not press the point.  And Shefford meant sooner or later to
+tell him, yet never quite reached the point.  The early summer brought
+more work for the little post, and Shefford toiled with the others.
+He liked the outdoor tasks, and at night was grateful that he was
+too tired to think.  Then followed trips to Durango and Bluff and
+Monticello.  He rode fifty miles a day for many days.  He knew how a
+man fares who packs light and rides 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 were Shefford's fortune.
+
+Many and many a mile he trailed his mustang, for Nack-yal never forgot
+the Sagi, and always headed for it when he broke his hobbles.  Shefford
+accompanied an Indian teamster in to Durango with a wagon and four
+wild mustangs.  Upon the return, with a heavy load of supplies,
+accident put Shefford in charge of the outfit.  In despair he had to
+face the hardest task that could have been given him--to take care of
+a crippled Indian, catch, water, feed, harness, and drive four wild
+mustangs that did not know him and tried to kill him at every turn,
+and to get that precious load of supplies home to Kayenta.  That he
+accomplished it proved to hint the possibilities of a man, for both
+endurance and patience.  From that time he never gave up in the front
+of any duty.
+
+In the absence of an available Indian he rode to Durango and back in
+record time.  Upon one occasion he was lost in a canyon for days, with
+no food and little water.  Upon another he went through a sand-storm in
+the open desert, facing it for forty miles and keeping to the trail;
+When he rode in to Kayenta that night the trader, in grim praise, said
+there was no worse to endure.  At Monticello Shefford stood off a band
+of desperadoes, and this time Shefford experienced a strange,
+sickening shock in the wounding of a man.  Later he had other fights,
+but in none of them did he know whether or not he had shed blood.
+
+The heat of midsummer came, when the blistering sun shone, and a hot
+blast blew across the sand, and the furious storms made floods in the
+washes.  Day and night Shefford was always in the open, and any one who
+had 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 the
+south of Kayenta upon long-neglected business of the trader.  They
+visited Red Lake, Blue Canyon, Keams Canyon, Oribi, the Moki villages,
+Tuba, Moencopie, and Moen Ave.  This trip took many weeks and gave
+Shefford all the opportunity he wanted to study the Indians, and the
+conditions nearer to the border of civilization.  He learned the truth
+about the Indians and the missionaries.
+
+Upon the return trip he rode over the trail he had followed alone
+to Red Lake and thence on to the Sagi, and it seemed that years had
+passed since he first entered this wild region which had come to be
+home, years that 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
+Joe Lake and Nas Ta Bega.  The Indian had gone home for a short visit,
+and upon his return the party expected to start.  But Nas Ta Bega did
+not come back.  Then the arrival of a Piute with news that excited
+Withers and greatly perturbed Lake convinced Shefford that something
+was wrong.
+
+The little trading-post seldom saw such disorder; certainly Shefford
+had never known the trader to neglect work.  Joe Lake threw a saddle
+on a mustang he would have scorned to notice in an ordinary moment,
+and without a word of explanation or farewell rode hard to the north
+on the Stonebridge trail.
+
+Shefford had long since acquired patience.  He was curious, but he
+did not care particularly what was in the wind.  However, when Withers
+came out and sent an Indian to drive up the horses Shefford could not
+refrain from 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 out
+to Utah to prosecute the polygamists?"
+
+"No," replied Shefford.
+
+"I forgot to, I reckon.  You've been away a lot.  Well, there's been
+hell up in Utah for six months.  Lately this judge and his men have
+worked down into southern Utah.  He visited Bluff and Monticello a
+few weeks ago. . . . Now what do you think?"
+
+"Withers!  Is he coming to Stonebridge?"
+
+"He's there now.  Some one betrayed the whereabouts of the hidden
+village over in the canyon.  All the women have been arrested and
+taken to Stonebridge.  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 the
+polygamists.  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
+second wives--to find the law-breaking husbands.  That'll be a job, or
+I don't know Mormons. . . . Are you going to ride over to Stonebridge
+with me?"
+
+Shefford shrank at the idea.  Months of toil and pain and travail had
+not been enough to make him forget the strange girl he had loved.  But
+he had remembered only at poignant intervals, and the lapse of time
+had made thought of her a dream like that sad dream which had lured
+him into the desert.  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 know she hasn't any friends.  And now no Mormon man
+are protect her, for fear of prosecution."
+
+"I'll go," replied Shefford, shortly.
+
+The Indian brought up the horses.  Nack-yal was thin from his long
+travel during the hot summer, but he was as hard as iron, and the way
+he pointed his keen nose toward the Sagi showed how he wanted to make
+for the upland country, with its clear springs and valleys of grass.
+Withers mounted his bay and with a hurried farewell to his wife
+spurred the mustang into the trail.  Shefford took time to get his
+weapons and the light pack he always carried, and then rode out after
+the trader.
+
+The pace Withers set was the long, steady lope to which these Indian
+mustangs had been trained all their lives.  In an hour they reached the
+mouth of the Sagi, and at sight of it it seemed to Shefford that the
+hard half-year of suffering since he had been there had disappeared.
+Withers, to Shefford's regret, did not enter the Sagi.  He turned off
+to the north and took a wild trail into a split of the red wall, and
+wound in and out, and climbed a crack so narrow that the light was
+obscured and the cliffs could be reached from both sides of a horse.
+
+Once up on the wild plateau, Shefford felt again in a different world
+from the barren desert he had lately known.  The desert had crucified
+him and had left him to die or survive, according to his spirit and
+his strength.  If he had loved the glare, the endless level, the
+deceiving distance, the shifting sand, it had certainly not been as
+he loved this softer, wilder, more intimate upland.  With the red peaks
+shining up into the blue, and the fragrance of cedar and pinyon, and
+the purple sage and flowers and grass and splash of clear water over
+stones--with these there came back to him something that he had lost
+and which had haunted him.
+
+It seemed he had returned to this wild upland of color and canyon and
+lofty crags and green valleys and silent places with a spirit gained
+from victory over himself in the harsher and sterner desert below.
+And, strange to him, he found his old self, the dreamer, the artist,
+the lover of beauty, the searcher for he knew not what, come to meet
+him on the fragrant wind.
+
+He felt this, saw the old wildness with glad eyes, yet the greater part
+of his mind was given over to the thought of the unfortunate women he
+expected to see in Stonebridge.
+
+Withers was harder to follow, to keep up with, than an Indian.  For one
+thing he was a steady and tireless rider, and for another there were
+times when he had no mercy on a horse.  Then an Indian always found
+easier steps in a trail and shorter cuts.  Withers put his mount to
+some bad slopes, and Shefford had no choice but to follow.  But they
+crossed the great broken bench of upland without mishap, and came out
+upon a promontory of a plateau from which Shefford saw a wide valley
+and the dark-green alfalfa fields of Stonebridge.
+
+Stonebridge lay in the center of a fertile valley surrounded by pink
+cliffs.  It must have been a very old town, certainly far older than
+Bluff or Monticello, though smaller, and evidently it had been built
+to last.  There was one main street, very wide, that divided the town
+and was crossed at right angles by a stream spanned by a small natural
+stone bridge.  A line of poplar-trees shaded each foot-path.  The
+little log cabins and stone houses and cottages were half hidden in
+foliage now tinted with autumn colors.  Toward the center of the town
+the houses and stores and shops fronted upon the street and along one
+side of a green square, or plaza.  Here were situated several edifices,
+the most prominent of which was a church built of wood, whitewashed,
+and remarkable, according to Withers, for the fact that not a nail had
+been used in its construction.  Beyond the church was a large, low
+structure of stone, with a split-shingle roof, and evidently this
+was the town hall.
+
+Shefford saw, before he reached the square, that this day in
+Stonebridge was one of singular action and excitement for a Mormon
+village.  The town was full of people and, judging from the horses
+hitched everywhere and the big canvas-covered wagons, many of the
+people were visitors.  A crowd surrounded the hall--a dusty, booted,
+spurred, shirt-sleeved and sombreroed assemblage that did not wear
+the hall-mark Shefford had come to associate with Mormons.  They were
+riders, cowboys, horse-wranglers, and some of them Shefford had seen
+in Durango.  Navajos and Piutes were present, also, but they loitered
+in the background.
+
+Withers drew Shefford off to the side where, under a tree, they
+hitched their horses.
+
+"Never saw Stonebridge full of a riffraff gang like this to-day," said
+Withers.  "I'll bet the Mormons are wild.  There's a tough outfit from
+Durango.  If they can get anything to drink--or if they've got it--
+Stonebridge will see smoke to-day! . . . Come on.  I'll get in that
+hall."
+
+But before Withers reached the hall he started violently and pulled
+up short, then, with apparent unconcern, turned to lay a hand upon
+Shefford.  The trader's face had blanched and his eyes grew hard and
+shiny, like flint.  He gripped Shefford's arm.
+
+"Look!  Over to your left!" he whispered.  "See that gang of Indians
+there--by the big wagon.  See the short Indian with the chaps.  He's
+got a face 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 rein with the Mormons."
+
+Shefford's keen eye took in a lounging group of ten or twelve Indians
+and several white men.  They did not present any great contrast to
+the other groups except that they were isolated, appeared quiet and
+watchful, and were all armed.  A bunch of lean, racy mustangs, restive
+and spirited, stood near by in charge of an Indian.  Shefford had to
+take a second and closer glance to distinguish the half-breed.  At
+once he recognized in Shadd the broad-faced squat Indian who had paid
+him a threatening visit that night long ago in the mouth of the Sagi.
+A fire ran 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 at Shefford.  His action attracted the attention of others
+in the gang, and for 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
+damned breed," he said.  "But what chance have we with that gang?
+Besides, we're here on other and more important business.  All the
+same, before I forget, let me remind you that Shadd has had you
+spotted ever since you came out here.  A friendly Piute told me
+only lately.  Shefford, did any Indian between here and Flagstaff
+ever see that bunch of money you persist 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
+the hall."
+
+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, and
+then closed it.
+
+Shefford, coming out of the bright glare of sun into the hall, could
+not see distinctly at first.  His eyes blurred.  He heard a subdued
+murmur of many voices.  Withers appeared to be affected with the same
+kind of blindness, for he stood bewildered a moment.  But he recovered
+sooner than Shefford.  Gradually the darkness shrouding many obscure
+forms lifted.  Withers drew him through a crowd of men and women to
+one side of the hall, and squeezed along a wall to a railing where
+progress was stopped.
+
+Then Shefford raised his head to look with bated breath and strange
+curiosity.
+
+The hall was large and had many windows.  Men were in consultation upon
+a platform.  Women to the number of twenty sat close together upon
+benches.  Back of them stood another crowd.  But the women on the
+benches held Shefford's gaze.  They were the prisoners.  They made a
+somber group.  Some were hooded, some veiled, all clad in dark garments
+except one on the front bench, and she was dressed in white.  She wore
+a long hood that concealed her face.  Shefford recognized the hood and
+then the slender shape.  She was Mary--she whom her jealous neighbors
+had named the Sago Lily.  At sight of her a sharp pain pierced
+Shefford's breast.  His eyes were blurred when he forced them away
+from her, and it took a moment for him to see clearly.
+
+Withers was whispering to him or to some one near at hand, but
+Shefford did not catch the meaning of what was said.  He paid more
+attention; however, Withers ceased speaking.  Shefford gazed upon the
+crowd back of him.  The women were hooded and it was not possible to
+see what they looked like.  There were many stalwart, clean-cut, young
+Mormons of Joe Lake's type, and these men appeared troubled, even
+distressed and at a loss.  There was little about them resembling the
+stern, quiet, somber austerity of the more matured men, and nothing at
+all of the strange, aloof, serene impassiveness of the gray-bearded
+old patriarchs.  These venerable men were the Mormons of the old
+school, the sons of the pioneers, the ruthless fanatics.  Instinctively
+Shefford felt that it was in them that polygamy was embodied; they
+were the husbands of the sealed wives.  He conceived an absorbing
+curiosity to learn if his instinct was correct; and hard upon that
+followed a hot, hateful eagerness to see which one was the husband
+of Mary.
+
+"There's Bishop Kane," whispered Withers, nudging Shefford.  "And
+there's Waggoner 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
+his relation to the Church.  They don't call him elder or bishop.
+But I'll bet he's some pumpkins.  He never had any use for me or any
+Gentile. A close-fisted, tight-lipped Mormon--a skinflint if I ever
+saw one!  Just look him over."
+
+Shefford had been looking, and considered it unlikely that he would
+ever forget this individual called Waggoner.  He seemed old, sixty at
+least, yet at that only in the prime of a wonderful physical life.
+Unlike most of the others, he wore his grizzled beard close-cropped,
+so close that it showed the lean, wolfish line of his jaw.  All his
+features were of striking sharpness.  His eyes, of a singularly
+brilliant blue, were yet cold and pale.  The brow had a serious,
+thoughtful cast; long furrows sloped down the cheeks.  It was a
+strange, secretive face, full of a power that Shefford had not seen
+in another man's, full of intelligence and thought that had not been
+used as Shefford had known them used among men.  The face mystified
+him.  It had so much more than the strange aloofness so characteristic
+of his fellows.
+
+"Waggoner had five wives and fifty-five children before the law went
+into effect," whispered Withers.  "Nobody knows and nobody will ever
+know how many he's got now.  That's my private opinion."
+
+Somehow, after Withers told that, Shefford seemed to understand the
+strange power in Waggoner's face.  Absolutely it was not the force, the
+strength given to a man from his years of control of men.  Shefford,
+long schooled now in his fair-mindedness, fought down the feelings of
+other years, and waited with patience.  Who was he to judge Waggoner or
+any other Mormon?  But whenever his glance strayed back to the quiet,
+slender form in white, when he realized again and again the appalling
+nature of this court, his heart beat heavy and labored within his
+breast.
+
+Then a bustle among the men upon the platform appeared to indicate
+that proceedings were about to begin.  Some men left the platform;
+several sat down at a table upon which were books and papers, and
+others remained standing.  These last were all roughly garbed, in
+riding-boots and spurs, and Shefford's keen eye detected the bulge
+of hidden weapons.  They looked 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
+these secret Mormons.  He had a ponderous brow, a deep, cavernous eye
+that emitted gleams but betrayed no color or expression.  His mouth
+was the saving human feature of his stony face.
+
+Shefford took the man upon the judge's right hand to be a lawyer,
+and the one on his left an officer of court, perhaps a prosecuting
+attorney.  Presently this fellow pounded upon the table and stood up
+as if to address a court-room.  Certainly he silenced that hallful of
+people.  Then he perfunctorily and briefly stated that certain women
+had been arrested upon suspicion of being sealed wives of Mormon
+polygamists, and were to be herewith tried by a judge of the United
+States Court.  Shefford felt how the impressive words affected
+that silent hall of listeners, but he gathered from the brief
+preliminaries that the trial could not be otherwise than a crude,
+rapid investigation, and perhaps for that the more sinister.
+
+The first woman on the foremost bench was led forward by a deputy to
+a vacant chair on the platform just in front of the judge's table.
+She was told to sit down, and showed no sign that she had heard.  Then
+the judge courteously asked her to take the chair.  She refused.  And
+Stone nodded his head as if he had experienced that sort of thing
+before.  He stroked his 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 had
+a thrill as he recognized her.  She was Ruth, who had been one of his
+best-known acquaintances in the hidden village.  She was pale, angry,
+almost sullen, and her breast heaved.  She had no shame, but she
+seemed to be outraged.  Her dark eyes, scornful and blazing, passed
+over the judge and his assistants, and on to the crowd behind the
+railing.  Shefford, keen as a blade, with all his faculties absorbed,
+fancied he saw Ruth stiffen and change slightly as her glance
+encountered some one in that crowd.  Then the prosecutor in deliberate
+and chosen words enjoined her to kiss the Bible handed to her and swear
+to tell the truth.  How strange for Shefford to see her kiss the book
+which he had studied for so many years!  Stranger still to hear the
+low murmur from the listening audience as she took the oath!
+
+"What is your name?" asked Judge Stone, leaning back and fixing the
+cavernous 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
+clerk to 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.  Almost
+Shefford believed she spoke truth.  The judge stroked his chin and
+waited a 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
+could have 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
+it the 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 his
+assistants, 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 brought
+forward.  This was a heavier person, with the figure and step of a
+matured woman.  Upon removing her bonnet she showed the plain face
+of a woman of forty, and it was striking only in that strange, stony
+aloofness noted in the older men.  Here, Shefford thought, was the real
+Mormon, different in a way he could not define from Ruth.  This woman
+seated herself in the chair and calmly faced her prosecutors.  She
+manifested no emotion whatever.  Shefford remembered her and could not
+see any change in her deportment.  This trial appeared to be of little
+moment to her and she took the oath as if doing so had been a habit
+all her life.
+
+"What is your name?" asked Judge Stone, glancing up from a paper
+he held.
+
+"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
+her face.
+
+"Are you married now?"
+
+"No."
+
+Again the judge consulted his notes, and held a whispered colloquy
+with the two men at his table.
+
+"Mrs. Danton, when you were arrested there were five children found
+in your home.  To whom do they belong?"
+
+"Me."
+
+"Are you their mother?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Your husband Danton is the father of only one, the eldest, according
+to your former statement.  Is that correct?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Who, then, is the father--or who are the fathers, of your other
+children?"
+
+"I do not know."
+
+She said it with the most stony-faced calmness, with utter disregard
+of what significance her words had.  A strong, mystic wall of cold
+flint insulated her.  Strangely it came to Shefford how impossible
+either to doubt 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?  Far
+from 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 to jail."
+
+Baffled, with despairing, angry impatience, Judge Stone waved the
+woman away.
+
+"That will do for her.  Fetch the next one," he said.
+
+One after another he examined three more women, and arrived, by various
+questions and answers different in tone and temper, at precisely the
+same point as had been made in the case of Mrs. Danton.  Thereupon the
+proceedings rested a few moments while the judge consulted with his
+assistants.
+
+Shefford was grateful for this respite.  He had been worked up to an
+unusual degree of interest, and now, as the next Mormon woman to be
+examined was she whom he had loved and loved still, he felt rise in
+him emotion that threatened to make him conspicuous unless it could be
+hidden.  The answers of these Mormon women had been not altogether
+unexpected by him, but once spoken in cold blood under oath, how
+tragic, how appallingly significant of the shadow, the mystery, the
+yoke that bound them!  He was amazed, saddened.  He felt bewildered.
+He needed to think out the meaning of the falsehoods of women he knew
+to be good and noble.  Surely religion, instead of fear and loyalty,
+was the foundation and the strength of this disgrace, this sacrifice.
+Absolutely, shame was not in these women, though they swore to shameful
+facts.  They had been coached to give these baffling answers, every
+one of which seemed to brand them, not the brazen mothers of
+illegitimate offspring, but faithful, unfortunate sealed wives.  To
+Shefford the truth was not in their words, but it sat upon their
+somber brows.
+
+Was it only his heightened imagination, or did the silence and the
+suspense grow more intense when a deputy led that dark-hooded, white-
+clad, slender woman to the defendant's chair?  She did not walk with
+the poise that had been manifest in the other women, and she sank into
+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 them
+tremble at the knot of ribbon, and that tremor was communicated to him
+in a sympathy which made his pulses beat.  He held his breath while
+she removed the hood.  And then there was revealed, he thought, the
+loveliest and 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 blazoned on the walls, that Mary's face had been unknown to
+these villagers.  But the name Sago Lily had not been unknown;
+Shefford heard it whispered on all 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 the
+situation dramatic.  Not improbably Judge Stone had tried many Mormon
+women.  But manifestly this one was different.  Unhooded, Mary appeared
+to be only a young girl, and a court, confronted suddenly with her
+youth and the suspicion attached to her, could not but have been
+shocked.  Then her beauty made her seem, in that somber company, indeed
+the white flower for which she had been named.  But, more likely, it
+was her agony that bound the court into silence which grew painful.
+Perhaps the thought that flashed into Shefford's mind was telepathic;
+it seemed to him that every watcher there realized that in this
+defendant the judge had a girl of softer mold, of different spirit,
+and from her the bitter truth could be wrung.
+
+Mary faced the court and the crowd on that side of the platform.
+Unlike the other women, she did not look at or seem to see any one
+behind the railing.  Shefford was absolutely sure there was not a man
+or a woman who caught 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 not accustomed 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 the
+examination as easy as possible for her or to wait till she showed
+more composure.
+
+"Were your parents Mormons?" he went on.
+
+"No, sir."  She added the sir with a quaint respect, contrasting
+markedly with 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
+counter to 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
+ran through the listening crowd. And as for Shefford, he was astounded.
+When his wits flashed back and he weighed her words and saw in her face
+truth as clear as light, he had the strangest sensation of joy.  Almost
+it flooded away the gloom and pain that attended this ordeal.
+
+The judge bent his head to his assistants as if for counsel.  All of
+them were eager where formerly they had been weary.  Shefford glanced
+around at the dark and somber faces, and a slow wrath grew within him.
+Then he caught a glimpse of Waggoner.  The steel-blue, piercing
+intensity of the Mormon's gaze impressed him at a moment when all
+that older generation of Mormons looked as hard and immutable as iron.
+Either Shefford was over-excited and mistaken or the hour had become
+fraught with greater suspense.  The secret, the mystery, the power, the
+hate, the religion of a strange people were thick and tangible in that
+hall.  For Shefford the feeling of the presence of Withers on his left
+was entirely different from that of the Mormon on his other side.  If
+there was not a shadow there, then the sun did not shine so brightly
+as it had shone when he entered.  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 the
+fatal 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 his papers.  Perhaps his task was not easy; certainly it was
+not pleasant.  Then he leaned forward again and fixed those deep,
+cavernous eyes upon the 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
+for faint rustlings and here and there deep breaths drawn guardedly.
+The vital question hung like a sword over the white-faced girl.
+Perhaps she divined 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 not
+come.  He flung the question again, sternly.
+
+"No!" she cried.
+
+And then there was silence.  That poignant word quivered in Shefford's
+heart.  He believed it was a lie.  It seemed he would have known it if
+this 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
+some quality before present.  And the thing wanting was something
+subtle, an essence, a beautiful ring--the truth.  What a hellish
+thing to make that pure girl a liar--a perjurer!  The heat deep
+within Shefford kindled to fire.
+
+"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 hands
+clasping the black hood, and she could no longer meet the judge's
+glance.
+
+"Have you--any--any children?" the judge asked, haltingly.  It was a
+hard question to get out.
+
+"No."
+
+Judge Stone leaned far over the table, and that his face was purple
+showed Shefford he was a man.  His big fist clenched.
+
+"Girl, you're not going to swear you, too, were visited--over there by
+men . . . You're not going to swear that?"
+
+"Oh--no, sir!"
+
+Judge Stone settled back in his chair, and while he wiped his moist
+face that same foreboding murmur, almost a menace, moaned through
+the hall.
+
+Shefford was sick in his soul and afraid of himself.  He did not know
+this spirit that flamed up in him.  His helplessness was a most hateful
+fact.
+
+"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 not
+speak.  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,
+not of the stern judge, for she took a faltering step toward him,
+lifting a shaking hand, but of some one or of some thing far more
+terrible than any punishment she could have received in the sentence
+of a court.  Still she was not proof against the judge's will.  She
+had weakened, and the terror 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
+and bring him before you.  You'd know his face?"
+
+"Oh, I wouldn't.  I COULDN'T TELL! . . . _I_--NEVER--SAW HIS FACE--
+IN THE LIGHT!"
+
+The tragic beauty of her, the certainty of some monstrous crime
+to youth and innocence, the presence of an agony and terror that
+unfathomably seemed not to be for herself--these transfixed the
+court and the audience, and held them silenced, till she reached
+out blindly and then sank in a heap to the floor.
+
+
+
+
+XI.  AFTER THE TRIAL
+
+
+Shefford might have leaped over the railing but for Withers's
+restraining hand, and when there appeared to be some sign of kindness
+in those other women for the unconscious girl Shefford squeezed
+through the crowd 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.
+He was far from gentle as he jostled off the first importuning fellows;
+the others, 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
+Joe Lake 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.  We
+waited at Kayenta.  What kept you so long?"
+
+The Indian, always slow to answer, did not open his lips till he drew
+Shefford 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
+in the summer."
+
+"Blue Canyon!  She went to the missionary.  Nas Ta Bega, I thought I
+saw her there.  But I wasn't sure.  I didn't want to make sure.  I
+was afraid it 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,
+and he 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 inscrutable
+face what might be in his mind.  He was dark, impassive.  He seemed a
+wise and bitter Indian, beyond any savagery of his tribe, and the
+suffering Shefford divined was deep.
+
+"He'd better keep out of my sight," muttered Shefford, more to himself
+than 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 in
+Monticello and Bluff.  He spends money there.  They are afraid of him,
+but he's welcome just the same.  Perhaps everybody knows him.  It'd be
+like him to ride into Kayenta.  But, Nas Ta Bega, I've got to look out
+for him, 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 your
+trail."
+
+"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
+tell that is not the Indian's. . . . Sorrow for my brother!"
+
+Shefford lifted his eyes to the Indian's, and if he did not see sadness
+there he was much deceived.
+
+"Bi Nai, long ago you told a story to the trader.  Nas Ta Bega sat
+before the fire that night.  You did not know he could understand your
+language.  He listened.  And he learned what brought you to the country
+of the Indian.  That night he made you his brother. . . . All his
+lonely rides into the canyon have been to find the little golden-
+haired child, the lost girl--Fay Larkin. . . . Bi Nai, I have found
+the girl you wanted for your sweetheart."
+
+Shefford was bereft of speech.   He could not see steadily, and the
+last solemn 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
+be revealed.  Like an aspen-leaf in the wind he shook all over.  He
+divined the revelation--divined the coming blow--but that was as far
+as his mind got.
+
+"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 in
+the 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
+Indian remained with him.  He never lost the feeling of Nas Ta Bega
+close beside him.  When the period of acute pain left him and some
+order began to replace the tumult in his mind he felt in Nas Ta Bega
+the same quality--silence or strength or help--that he had learned
+to feel in the deep canyon and the lofty crags.  He realized then
+that the Indian was indeed a brother.  And Shefford needed him.  What
+he had to fight was more fatal than suffering and love--it was hate
+rising out of the unsuspected dark 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 and the passion of Venters and what had made
+Lassiter a gun-man.  The desert had transformed Shefford.  The elements
+had entered into his muscle and bone, into the very fiber of his heart.
+Sun, wind, sand, cold, storm, space, stone, the poison cactus, the
+racking toil, the terrible loneliness--the iron of the desert man,
+the cruelty of the desert savage, the wildness of the mustang, the
+ferocity of hawk and wolf, the bitter struggle of every surviving
+thing--these were as if they had been melted and merged together and
+now made a dark and passionate stream that was his throbbing blood.
+He realized what he had become and gloried in it, yet there, looking
+on with grave and earnest eyes, was his old self, the man of reason,
+of intellect, of culture, who had been a good man despite the failure
+and shame of his life.  And he gave heed to the voice of warning, of
+conscience.  Not by revengefully seeking the Mormon who had ruined
+Fay Larkin and blindly dealing a wild justice could he help this
+unfortunate girl.  This fierce, newborn strength and passion must be
+tempered by reason, lest he become merely elemental, a man answering
+wholly to primitive impulses.  In the darkness of that hour he mined
+deep into his heart, understood himself, trembled at the thing he
+faced, and won his victory.  He would go forth from that hour a man.
+He might fight, and perhaps there was death in the balance, but hate
+would never overthrow him.
+
+Then when he looked at future action he felt a strange, unalterable
+purpose to save Fay Larkin.  She was very young--seventeen or eighteen,
+she had said--and there could be, there must be some happiness before
+her.  It had been his dream to chase a rainbow--it had been his
+determination to find her in the lost Surprise Valley.  Well, he had
+found her.  It never occurred to him to ask Nas Ta Bega how he had
+discovered that the Sago Lily was Fay Larkin.  The wonder was, Shefford
+thought, that he had so long been blind himself.  How simply everything
+worked out now!  Every thought, every recollection of her was proof.
+Her strange beauty like that of the sweet and rare lily, her low voice
+that showed the habit of silence, her shapely hands with the clasp
+strong as a man's, her lithe form, her swift step, her wonderful
+agility upon the smooth, steep trails, and the wildness of her upon
+the heights, and the haunting, brooding shadow of her eyes when she
+gazed across the canyon--all these fitted so harmoniously the
+conception of a child lost in a beautiful Surprise Valley and growing
+up in its wildness and silence, tutored by the sad love of broken Jane
+and Lassiter.  Yes, to save her had been Shefford's dream, and he had
+loved that dream.  He had loved the dream and he had loved the child.
+The secret of her hiding-place as revealed by the story told him and
+his slow growth from dream to action--these had strangely given Fay
+Larkin to him.  Then had come the bitter knowledge that she was dead.
+In the light of this subsequent revelation how easy to account for his
+loving Mary, too.  Never would she be Mary again to him!  Fay Larkin
+and the Sago Lily were one and the same.  She was here, near him, and
+he was powerless for the present to help her or to reveal himself.
+She was held back there in that gloomy hall among those somber Mormons,
+alien to the women, bound in some fatal way to one of the men, and now,
+by reason of her weakness in 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 his breast, 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 insight
+which had been the gift of the desert to him.  She was not dead.  He
+had found her.  What mattered obstacles, even that implacable creed
+to which she had been sacrificed, in the face of this blessed and
+overwhelming truth?  It was as mighty as the love suddenly dawning
+upon him.  A strong and terrible and deathly sweet wind seemed to fill
+his soul with the love of her.  It was her fate that had drawn him;
+and now it was her agony, her innocence, her beauty, that bound him
+for all time.  Patience and cunning and toil, passion and blood, the
+unquenchable spirit of a man to save--these were nothing to give--life
+itself were little, could he but free her.
+
+Patience and cunning!  His sharpening mind cut these out as his
+greatest assets for the present.  And his thoughts flashed like light
+through his brain. . . . Judge Stone and his court would fail to
+convict any Mormon in Stonebridge, just the same as they had failed
+in the northern towns.  They would go away, and Stonebridge would fall
+to the slow, sleepy tenor of its former way.  The hidden village must
+become known to all men, honest and outlawed, in that country, but
+this fact would hardly make any 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 the excitement had died down, visit them
+as usual. Nothing, perhaps, would ever change these old Mormons but death.
+
+Shefford resolved to remain in Stonebridge and ingratiate himself
+deeper into the regard of the Mormons.  He would find work there, if
+the sealed wives were not returned to the hidden village.  In case the
+women went back to the valley Shefford meant to resume his old duty
+of driving Withers's pack-trains.  Wanting that opportunity, he would
+find some other work, some excuse to take him there.  In due time he
+would reveal to Fay Larkin that he knew her.  How the thought thrilled
+him!  She might deny, might persist in her fear, might fight to keep
+her secret.  But he would learn it--hear her story--hear what had
+become of Jane Withersteen and Lassiter--and if they were alive, which
+now he believed he would find 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
+a foreboding of the cost; he had a dark realization of the force he
+meant to oppose.  There were duty here and pity and unselfish love,
+but these alone did not actuate Shefford.  Mystically fate seemed
+again to come like a gleam and bid him follow.
+
+When Shefford and Nas Ta Bega returned to the town hall the trial had
+been ended, the hall was closed, and only a few Indians and cowboys
+remained in the square, and they were about to depart.  On the street,
+however, and the paths and in the doorways of stores were knots of
+people, talking earnestly.  Shefford walked up and down, hoping to
+meet Withers or Joe Lake.  Nas Ta Bega said he would take the horses
+to water and feed and then return.
+
+There were indications that Stonebridge might experience some of the
+excitement and perhaps violence common to towns like Monticello and
+Durango.  There was only one saloon in Stonebridge, and it was full
+of roystering cowboys and horse-wranglers.  Shefford saw the bunch
+of mustangs, in charge of the same Indian, that belonged to Shadd
+and his gang.  The men were inside, drinking.  Next door was a tavern
+called Hopewell House, a stone structure of some pretensions.  There
+were Indians lounging outside.  Shefford entered through a wide door
+and found himself in a large bare room, boarded like a loft, with no
+ceiling except the roof.  The place was full of men and noise.  Here
+he encountered Joe Lake talking to Bishop Kane and other Mormons.
+Shefford got a friendly greeting from the bishop, and then was well
+received by the strangers, to whom Joe introduced him.
+
+"Have you seen Withers?" asked Shefford.
+
+"Reckon he's around somewhere," replied Joe.  "Better hang up here,
+for he'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 he
+was half starved.  Shefford went with him into another clapboard room,
+which was evidently a dining-room.  There were half a dozen men at the
+long table.  The seat at the end was a box, and scarcely large enough
+or safe 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
+much of--of your people."
+
+"Did you stick out the whole mix?" asked Joe.
+
+"No.  I had enough when--when they got through with Mary."  Shefford
+spoke low and dropped his head.  He heard the Mormon grind his teeth.
+There was silence 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
+that sentence.  "How'd the thing end?"
+
+"It ended all right."
+
+"Was there no conviction--no sentence?"  Shefford felt a curious
+eagerness.
+
+"Naw," he snorted.  "That court might have saved its breath."
+
+"I suppose.  Well, Joe, between you and me, as old friends now, that
+trial established one fact, even if it couldn't be proved. . . . Those
+women are sealed wives."
+
+Joe had no reply for that.  He looked gloomy, and there was a stern
+line in his lips.  To-day he seemed more like a Mormon.
+
+"Judge Stone knew that as well as I knew," went on Shefford.  "Any man
+of penetration could have seen it.  What an ordeal that was for good
+women to 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.  "Reckon
+it made Judge Stone sick, too.  After Mary went under he conducted that
+trial like a man cuttin' out steers at a round-up.  He wanted to get
+it over.  He never forced any question. . . . Bad job to ride down
+Stonebridge way!  It's out of creation.  There's only six men in the
+party, with a poor lot of horses.  Really, government officers or not,
+they're not safe.  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
+they went.  Took the trail for Bluff, which sure is the only trail
+they could take, unless they wanted to go to Colorado by way of
+Kayenta.  That might have been the safest trail."
+
+"Joe, what might happen to them?" asked Shefford, quietly, with eyes
+on the Mormon.
+
+"Aw, you know that rough trail.  Bad on horses.  Weathered slopes--
+slipping ledges--a rock might fall on you any time.  Then Shadd's
+here 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
+there are some pretty young babies in that bunch--need their mothers."
+
+"I should--think so," replied Shefford, constrainedly.  "When will
+their mothers get back to them?"
+
+"To-night, maybe, if this mob of cow-punchers and wranglers get out of
+town. . . . It's a bad mix, Shefford, here's a hunch on that.  These
+fellows will get full of whisky.  And trouble might come if they--
+approach the women."
+
+"You mean they might get drunk enough to take the oaths of those poor
+women--take the meaning literally--pretend to believe the women what
+they 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
+yet awhile.  Reckon there won't be any trouble here.  It'll be over
+there in the valley.  Shefford, getting the women over there safe is
+a job that's been 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 what he says goes."
+
+"Yes, Joe, you can count on me," replied Shefford.
+
+They finished their meal then and repaired to the big office-room of
+the house.  Several groups of men were there and loud talk was going
+on outside.  Shefford saw Withers talking to Bishop Kane and two other
+Mormons, both strangers to Shefford.  The trader appeared to be
+speaking with unwonted force, emphasizing his words with energetic
+movements of his hands.
+
+"Reckon something's up," whispered Joe, hoarsely.  "It's been in the
+air all day."
+
+Withers must have been watching for Shefford.
+
+"Here's Shefford now," he said to the trio of Mormons, as Joe and
+Shefford 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
+the trader.  "A little while back I told the bishop I meant to put you
+on the pack 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 the straight hunch.  Willetts has said things about you.  One of
+them--the one that sticks in my craw--was that you'd do anything, even
+pretend to be inclined toward Mormonism, just to be among those Mormon
+women over there.  Willetts is your enemy.  And he's worse than I
+thought.  Now I want you 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 that
+now 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 Glen
+Naspa?"
+
+"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've
+known Willetts for years. He's a man of influence.  He has money back
+of him.  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
+the first time I've known a missionary to do this sort of thing.  Nor
+is it the first time for Willetts.  Bishop Kane, I live among the
+Indians.  I see a lot I never speak of.  My work is to trade with the
+Indians, that's all.  But I'll not have Willetts or any other damned
+hypocrite run down my friend here.  John Shefford is the finest young
+man that ever came to me in the desert.  And he's got to be put right
+before you all or I'll not set foot in Stonebridge again. . . .
+Willetts was after Glen Naspa.  Shefford punched him.  And later
+threw him out of the old Indian's hogan up on the mountain.  That
+explains Willetts's enmity.  He was after the girl."
+
+"What's more, gentlemen, he GOT her," added Shefford.  "Glen Naspa has
+not been home for six months.  I saw her at Blue Canyon. . . . I would
+like to face this Willetts before you all."
+
+"Easy enough," replied Withers, with a grim chuckle.  "He's just
+outside."
+
+The trader went out; Joe Lake followed at his heels and the three
+Mormons were next; Shefford brought up the rear and lingered in the
+door while his eye swept the crowd of men and Indians.  His feeling
+was in direct contrast to his movements.  He felt the throbbing of
+fierce anger.  But it seemed a face came between him and his passion--
+a sweet and tragic face that would have had power to check him in
+a vastly more critical 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--the
+half-breed Shadd.  They leaned against a hitching-rail.  Other Indians
+were there, and outlaws.  It was a mixed group, rough and hard-looking.
+
+"Hey, Willetts!" called the trader, and his loud, ringing voice, not
+pleasant, stilled the movement and sound.
+
+When Willetts turned, Shefford was half-way across the wide walk.  The
+missionary not only saw him, but also Nas Ta Bega, who was striding
+forward.  Joe Lake was ahead of the trader, the Mormons followed with
+decision, and they all confronted Willetts.  He turned pale.  Shadd
+had cautiously moved along the rail, nearer to his gang, and then
+they, with the others of the curious crowd, drew closer.
+
+"Willetts, here's Shefford.  Now say it to his face!" declared the
+trader.  He was angry and evidently wanted the fact known, as well
+as the situation.
+
+Willetts had paled, but he showed boldness.  For an instant Shefford
+studied the smooth face, with its sloping lines, the dark, wine-
+colored eyes.
+
+"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
+spite on me."
+
+Willetts uttered a half-laugh, an uneasy, contemptuous expression of
+scorn 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
+seemed to be absorbed in thought, yet no serious consideration of the
+situation made itself manifest.  Shefford felt puzzled.  Perhaps there
+was no fire to strike from this man.  The desert had certainly not
+made him flint.  He had 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.
+Look at him.  Let us see you face him while I accuse you. . . . You
+made love to Glen 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 say
+so."
+
+"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 knees
+and 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 a dreadful position.  Shefford held him in iron grasp.
+
+"You damned, white-livered hypocrite--I'm liable to kill you!" cried
+Shefford.  "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 head
+back over the rail.
+
+"I'll kill you, man," repeated Shefford, piercingly.  "Do you want to
+go to your God unprepared?  Say you made love to Glen Naspa--tell that
+you persuaded her to leave her home.  Quick!"
+
+Willetts raised a shaking hand and then Shefford relaxed the paralyzing
+grip and let his head come forward.  The half-strangled man gasped out
+a few incoherent words that his livid, guilty face made unnecessary.
+
+Shefford gave him a shove and he fell into the dust at the feet of the
+Navajo.
+
+"Gentlemen, I leave him to Nas Ta Bega," said Shefford, with a strange
+change from passion to calmness.
+
+Late that night, when the roystering visitors had gone or were deep
+in drunken slumber, a melancholy and strange procession filed out of
+Stonebridge.  Joe Lake and his armed comrades were escorting the
+Mormon women back to the hidden valley.  They were mounted on burros
+and mustangs, and in all that dark and somber line there was only one
+figure which shone white under the pale moon.
+
+At the starting, until that white-clad figure had appeared, Shefford's
+heart had seemed to be in his throat; and thereafter its beat was
+muffled and painful in his breast.  Yet there was some sad sweetness
+in the 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.  The
+night was still; the great dark mountain loomed to the stars; the
+numberless waves of rounded rock that must be crossed and circled lay
+deep 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.  These
+sealed wives rode where their mounts were led or driven, as blind
+in their hoods as veiled Arab women in palanquins.  And their heads
+drooped wearily and their shoulders bent, as if under a burden.  It
+took an hour of steady riding to reach the ascent to the plateau, and
+here, with the beginning of rough and smooth and shadowed trail, the
+work of the escort began.  The line lengthened out and each man kept
+to the several women assigned to him.  Shefford had three, and one of
+them was the girl he loved.  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 her know the man whom perhaps she had
+not forgotten was there with her, a friend.  Six months!  It had been
+a lifetime to him.  Surely eternity to her!  Had she forgotten?  He
+felt like a coward who had basely deserted her.  Oh--had he only known!
+
+She rode a burro that was slow, continually blocking the passage for
+those behind, and eventually it became lame.  Thus the other women
+forged ahead.  Shefford dismounted and stopped her burro.  It was a
+moment before she noted the halt, and twice in that time Shefford
+tried to speak and failed.  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 on
+Nack-yal.  The stirrups were long for her and he had to change them.
+His fingers were all thumbs as he fumbled with the buckles.
+
+Suddenly he became aware that there had been a subtle change in her.
+He knew it without looking up and he seemed to be unable to go on with
+his task.  If his life had depended upon keeping his head lowered he
+could not have done it.  The listlessness of her drooping form was no
+longer manifest.  The peak of the dark hood pointed toward him.  He
+knew then that she was gazing at him.
+
+Never so long as he lived would that moment be forgotten!  They were
+alone.  The others had gotten so far ahead that no sound came back.
+The stillness was so deep it could be felt.  The moon shone with
+white, cold radiance and the shining slopes of smooth stone waved
+away, crossed by shadows of pinyons.
+
+Then she leaned a little toward him.  One swift hand flew up to tear
+the black hood back so that she could see.  In its place flashed her
+white face.  And her eyes were like the night.
+
+"YOU!" she whispered.
+
+His blood came leaping to sting neck and cheek and temple.  What dared
+he interpret from that single word?  Could any other word have meant so
+much?
+
+"No--one--else," he replied, unsteadily.
+
+Her white hand flashed again to him, and he met it with his own.  He
+felt 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 the lovely 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 as
+Indians for tracks and trails, began to arrive in the quiet valley
+to which the Mormon women had been returned.
+
+Under every cedar clump there were hobbled horses, packs, and rolled
+bedding in tarpaulins.  Shefford and Joe Lake had pitched camp in the
+old site near the spring.  The other men of Joe's escort went to the
+homes of the women; and that afternoon, as the curious visitors began
+to arrive, these homes became barred and dark and quiet, as if they
+had been closed and deserted for the winter.  Not a woman showed
+herself.
+
+Shefford and Joe, by reason of the location of their camp and their
+alertness, met all the new-comers.  The ride from Stonebridge was a
+long and hard one, calculated to wear off the effects of the whisky
+imbibed 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
+that this really was what the Mormons had claimed--a village of free
+women.  But there were those among them who were coarse, evil-minded,
+and dangerous.
+
+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 the cedars, gay songs disturbed the usual serenity of the
+place.  Later in the early twilight the curious visitors, by twos
+and threes, walked about the village, peering at the dark cabins and
+jesting among themselves.  Joe had informed Shefford that all the
+women had been put in a limited number of cabins, so that they could
+be protected.  So far as Shefford saw or heard there was no unpleasant
+incident in the village; however, as the sauntering visitors returned
+toward their camps they loitered at the spring, and here developments
+threatened.
+
+In spite of the fact that the majority of these cowboys and their
+comrades were decent-minded and beginning to see the real relation
+of things, they were not disposed to be civil to Shefford.  They were
+certainly not Mormons.  And his position, apparently as a Gentile,
+among these Mormons was one open to criticism.  They might have been
+jealous, too; at any rate, remarks were passed in his hearing, meant
+for his ears, 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 the loud talk of several loungers round the camp-fire; and
+thereafter he was like Shefford's shadow, silent, somber, watchful.
+
+Nevertheless, it did not happen to be one of the friendly and sarcastic
+cowboys that precipitated the crisis.  A horse-wrangler named Hurley,
+a man of bad repute, as much outlaw as anything, took up the bantering.
+
+"Say, Shefford, what in the hell's your job here, anyway?" he queried
+as he kicked a cedar branch into the camp-fire.  The brightening blaze
+showed him swarthy, unshaven, a large-featured, ugly man.
+
+"I've been doing odd jobs for Withers," replied Shefford.  "Expect to
+drive 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 a
+diamond-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
+coarse laugh.
+
+Shefford did not show that he had heard.  Hurley waited, leering as
+looked 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 as
+light, 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
+him then.
+
+Hurley rose slowly.  Then Joe prodded him in the middle with the
+cocked gun.  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
+gun did 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
+maintained around the camp-fire for a while.  Presently some of the
+men walked off and others began to converse.  Everybody heard the
+sound of hoofs passing down 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 better
+element among the visitors.  "No fun hangin' round hyar," one of them
+expressed it, and as good-naturedly as they had come they rode away.
+Six or seven of the desperado class remained behind, bent on mischief;
+and they were reinforced by more arrivals from Stonebridge.  They
+avoided the camp by the spring, and when Shefford and Lake attempted
+to go to them they gave them a wide berth.  This caused Joe to assert
+that they were up to some dirty work.  All morning they lounged
+around under the cedars, keeping out of sight, and evidently the
+reinforcement from Stonebridge had brought liquor.  When they gathered
+together at their camp, half drunk, all noisy, some wanting to swagger
+off into the village and others trying to hold them back, Joe Lake
+said, grimly, that somebody was going to get shot.  Indeed, Shefford
+saw that there was every likelihood of bloodshed.
+
+"Reckon we'd better take to one of the cabins," said Joe.
+
+Thereupon the three repaired to the nearest cabin, and, entering, kept
+watch from the windows.  During a couple of hours, however, they did
+not see or hear anything of the ruffians.  Then came a shot from over
+in the village, a single yell, and, after that, a scattering volley.
+The silence and suspense which followed were finally broken by hoof-
+beats.  Nas Ta Bega called Joe and Shefford to the window he had been
+stationed at.  From here they saw the unwelcome visitors ride down the
+trail, to disappear in the cedars toward the outlet of the valley.
+Joe, who had numbered 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 named
+Harker, had been killed, by whom no one seemed to know.  He had
+brazenly tried to force his way into one of the houses, and the act
+had cost him his life.  Naturally Shefford, never free from his
+civilized habit of thought, remarked apprehensively that he hoped
+this affair would not cause the poor women to be arrested again
+and haled before some rude court.
+
+"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 a good job, for it'll teach these rowdies a lesson."
+
+Next day the old order of life was resumed in the village.  And the
+arrival of a heavily laden pack-train, under the guidance of Withers,
+attested to the fact that the Mormons meant not only to continue to
+live in the valley, but also to build and plant and enlarge.  This
+was good news 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 effect that the young man was offered a place as teacher in
+the school, in co-operation with the Mormon teachers.  Shefford
+experienced no twinge of conscience when he accepted.
+
+It was the fourth evening after the never-to-be-forgotten moonlight
+ride to the valley that Shefford passed under the dark pinyon-trees
+on his way to Fay Larkin's cottage.  He paused in the gloom and
+memory beset him.  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 to conceal!
+
+He tapped on the door and she came out.  After all, it was a meeting
+vastly different from what his feeling made him imagine it might have
+been.  She was nervous, frightened, as were all the other women, for
+that matter.  She was alone in the cottage.  He made haste to reassure
+her about the improbability of any further trouble such as had befallen
+the 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 him
+eloquent; he avoided personalities, except to tell about his prospects
+of work in the village, and he sought above all to lead her mind from
+thought of herself and her condition.  Before he left her he had the
+gladness of knowing he had succeeded.
+
+When he said good night he felt the strange falsity of his position.
+He did not expect to be able to keep up the deception for long.  That
+roused him, and half the night he lay awake, thinking.  Next day he
+was the life of the work and study and play in that village.  Kindness
+and good-will did not need inspiration, but it was keen, deep passion
+that made him a plotter for influence and friendship.  Was there a
+woman in the village whom he might trust, in case he needed one?  And
+his instinct guided him to her whom he had liked well--Ruth.  Ruth
+Jones she had called herself at 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.  She welcomed Shefford's visits.  He imagined that
+she had slightly changed, and whether it was the added six months with
+its trouble and pain or a growing revolt he could not tell.  After a
+time he divined that the inevitable retrogression had set in: she had
+not enough faith to uphold the burden she had accepted, nor the courage
+to cast it off.  She was ready to love him.  That did not frighten
+Shefford, and if she did love him he was not so sure it would not be
+an anchor for her.  He saw her danger, and then he became what he had
+never really been in all the days of his ministry--the real helper.
+Unselfishly, for her sake, he found power to influence her; and
+selfishly, for the sake of Fay Larkin, he began 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 visits were no longer unknown to the village.  Women
+gossiped, in a friendly way about Shefford, but with jealous tongues
+about the girl.  Joe Lake told Shefford the run of the village talk.
+Anything concerning the Sago Lily the 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 little and never remained long.
+Shefford had anticipated antagonism on the part of Joe; however,
+he did not find it.
+
+Shefford really lived through the busy day for that hour with Fay in
+the twilight.  And every evening seemed the same.  He would find her
+in the dark, alone, silent, brooding, hopeless.  Her mood did not
+puzzle him, but how to keep from plunging her deeper into despair
+baffled him.  He exhausted all his powers trying to do for her what
+he had been able to do for Ruth.  Yet he failed.  Something had
+blunted her.  The shadow of that baneful trial hovered over her,
+and he came to sense a strange terror in her.  It was mostly always
+present.  Was she thinking of Jane Withersteen and Lassiter, left
+dead or imprisoned in the valley from which she had been brought so
+mysteriously?  Shefford wearied his brain revolving these questions.
+The fate of her friends, and the cross she bore--of these was tragedy
+born, but the terror--that Shefford divined came of waiting for the
+visit of the Mormon whose face she had never seen.  Shefford prayed
+that he might never meet this man.  Finally he grew desperate.  When he
+first arrived at the girl's home she would speak, she showed gladness,
+relief, and then straightway she dropped back into the shadow 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 his
+revelation.
+
+"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 a preacher
+--disgrace, ruin, and all that--and my rainbow-chasing dream out here
+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 a
+tide of resistless utterance.  "Loss of faith and name did not send me
+to this wilderness.  But I had love--love for that lost girl, Fay
+Larkin.  I dreamed about her till I loved her.  I dreamed that I would
+find her--my treasure--at the foot of a rainbow.  Dreams! . . . When
+you told me she was dead I accepted that.  There was truth in your
+voice.  I respected your reticence.  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 barren desert, and there I rode and slept and
+grew into another and a harder man.  Yet, strange to  say,  I  never
+forgot her, though my dreams were done.  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 walled valleys--to the smell of pinyon,
+to the flowers in the nooks, to the wind on the heights, to the silence
+and loneliness and beauty.  And here the dreams come back and SHE is
+WITH me always.  Her spirit is all that keeps me kind and good, as you
+say I am.  But I suffer, I long for her alive.  If I love her dead,
+how could I love her living!  Always I torture myself with the vain
+dream that--that she MIGHT not be dead.  I have never been anything
+but a dreamer.  And here I go about my work by day and 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 Fay Larkin.
+And by the fire and the iron and the blood that I felt it would cost
+to save her some faith must come to me again. . . . My work is undone
+--I've never saved her.  But listen, how strange it is to feel--now--
+as I let myself go--that just the loving her and the living here in the
+wildness that holds her somewhere have brought me hope again.  Some
+faith must come, too.  It was through her that I met this Indian, Nas
+Ta Bega.  He has saved my life--taught me much.  What would I ever
+have learned of the naked and vast earth, of the sublimity of the
+wild uplands, of the storm and night and sun, if I had not followed
+a gleam she inspired?  In my hunt for a lost girl perhaps I wandered
+into a place where I shall find a God and my salvation.  Do you marvel
+that I love Fay Larkin--that she is not dead to me?  Do you marvel
+that I love her, when I KNOW, were she alive, chained in a canyon, or
+bound, or lost in 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
+the girl's face, but the white form that had drooped so listlessly
+seemed now charged by some vitalizing current.  He knew he had spoken
+irrationally; still he held it no dishonor to have told her he loved
+her as one dead.  If she took that love to the secret heart of living
+Fay Larkin, then perhaps a spirit might light in her darkened soul.
+He had no thought yet that Fay Larkin might ever belong to him.  He
+divined a crime--he had seen her agony.  And this avowal of his was
+only one step toward her deliverance.
+
+Softly she rose, retreating into the shadow.
+
+"Forgive me if I--I disturb you, distress you," he said.  "I wanted to
+tell you.  She was--somehow known to you.  I am not happy.  And are YOU
+happy? . . . Let her memory be a bond between us. . . . Good night."
+
+"Good night."
+
+Faintly as the faintest whisper breathed her reply, and, though it
+came from a child forced into womanhood, it whispered of girlhood not
+dead, of sweet incredulity, of amazed tumult, of a wondering, frantic
+desire to run and hide, of the bewilderment incident to a first hint
+of love.
+
+Shefford walked away into the darkness.  The whisper filled his soul.
+Had a word of love ever been spoken to that girl?  Never--not the love
+which had been on his lips.  Fay Larkin's lonely life spoke clearly in
+her whisper.
+
+   .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .
+
+Next morning as the sun gilded the looming peaks and shafts of gold
+slanted 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.  She
+had left off the somber black hood, and, although that made a vast
+difference in her, still it was not enough to account for what struck
+both men.
+
+"Good morning," she called, brightly.
+
+They both answered, but not spontaneously.  She stopped at the spring
+and with one sweep of her strong arm filled the bucket and lifted it.
+Then she started back down the path and, pausing opposite the camp,
+set the bucket 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,
+and the 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
+Joe from 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
+have my 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 the
+bucket, went on with her swift, graceful step.
+
+"She's perked up," said the Mormon, staring after her.  "Never heard
+her say 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
+been Mary, the sealed wife, or the Sago Lily, alien among Mormon
+women.  Then it flashed upon him--she was Fay Larkin.  She who had
+regarded herself as dead had come back to life.  In one short night
+what had transformed her--what had taken place in her heart?  Shefford
+dared not accept, nor allow lodgment in his mind, a thrilling idea that
+he had made her forget her 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
+daylight since then."
+
+"Well, take my hunch," said Joe, soberly.  "She's begun to fade like
+the canyon 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
+so white you can look through her.  She's grown thin, all in a week.
+She doesn'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 will die unless--"
+
+"My God!" exclaimed Shefford, huskily.  "I never noticed--I never
+thought. . . . Joe, hasn't she any friends?"
+
+"Sure.  You and Ruth--and me.  Maybe Nas Ta Bega, too.  He watches her
+a good deal."
+
+"We can do so little, when she needs so much."
+
+"Nobody can help her, unless it's you," went on the Mormon.  "That's
+plain talk.  She seemed different this morning.  Why, she was alive--
+she talked--she smiled. . . . Shefford, if you cheer her up I'll go
+to hell for you!"
+
+The big Mormon, on his knees, with his hands in a pan of dough, and
+his shirt all covered with flour, presented an incongruous figure of a
+man actuated by pathos and passion.  Yet the contrast made his emotion
+all the 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 a
+Gentile, 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
+all the younger Mormons, anyway."
+
+Shefford burned to ask questions about the Mormon whose sealed wife
+the girl was, but he respected Joe too much to take advantage of him
+in a poignant moment like this.  Besides, it was only jealousy that
+made him burn 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.  He rejected many things before he thought of one that he could
+voice to his friend.
+
+"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
+and so, and I'm not bright. . . . But, after all, men are much alike.
+The thing with you and me is this--we don't want to see HER grave!"
+
+Love spoke there.  The Mormon had seized upon the single elemental
+point that concerned him and his friend in their relation to this
+unfortunate girl.  His simple, powerful statement united them; it gave
+the lie to his hint of denseness; it stripped the truth naked.  It was
+such a wonderful thought-provoking statement that Shefford needed time
+to ponder how deep 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 were nothing 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
+the earth--white and gold like the flower you call her, that's enough
+for you.  It's her body you think of.  And that's the great and
+horrible error in your religion. . . . But death of the soul is
+infinitely worse than death of the body.  I have been thinking of
+her soul. . . . So here we stand, you and I.  You to save her life
+--I to save her soul!  What will you do?"
+
+"Why, John, I'd turn Gentile," he said, with terrible softness.  It
+was a softness that scorned Shefford for asking, and likewise it flung
+defiance 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
+for such extremes.  I haven't an idea what you mean--what can be done.
+But I say, 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 girl
+who was as transparent as crystal-clear water, who had left off the
+somber gloom with the black hood, who tremulously embraced happiness
+without knowing it, who was one moment timid and wild like a half-
+frightened fawn, and the next, exquisitely half-conscious of what 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 darkness
+under the cedars to lie wide-eyed, trying to recall all that she had
+said.  For she had talked as if utterance had long been dammed behind
+a barrier of silence.
+
+There followed other hours like that one, indescribable hours, so
+sweet they stung, and in which, keeping pace with his love, was the
+nobler stride 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
+was Fay Larkin, not dead, but alive, and that, not love nor religion,
+but sacrifice, nailed her down to her martyrdom.  Many and many a time
+he had tried to force himself to tell her, only to fail.  He hated to
+risk ending this sweet, strange, thoughtless, girlish mood of hers.
+It might not be soon won back--perhaps never.  How could he tell what
+chains bound her?  And so as he vacillated between Joe's cautious
+advice to go slow and his own pity the days and weeks slipped by.
+
+One haunting fear kept him sleepless half the nights and sick even in
+his dreams, and it was that the Mormon whose sealed wife she was might
+come, surely would come, some night.  Shefford could bear it.  But what
+would that visit do to Fay Larkin?  Shefford instinctively feared the
+awakening in the girl of womanhood, of deeper insight, of a spiritual
+realization of what she was, of a physical dawn.
+
+He might have spared himself needless torture.  One day Joe Lake eyed
+him with penetrating glance.
+
+"Reckon you don't have to sleep right on that Stonebridge trail," said
+the Mormon, significantly.
+
+Shefford felt the blood burn his neck and face.  He had pulled his
+tarpaulin closer to the trail, and his motive was as an open page to
+the keen Mormon.
+
+"Why?" asked Shefford.
+
+"There won't be any Mormons riding in here soon--by night--to visit
+the women," replied Joe, bluntly.  "Haven't you figured there might
+be government spies watching the trails?"
+
+"No, I haven't."
+
+"Well, take a hunch, then," added the Mormon, gruffly, and Shefford
+divined, as well as if he had been told, that warning word had gone
+to Stonebridge.  Gone despite the fact that Nas Ta Bega had reported
+every trail free of watchers!  There was no sign of any spies, cowboys,
+outlaws, or Indians in the vicinity of the valley.  A passionate
+gratitude to the Mormon overcame Shefford; and the unreasonableness of
+it, the nature of it, perturbed him greatly.  But, something hammered
+into his brain, if he loved one of these sealed wives, how could he
+help being jealous?
+
+The result of Joe's hint was that Shefford put off the hour of
+revelation, lived in his dream, helped the girl grow farther and
+farther away from her trouble, until that inevitable hour arrived
+when he was driven by accumulated emotion as much as the exigency
+of the case.
+
+He had not often walked with her beyond the dark shade of the pinyons
+round the cottage, but this night, when he knew he must tell her, he
+led her away down the path, through the cedar grove to the west end
+of the valley where it was wild and lonely and sad and silent.
+
+The moon was full and the great peaks were crowned as with snow.  A
+coyote uttered his cutting cry.  There were a few melancholy notes
+from a night bird of the stone walls.  The air was clear and cold,
+with a tang of frost in it.  Shefford gazed about him at the vast,
+uplifted, insulating walls, and that feeling of his which was more
+than a sense told him how walls like these and the silence and shadow
+and mystery had been 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
+wall met the silver moonlight on the grass, and here, by a huge flat
+stone where he had come often alone and sometimes with Ruth, he faced
+Fay Larkin in the spirit to tell her gently that he knew her, and
+sternly to force 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
+touched upon.  You!"
+
+She was silent, and looked wonderingly, a little fearfully, at him,
+as if 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
+by strange?"
+
+"Well, I'm a young man. You're  a--a married woman.  We are together a
+good deal--and like to be."
+
+"Why is that strange?" she asked.
+
+Suddenly Shefford realized that there was nothing strange in what was
+natural.  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 would
+understand.
+
+"Never mind strange.  Say that I am interested in you, and, as you're
+not happy, I want to help you.  And say that your neighbors are curious
+and oppose my idea.  Why do they?"
+
+"They're jealous and want you themselves," she replied, with sweet
+directness.  "They've said things I don't understand.  But I felt
+they--they hated in me what would be all right in themselves."
+
+Here to simplicity she added truth and wisdom, as an Indian might have
+expressed them.  But shame was unknown to her, and she had as yet only
+vague perceptions of love and passion.  Shefford began to realize the
+quickness of her mind, that she was indeed awakening.
+
+"They are jealous--were jealous before I ever came here.  That's only
+human nature.  I was trying to get to a point.  Your neighbors are
+curious.  They oppose me.  They hate you.  It's all bound up in the--
+the fact of your difference from them, your youth, beauty, that you're
+not a Mormon, that you nearly betrayed their secret at the trial in
+Stonebridge."
+
+"Please--please don't--speak of that!" she faltered.
+
+"But I must," he replied, swiftly.  "That trial was a torture to you.
+It revealed so much to me. . . . I know you are a sealed wife.  I know
+there has been a crime.  I know you've sacrificed yourself.  I know
+that love and religion have nothing to do with--what you are. . . .
+Now, is not all that 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
+of her face.  She was calm now.  She had strength.  She invited him to
+speak the word, and the wistful, tremulous quiver of her lips was for
+his earnest thought of her.
+
+"Wait--a--little," said Shefford, unsteadily.  "I'll come to that
+presently.  Tell me this--have you ever thought of being free?"
+
+"Free!" she echoed, and there was singular depth and richness in her
+voice.  That was the first spark of fire he had struck from her.
+"Long ago, the minute I was unwatched, I'd have leaped from a wall
+had I dared.  Oh, I wasn't afraid.  I'd love to die that way.  But
+I never dared."
+
+"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
+be like a magic touch upon this lovely, cold, white ghost of Fay
+Larkin, transforming her into a living, breathing girl.  He held his
+love as a thing aloof, and, as such, intangible because of the living
+death she believed she lived, it had no warmth and intimacy for them.
+What might it not become with a lightning flash of revelation?  He
+dreaded, yet he was driven to speak.  He waited, swallowing hard,
+fighting the tumultuous storm 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
+Withersteen and 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
+her hands reaching out, her head falling back to let the moon fall
+full upon the 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
+hear the 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 the cliff.  Mother Jane climbed close after us.  They kept
+looking back.  Down there 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 was five or six years old.
+
+"We climbed up and up and into dark canyon and wound in and out.  Then
+there was the narrow white trail, straight up, with the little cut
+steps and the great, red, ruined walls.  I looked down over Uncle Jim's
+shoulder.  I saw Mother Jane dragging herself up.  Uncle Jim's blood
+spotted 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 the
+trail.  His men came behind him.  Uncle Jim went to a great, tall rock
+and leaned against it.  There was a bloody hole in his hand.  He pushed
+the rock.  It rolled down, banging the loose walls.  They crashed and
+crashed--then all was terrible thunder and red smoke.  I couldn't hear
+--I couldn't see.
+
+"Uncle Jim carried me down and down out of the dark and dust into a
+beautiful valley all red and gold, with a wonderful arch of stone over
+the entrance.
+
+"I don't remember well what happened then for what seemed a long, long
+time.  I can feel how the place looked, but not so clear as it is now
+in 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 in
+for ever.  Shut in Surprise Valley where Venters had lived so long.  I
+was glad.  The Mormons would never get me.  I was seven or eight years
+old then.  From that time all is clear in my mind.
+
+"Venters had left supplies and tools and grain and cattle and burros,
+so we had a good start to begin life there.  He had killed off the
+wildcats and kept the coyotes out, so the rabbits and quail multiplied
+till there were thousands of them.  We raised corn and fruit, and
+stored what we didn't use.  Mother Jane taught me to read and write
+with the soft red stone that marked well on the walls.
+
+"The years passed.  We kept track of time pretty well.  Uncle Jim's
+hair turned white and Mother Jane grew gray.  Every day was like the
+one before.  Mother Jane cried sometimes and Uncle Jim was sad because
+they could never be able to get me out of the valley.  It was long
+before they stopped 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 remembered
+Cottonwoods, how the children there hated me, and I didn't want to go
+back.  The only unhappy times I ever had in the valley were when Ring
+and Whitie, my dogs, grew old and died.  I roamed the valley.  I
+climbed to every 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 wild girl.  We had put away the clothes we wore when we got
+there, to save them, and we made clothes of skins.  I always laughed
+when I thought of my little dress--how I grew out of it.  I think Uncle
+Jim and Mother Jane talked less as the years went by.  And after I'd
+learned all she could teach me we didn't talk much.  I used to scream
+into the caves just to hear my voice, and the echoes would frighten me.
+
+"The older I grew the more I was alone.  I was always running round the
+valley.  I would climb to a high place and sit there for hours, doing
+nothing.  I just watched and listened.  I used to stay in the cliff-
+dwellers' caves and wonder about them.  I loved to be out in the wind.
+And my happiest time was in the summer storms with the thunder echoes
+under the walls.  At evening it was such a quiet place--after the night
+bird's cry, no sound.  The quiet made me sad but I loved it.  I loved
+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
+walls caved.  The walls were always weathering, slipping.  Many and
+many a time have I heard the rumble of an avalanche, but most of them
+were in other canyon.  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 unless helped from above.  Uncle Jim never rested well after that.
+But it never worried me.
+
+"One day, over a year ago, while I was across the valley, I heard
+strange shouts, and then screams.  I ran to our camp.  I came upon
+men with 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 I heard her moan.  I was not afraid.  I screamed and flew
+at Uncle Jim to tear the ropes off him.  The men held me back.  They
+called me a pretty cat.  Then they talked together, and some were for
+hanging Lassiter--that was the first time I ever knew any name for him
+but Uncle Jim--and some were 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 left off.  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
+in Cottonwoods.  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
+to fight 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 and guns.  One was tall.  He had a cruel voice.  The others ran
+to obey him.  I could see white hair and sharp eyes behind the mask.
+The men caught me and brought me before him.
+
+"He said Lassiter had killed many Mormons.  He said Lassiter had
+killed his father and should be hanged.  But Lassiter would be let
+live and Mother Jane could stay with him, both prisoners there in the
+valley, if I would marry the Mormon.  I must marry him, accept the
+Mormon faith, and bring up my children as Mormons.  If I refused they
+would hang Lassiter, leave the heretic Jane Withersteen alone in the
+valley, and take me and break me to their rule.
+
+"I agreed.  But Mother Jane absolutely forbade me to marry him.  Then
+the Mormons took me away.  It nearly killed me to leave Uncle Jim and
+Mother Jane.  I was carried and lifted out of the valley, and rode a
+long way on a horse.  They brought me here, to the cabin where I live,
+and I have never been away except that--that time--to--Stonebridge.
+Only little by little did I learn my position.  Bishop Kane was kind,
+but stern, because I could not be quick to learn the faith.
+
+"I am not a sealed wife.  But they're trying to make me one.  The
+master Mormon--he visited me often--at night--till lately.  He
+threatened me.  He never told me a name--except Saint George.  I
+don't--know him--except his voice.  I never--saw his face--in the
+light!"
+
+   .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .
+
+Fay Larkin ended her story.  Toward its close Shefford had grown
+involuntarily restless, and when her last tragic whisper ceased
+all his body seemed shaken with a terrible violence of his joy.  He
+strode to and fro in the dark shadow of the stone.  The receding
+blood left him cold, with a pricking, sickening sensation over his
+body, but there seemed to be an overwhelming tide accumulating deep
+in his breast--a tide of passion and pain.  He dominated the passion,
+but the ache remained.  And he returned to the quiet figure on the
+stone.
+
+"Fay Larkin!" he exclaimed, with a deep breath of relief that the
+secret was disclosed.  "So you're not a wife! . . . You're free!
+Thank Heaven!  But I 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 and Jane and Lassiter had never been
+found.  But that's wrong of me.  One year of 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 spoke
+of what he had known, of travel, of cities, of people, of happiness
+possible for a young girl who had spent all her life hidden between
+the narrow walls of a silent, lonely valley--he spoke swiftly and
+eloquently till he lost his breath.
+
+There was an instant of flashing wonder and joy on her white face, and
+then the radiance paled, the glow died.  Her soul was the darker for
+that one 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
+to Surprise 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
+ran and climbed and spent so many lonely years."
+
+"Ah, how I'd love to!  But I dare not.  And why should you want me to
+take you?  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 the
+country, far away where they and YOU--"
+
+"But I can't go," she wailed.  "I'm afraid.  I'm bound.  It CAN'T be
+broken.  If I dared--if I tried to go they would catch me.  They would
+hang Uncle Jim and leave Mother Jane alone there to starve."
+
+"Fay, Lassiter and Jane both will starve--at least they will die there
+if 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
+Jane never 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.
+But YOU 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
+understand and you can help me.  The fact that you are alive--that
+Lassiter and Jane are alive--that I shall save you all--that lifts
+me up.  I tell you--Fay Larkin 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 and Mother Jane."
+
+"I shall find them--I have the Indian.  He found you for me.  Nas Ta
+Bega will find Surprise Valley."
+
+"Nas Ta Bega! . . . Oh, I remember.  There was an Indian with the
+Mormons who found us.  But he was a Piute."
+
+"Nas Ta Bega never told me how he learned about you.  That he learned
+was enough.  And, Fay, he will find Surprise Valley.  He will save
+Uncle Jim and Mother Jane."
+
+Fay's hands clasped Shefford's in strong, trembling pressure; the
+tears streamed down her white cheeks; a tragic and eloquent joy
+convulsed her face.
+
+"Oh, my friend, save them!  But I can't go. . . . Let them keep me!
+Let him kill me!"
+
+"Him!  Fay--he shall not harm you," replied Shefford in passionate
+earnestness.
+
+She caught the hand he had struck out with.
+
+"You talk--you look like Uncle Jim when he spoke of the Mormons," she
+said.  "Then I used to be afraid of him.  He was so different.  John,
+you must not do anything about me.  Let me be.  It's too late.  He--and
+his men--they would hang you.  And I couldn't bear that.  I've enough
+to bear without losing my friend.  Say you won't watch and wait--for--
+for him."
+
+Shefford had to promise her.  Like an Indian she gave expression to
+primitive feeling, for it certainly never occurred to her that,
+whatever Shefford might do, he was not the kind of man to wait in
+hiding for an enemy.  Fay had faltered through her last speech and
+was now weak and nervous 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 a
+move.  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
+some of the women happened to run into us."
+
+"I won't again.  It's only you--you surprised me so.  I used to think
+how I'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 little happier."
+
+Shefford felt that he had to go then.  He could not trust himself any
+further.
+
+"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
+on under the pinyons, blindly down the path, with his heart as heavy
+as lead.  That night as he rolled in his blanket and stretched wearily
+he felt that he would never be able to sleep.  The wind in the cedars
+made him shiver.  The great stars seemed relentless, passionless, white
+eyes, mocking his little destiny and his pain.  The huge shadow of the
+mountain resembled the shadow of the insurmountable barrier between
+Fay and him.
+
+   .     .     .     .    .     .     .     .     .     .     .
+
+Her pitiful, childish promise to be good was in his mind when he went
+to her home on the next night.  He wondered how she would be, and he
+realized a desperate need of self-control.
+
+But that night Fay Larkin was a different girl.  In the dark, before
+she spoke, he felt a difference that afforded him surprise and relief.
+He greeted her as usual.  And then it seemed, though not at all
+clearly, that he was listening to a girl, strangely and unconsciously
+glad to see him, who spoke with deeper note in her voice, who talked
+where always she had listened, whose sadness was there under an
+eagerness, a subdued gaiety as new to her, as sweet as it was
+bewildering.  And he responded with emotion, so that the hour passed
+swiftly, and he found himself back in camp, in a kind of dream, unable
+to remember much of what she had said, sure only of this strange
+sweetness suddenly come to her.
+
+Upon the following night, however, he discovered what had wrought this
+singular change in Fay Larkin.  She loved him and she did not know it.
+How passionately sweet and sad and painful was that realization for
+Shefford!  The hour spent with her then was only a moment.
+
+He walked under the stars that night and they shed a glorious light
+upon him.  He tried to think, to plan, but the sweetness of remembered
+word or look made mental effort almost impossible.  He got as far as
+the thought that he would do well to drift, to wait till she learned
+she loved him, and then, perhaps, she could be persuaded to let him
+take her and Lassiter and Jane away together.
+
+And from that night he went at his work and the part he played in the
+village with a zeal and a cunning that left him free to seek Fay when
+he chose.
+
+Sometimes in the afternoon, always for a while in the evening, he was
+with her.  They climbed the walls, and sat upon a lonely height to look
+afar; they walked under the stars, and the cedars, and the shadows of
+the great cliffs.  She had a beautiful mind.  Listening to her, he
+imagined he saw down into beautiful Surprise Valley with all its weird
+shadows, its colored walls and painted caves, its golden shafts of
+morning light and the red haze at sunset; and he felt the silence that
+must have been there, and the singing of the wind in the cliffs, and
+the sweetness and fragrance of the flowers, and the wildness of it
+all.  Love had worked a marvelous transformation in this girl who had
+lived her life in a canyon.  The burden upon her did not weigh heavily.
+She could not have an unhappy thought.  She spoke of the village, of
+her Mormon companions, of daily happenings, of Stonebridge, of many
+things in a matter-of-fact way that showed how little they occupied
+her mind.  She even spoke of sealed wives in a kind of dreamy
+abstraction.  Something had possession of her, something as strong
+as the nature which had developed her, and in its power she, in her
+simplicity, was utterly unconscious, a watching and feeling girl.  A
+strange, witching, radiant beauty 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 and
+frost in the valley.  In the sheltered canyon where sunshine seemed to
+linger it was warm and pleasant, so that winter did not kill the
+flowers.
+
+Shefford waited so long for Fay's awakening that he believed it would
+never come, and, believing, had not the heart to force it upon her.
+Then there was a growing fear with him.  What would Fay Larkin do when
+she awakened to the truth?  Fay was indeed like that white and fragile
+lily which bloomed in the silent, lonely canyon, but the same nature
+that had created it had created her.  Would she droop as the lily would
+in a furnace blast?  More than that, he feared a sudden flashing into
+life of strength, power, passion, hate.  She did not hate yet because
+she did not yet realize love.  She was utterly innocent of any wrong
+having been done her.  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 of escaping with Lassiter and Jane; still, every time he
+was with Fay the girl and her beauty and her love were so wonderful
+that he put off the ordeal till the next night.  As time flew by he
+excused his vacillation on 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, and these he must shun.  Spring would
+soon come.  So the days passed, and he loved Fay more all the time,
+desperately living out to its limit the sweetness of every moment with
+her, and paying for his bliss in the increasing trouble that beset him
+when once away from her charm.
+
+   .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .
+
+One starry night, about ten o'clock, he went, as was his custom, to
+drink at the spring.  Upon his return to the cedars Nas Ta Bega, who
+slept under the same tree with him, had arisen, with his blanket
+hanging half off his shoulder.
+
+"Listen," said the Indian.
+
+Shefford took one glance at the dark, somber face, with its inscrutable
+eyes, now so strange and piercing, and then, with a kind of cold
+excitement, he faced the way the Indian looked, and listened.  But
+he heard only the soft moan of the night wind in the cedars.
+
+Nas Ta Bega kept the rigidity of his position for a moment, and then
+he relaxed, and stood at ease.  Shefford knew the Indian had made a
+certainty of what must have been a doubtful sound.  And Shefford leaned
+his ear to the wind and strained his hearing.
+
+Then the soft night breeze brought a faint patter--the slow trot of
+horses on a hard trail.  Some one was coming into the village at a
+late hour.  Shefford thought of Joe Lake.  But Joe lay right behind
+him, asleep in his blankets.  It could not be Withers, for the trader
+was in Durango at 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 presently
+he made out moving figures.  Horses, with riders--a string of them--
+one--two--three--four--five--and he counted up to eleven.  Eleven
+horsemen riding into the village!  He was amazed, and suddenly keenly
+anxious.  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
+the shade of the cedars.  His voice, his action, the way he kept a
+hand on Shefford'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 that brought 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.  Like
+a shadow the Indian silently moved away.  Shefford watched the eleven
+horses pass the camp, go down the road, to disappear in the village.
+They vanished, and the soft clip-clops of hoofs died away.  There was
+nothing left to prove he had not dreamed.
+
+Nothing to prove it except this sudden terrible demoralization of his
+physical 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 and
+fire.
+
+Was the Mormon who had abducted Fay--the man with the cruel voice--
+was he among those eleven horsemen?  He might not have been.  What a
+torturing hope!  But vain--vain, for inevitably he must be among them.
+He was there in the cabin already.  He had dismounted, tied his horse,
+had knocked on her door.  Did he need to knock?  No, he would go in,
+he would call her in that cruel voice, and then . . .
+
+Shefford pulled a blanket from his bed and covered his cold and
+trembling 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
+found himself listening--listening with sick and terrible earnestness,
+trying to hear against the thrum and beat of his heart, straining to
+catch a sound in all that cold, star-blanched, silent valley.  But he
+could hear no 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 look down upon the lonely cabins of these exiles?  Was
+there no thunderbolt to drop down from that dark and looming mountain
+upon the silent cabin where tragedy had entered?  In all the world,
+under the sea, in the abysmal caves, in the vast spaces of the air,
+there was no such terrible silence as this.  A scream, a long cry, a
+moan--these were natural to a woman, and why did not one of these
+sealed wives, why did not Fay Larkin, damn this everlasting acquiescent
+silence?  Perhaps she would fly out of her cabin, come running along
+the path.  Shefford peered into the bright patches of starlight and
+into the shadows of the cedars.  But he saw 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 branches overhead.
+
+Nas Ta Bega returned to the shade of the cedars and, lying down on
+his blankets, covered himself and went to sleep.  The fact seemed
+to bring bitter reality to Shefford.  Nothing was going to happen.
+The valley was to be the same this night as any other night.  Shefford
+accepted the truth.  He experienced a kind of self-pity.  The night
+he had thought so much about, prepared for, and had forgotten had now
+arrived.  Then he threw another blanket round him, and, cold, dark,
+grim, he faced that lonely vigil, meaning to sit there, wide-eyed, to
+endure and to wait.
+
+Jealousy and pain, following his frenzy, abided with him long hours,
+and when they passed he divined that selfishness passed with them.
+What he suffered then was for Fay Larkin and for her sisters in
+misfortune.  He grew big enough to pity these fanatics.  The fiery,
+racing tide of blood that had made of him only an animal had cooled
+with thought of others.  Still he feared that stultifying thing which
+must have been hate.  What a tempest had raged within him!  This blood
+of his, that had received a stronger strain from his desert life, might
+in a single moment flood out reason and intellect and make him a
+vengeful man.  So in those starlit hours that dragged interminably he
+looked deep into his heart and tried to fortify himself against a dark
+and evil moment to come.
+
+Midnight--and the valley seemed a tomb!  Did he alone keep wakeful?
+The sky was a darker blue, the stars burned a whiter fire, the peaks
+stood looming and vast, tranquil sentinels of that valley, and the
+wind rose to 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.  The gentle movement of the cedar branches changed the
+shape of the bright patches on the grass where shadow and light met.
+The walls of the valley waved upward, dark below and growing paler,
+to shine faintly at the rounded rims.  And there was a tiny, silvery
+tinkle of running water over stones.
+
+Here was a little nook of the vast world.  Here were tranquillity,
+beauty, music, loneliness, life.  Shefford wondered--did he alone keep
+watchful?  Did he feel that he could see dark, wide eyes peering into
+the gloom?  And it came to him after a time that he was not alone in
+his vigil, nor was Fay Larkin alone in her agony.  There was some one
+else in the valley, a great and breathing and watchful spirit.  It
+entered into Shefford's soul and he trembled.  What had come to him?
+And he answered--only added pain and new love, and a strange strength
+from the firmament and the peaks and the silence and the shadows.
+
+The bright belt with its three radiant stars sank behind the western
+wall and there was a paler gloom upon the valley.
+
+Then a few lights twinkled in the darkness that enveloped the cabins;
+a woman's laugh strangely broke the silence, profaning it, giving the
+lie to that somber yoke which seemed to consist of the very shadows;
+the voices of men were heard, and then the slow clip-clop of trotting
+horses on the hard trail.
+
+Shefford saw the Mormons file out into the paling starlight, ride down
+the valley, and vanish in the gray gloom.  He was aware that the Indian
+sat up to watch the procession ride by, and that Joe turned over, as
+if disturbed.
+
+One by one the stars went out.  The valley became a place of gray
+shadows.  In the east a light glowed.  Shefford sat there, haggard and
+worn, watching the coming of the dawn, the kindling of the light; and
+had the power been his the dawn would never have broken and the rose
+and gold never have tipped the lofty peaks.
+
+   .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .
+
+Shefford attended to his camp chores as usual.  Several times he was
+aware of Joe's close scrutiny, and finally, without looking at him,
+Shefford told of the visit of the Mormons.  A violent expulsion of
+breath was Joe's answer and it might have been a curse.  Straightway
+Joe ceased his cheery whistling and became as somber as the Indian.
+The camp was silent; the men did not look at one another.  While they
+sat at breakfast Shefford's back was turned toward the village--he had
+not looked in that direction since dawn.
+
+"Ugh!" suddenly exclaimed Nas Ta Bega.
+
+Joe Lake muttered low and deep, and this time there was no mistake
+about the nature of his speech.  Shefford did not have the courage to
+turn to see what had caused these exclamations.  He knew since today
+had dawned that there was calamity in the air.
+
+"Shefford, I reckon if I know women there's a little hell coming to
+you," said the Mormon, significantly.
+
+Shefford wheeled as if a powerful force had turned him on a pivot.  He
+saw Fay Larkin.  She seemed to be almost running.  She was unhooded and
+her bright hair streamed down.  Her swift, lithe action was without its
+usual grace.  She looked wild, and she almost fell crossing the
+stepping-stones of the brook.
+
+Joe hurried to meet her, took hold of her arm and spoke, but she did
+not seem to hear him.  She drew him along with her, up the little bench
+under the 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 eyes were dark-purple fire--windows of an extraordinarily intense
+and vital life.  In one night the girl had become a woman.  But the
+blight Shefford had dreaded to see--the withering of the exquisite
+soul and spirit and purity he had considered inevitable, just as
+inevitable as the death of something similar in the flower she
+resembled, when it was broken and defiled--nothing of this was
+manifest in her.  Straight and swiftly she came 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
+in her.  She did not heed Joe, who stepped aside a little; she did
+not see Nas Ta Bega, who sat motionless on a log, apparently oblivious
+to her presence.
+
+"You knew he came?"
+
+"Yes, Fay.  I was awake when--they rode in.  I watched them.  I sat up
+all night.  I saw them ride away."
+
+"If you knew when he came why didn't you run to me--to get to me before
+he did?"
+
+Her question was unanswerable.  It had the force of a blow.  It
+stunned him.  Its sharp, frank directness sprang from a simplicity
+and a strength that had not been nurtured in the life he had lived.
+So far men had wandered from truth and nature!
+
+"I came to you as soon as I was able," she went on.  "I must have
+fainted.  I just had to drag myself around. . . . And now I can tell
+you."
+
+He was powerless to reply, as if she had put another unanswerable
+question.  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
+that was the first conscious action of feeling, of intimacy, which she
+had ever shown.  It quite robbed Shefford of strength, and in spite
+of his sorrow there was an indefinable thrill in her touch.  He looked
+at her, saw the white-and-gold beauty that was hers yesterday and
+seemed changed to-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?  Shefford
+felt that, as he felt the new-born strength in her.
+
+"Listen," she went on.  "He came when I was undressing for bed.  I
+heard the horse.  He knocked on the door.  Something terrible happened
+to me then.  I felt sick and my head wasn't clear.  I remember next--
+his being in the room--the lamp was out--I couldn't see very well.  He
+thought I was sick and he gave me a drink and let the air blow in on
+me through the window.  I remember I lay back in the chair and I
+thought.  And I listened.  When would you come?  I didn't feel that
+you could leave me there alone with him.  For his coming was different
+this time.  That pain like a blade in my side! . . . When it came I
+was not the same.  I loved you.  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, that you might suffer for it--I
+cried right out.
+
+"He thought I was sick.  He worked over me.  He gave me medicine.  And
+then he prayed.  I saw him, in the dark, on his knees, praying for me.
+That seemed 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.  He
+talked for a long time.  He called upon God to visit my sins upon me.
+He tried to make me pray.  But I wouldn't.  And then  I fought him.
+I'd have screamed for you had he not smothered me.  I got weak. . . .
+And you never came.  I know I thought you would come.  But you didn't.
+Then I--I gave out.  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?  I
+know 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
+throw myself off.  That would be easy for me.  I'd love to die that
+way.  All my life 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 Surprise
+Valley?  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 you all my life.  I was glad when you came here.  I've been
+happy lately.  I forgot--till last night.  Maybe it needed that to
+make me see I've loved you all the time. . . . And I fought him like
+a wildcat! . . . Tell me the truth.  I feel I'm yours.  Is that true?
+If I'm not--I'll not live another hour.  Something holds me up.  I am
+the same. . . . Do you want me?"
+
+"Yes, Fay Larkin, I want you," replied Shefford, steadily, with his
+grip on 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
+need help.  There are Lassiter and Jane to get out of Surprise Valley.
+Give me time, dear--give me time.  It'll be a hard job.  And we must
+plan so we can 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't come soon."
+
+"He said he would," she flashed.
+
+Shefford seemed to freeze inwardly with her words.  Love had made her
+a woman and now the woman in her was speaking.  She saw the truth as
+he could not see it.  And the truth was nature.  She had been hidden
+all her life from the world, from knowledge as he had it, yet when
+love betrayed her 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 earth can I keep you from him?" demanded Shefford.
+
+"If you love me you will do it," she said, as simply as if she were
+fate.
+
+"But how?" cried Shefford, almost beside himself.
+
+"You are a man.  Any man would save the woman who loves him from--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 elemental
+forces that had surrounded her, primitive passion and hate and love, as
+they were in woman in the beginning.
+
+"My God!"  Shefford cried aloud with his spirit when all that was red
+in him sprang again into a flame of hell.  That was what had been wrong
+with him last night.  He could kill this stealthy night-rider, and now,
+face to face with Fay, who had never been so beautiful and wonderful
+as in this hour when she made love the only and the sacred thing of
+life, now he had it in him to kill.  Yet, murder--even to kill a brute
+--that was not for John Shefford, not the way for him to save a woman.
+Reason and wisdom still fought the passion in him.  If he could but
+cling to them--have them with him in the dark and contending hour!
+
+She leaned against him now, exhausted, her soul in her eyes, and they
+saw only him.  Shefford was all but powerless to resist the longing to
+take her into his arms, to hold her to his heart, to let himself go.
+Did not her love give her to him?  Shefford gazed helplessly at the
+stricken Joe Lake, at the somber Indian, as if from them he expected
+help.
+
+"I know him now," said Fay, breaking the silence with startling
+suddenness.
+
+"What!"
+
+"I've seen him in the light.  I flashed a candle in his face.  I saw
+it.  I know 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 of
+this heretofore intangible man, to give him an identity apart from the
+crowd, 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
+give you 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 back
+from him.  A light flitted over her white face, and her eyes grew dark
+and humid, losing their fire in changing, shadowing thought of
+submission, of trust, of hope.
+
+"I can lead you to Surprise Valley," she said.  "I feel the way.  It's
+there!"  And she pointed to the west.
+
+"Fay, we'll go--soon.  I must plan.  I'll see you to-night.  Then we'll
+talk.  Run home now, before some of the women see you here."
+
+She said good-by and started away under the cedars, out into the open
+where her hair shone like gold in the sunlight, and she took the
+stepping-stones with her old free grace, and strode down the path
+swift and lithe as an Indian.  Once she turned to wave a hand.
+
+Shefford watched her with a torture of pride, love, hope, and fear
+contending 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 Glen
+Naspa.  The moment Nas Ta Bega saw this visitor he made a singular
+motion with his hands--a motion that somehow to Shefford suggested
+despair--and then 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.  Then the 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
+home some day. . . . Glen Naspa is in the hogan of her grandfather."
+
+He spoke in his usual slow, guttural voice, and he might have been
+bronze for all the emotion he expressed; yet Shefford instinctively
+felt the despair that had been hinted to him, and he put his hand on
+the Indian's shoulder.
+
+"If I am the Navajo's brother, then I am brother to Glen Naspa," he
+said.  "I will go with you to the hogan of Hosteen Doetin."
+
+Nas Ta Bega went away into the valley for the horses.  Shefford
+hurried to the village, made his excuses at the school, and then
+called to explain 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
+up through the broken country of cliffs and canyon to the great league
+-long sage and cedar slope of the mountain.  It was weeks since he had
+ridden the mustang.  Nack-yal was fat and lazy.  He loved his master,
+but he did not like the climb, and so fell far behind the lean and
+wiry pony that carried Nas Ta Bega.  The sage levels were as purple
+as the haze of the distance, 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.  A flock of sheep swept down one of the sage levels,
+looking like a narrow stream of white and black and brown.  It was
+always amazing for Shefford to see how swiftly these Navajo sheep
+grazed along.  Wild mustangs plunged out of the cedar clumps and
+stood upon the ridges, whistling defiance or curiosity, and their
+manes and tails waved in the wind.
+
+Shefford mounted slowly to the cedar bench in the midst of which were
+hidden the few hogans.  And he halted at the edge to dismount and take
+a look at that downward-sweeping world of color, of wide space, at the
+wild desert upland which from there unrolled its magnificent panorama.
+
+Then he passed on into the cedars.  How strange to hear the lambs
+bleating again!  Lambing-time had come early, but still spring was
+there in the new green of grass, in the bright upland flower.  He
+led his mustang out of the cedars into the cleared circle.  It was
+full of colts and 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 in sight.  Shefford loosened the saddle-girths on
+Nack-yal and, leaving him to graze, went toward the hogan of Hosteen
+Doetin.  A blanket was hung across the door.  Shefford heard a low
+chanting.  He waited beside the door till the covering was pulled in,
+then he entered.
+
+Hosteen Doetin met him, clasped his hand.  The old Navajo could not
+speak; his fine face was working in grief; tears streamed from his
+dim old eyes and rolled down his wrinkled cheeks.  His sorrow was no
+different from a white man's sorrow.  Beyond him Shefford saw Nas
+Ta Bega standing with folded arms, somehow terrible in his somber
+impassiveness.  At his feet crouched the old woman, Hosteen Doetin's
+wife, and beside her, prone and quiet, half covered with a blanket,
+lay Glen Naspa.
+
+She was dead.  To Shefford she seemed older than when he had last seen
+her.  And she was beautiful.  Calm, cold, dark, with only bitter lips
+to give 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 told
+the tragedy.  When he looked again at Glen Naspa's face he seemed
+to understand all that had made her older, to feel the pain that
+had lined and set her lips.
+
+She was dead, and she was the last of Nas Ta Bega's family.  In the old
+grandfather's agony, in the wild chant of the stricken grandmother, in
+the brother's stern and terrible calmness Shefford felt more than the
+death of a loved one.  The shadow of ruin, of doom, of death hovered
+over the girl and her family and her tribe and her race.  There was
+no consolation to offer these relatives of Glen Naspa.  Shefford took
+one more fascinated gaze at her dark, eloquent, prophetic face, at
+the tragic tiny shape by her side, and then with bowed head he left
+the hogan.
+
+   .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .
+
+Outside he paced to and fro, with an aching heart for Nas Ta Bega,
+with something of the white man's burden of crime toward the Indian
+weighing upon his soul.
+
+Old Hosteen Doetin came to him with shaking hands and words memorable
+of the 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 Jesus
+Christ who had called his granddaughter away.  And the great fear of
+an old Indian was not death, but hunger.  Shefford remembered a custom
+of the Navajos, a thing barbarous looked at with a white man's mind.
+If an old 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.  Not death 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
+Nas Ta Bega would never let him starve.
+
+At sunset Shefford stood with Nas Ta Bega facing the west.  The Indian
+was magnificent in repose.  He watched the sun go down upon the day
+that had seen the burial of the last of his family.  He resembled an
+impassive destiny, upon which no shocks fell.  He had the light of that
+flaring golden sky in his face, the majesty of the mountain in his
+mien, the silence of the great gulf below on his lips.  This educated
+Navajo, who had reverted to the life of his ancestors, found in the
+wildness and loneliness of his environment a strength no white
+teaching could ever have given him.  Shefford sensed in him a
+measureless grief, an impenetrable gloom, a tragic acceptance of the
+meaning of Glen Naspa's ruin and death--the vanishing of his race from
+the earth.  Death had written the law of such bitter truth round Glen
+Naspa's lips, and the same truth was here in the grandeur and gloom
+of the Navajo.
+
+"Bi Nai," he said, with the beautiful sonorous roll in his voice,
+"Glen Naspa 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
+not yet learned yours."
+
+"The Navajo has one mother--the earth.  Her body has gone to the earth
+and it will become dust.  But her spirit is in the air.  It shall
+whisper to me from the wind.  I shall hear it on running waters.  It
+will hide in the morning music of a mocking-bird and in the lonely
+night cry of the canyon hawk.  Her blood will go to make the red of
+the Indian flowers and her 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 that is 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 could
+come?  The Navajo is above revenge."
+
+"If he crosses my trail I think I couldn't help but kill him,"
+muttered Shefford 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 your
+brother.  Is it not so?  Glen Naspa's spirit calls for wisdom, not
+revenge.  Willetts must be a bad man.  But we'll let him live.  Life
+will punish him.  Who knows if he was all to blame?  Glen Naspa was
+only one pretty Indian girl.  There are many white men in the desert.
+She loved a white man when she was a baby.  The thing was a curse.
+. . . Listen, Bi Nai, and the Navajo will talk.
+
+"Many years ago the Spanish padres, the first white men, came into the
+land of the Indian.  Their search was for gold.  But they were not
+wicked men.  They did not steal and kill.  They taught the Indian many
+useful things.  They brought him horses.  But when they went away they
+left him unsatisfied with his life and his god.
+
+"Then came the pioneers.  They crossed the great river and took the
+pasture-lands and the hunting-grounds of the Indian.  They drove him
+backward, and the Indian grew sullen.  He began to fight.  The white
+man's government made treaties with the Indian, and these were broken.
+Then war came--fierce and bloody war.  The Indian was driven to the
+waste places.  The stream of pioneers, like a march of ants, spread on
+into the desert.  Every valley where grass grew, every river, became
+a place for farms and towns.  Cattle choked the water-holes where the
+buffalo and deer had once gone to drink.  The forests in the hills
+were cut and the springs dried up.  And the pioneers followed to the
+edge of the desert.
+
+"Then came the prospectors, mad, like the padres for the gleam of
+gold.  The day was not long enough for them to dig in the creeks and
+the canyon; they worked in the night.  And they brought weapons and
+rum to the Indian, to buy from him the secret of the places where the
+shining gold lay hidden.
+
+"Then came the traders.  And they traded with the Indian.  They gave
+him little for much, and that little changed his life.  He learned a
+taste for the sweet foods of the white man.  Because he could trade
+for a sack of flour he worked less in the field.  And the very fiber
+of his bones softened.
+
+"Then came the missionaries.  They were proselytizers for converts to
+their religion.  The missionaries are good men.  There may be a bad
+missionary, like Willetts, the same as there are bad men in other
+callings, or bad Indians.  They say Shadd is a half-breed.  But the
+Piutes can tell you he is a full-blood, and he, like me, was sent to
+a white man's school.  In the beginning the missionaries did well for
+the Indian.  They taught him cleaner ways of living, better farming,
+useful work with tools--many good things.  But the wrong to the Indian
+was the undermining of his faith.  It was not humanity that sent the
+missionary to the Indian.  Humanity would have helped the Indian in
+his ignorance of sickness and work, and left him his god.  For to
+trouble the Indian about his god worked at the roots of his nature.
+
+"The beauty of the Indian's life is in his love of the open, of all
+that is nature, of silence, freedom, wildness.  It is a beauty of mind
+and soul.  The Indian would have been content to watch and feel.  To
+a white man he might be dirty and lazy--content to dream life away
+without trouble or what the white man calls evolution.  The Indian
+might seem cruel because he leaves his old father out in the desert to
+die.  But the old 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 days after he ought to be dead.  Which is more cruel?  The
+Navajos used to fight with other tribes, and then they were stronger
+men than they are to-day.
+
+"But leaving religion, greed, and war out of the question, contact
+with the white man would alone have ruined the Indian.  The Indian and
+the white man cannot mix.  The Indian brave learns the habits of the
+white man, acquires his diseases, and has not the mind or body to
+withstand them.  The Indian girl learns to love the white man--and
+that is death of her Indian soul, if not of life.
+
+"So the red man is passing.  Tribes once powerful have died in the life
+of Nas Ta Bega.  The curse of the white man is already heavy upon my
+race in 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 last stand.
+
+"Bi Nai, you have seen the shadow in the hogan of Hosteen Doetin.  Glen
+Naspa has gone to her grave, and no sisters, no children, will make
+paths to the place of her sleep.  Nas Ta Bega will never have a wife--
+a child.  He sees the end.  It is the sunset of the Navajo. . . . Bi
+Nai, the Navajo is dying--dying--dying!"
+
+
+
+
+XV.  WILD JUSTICE
+
+
+A crescent moon hung above the lofty peak over the valley and a train
+of white stars ran along the bold rim of the western wall.  A few young
+frogs peeped plaintively.  The night was cool, yet had a touch of balmy
+spring, and a sweeter fragrance, as if the cedars and pinyons had
+freshened in the warm sun of that day.
+
+Shefford and Fay were walking in the aisles of moonlight and the
+patches of 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
+must take you back."
+
+"But the time's so short.  I have said nothing that I wanted to say,"
+she replied.
+
+"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 no
+plan yet.  There are only three ways to get out of this country.  By
+Stonebridge, by Kayenta and Durango, and by Red Lake.  We must choose
+one.  All are dangerous.  We must lose time finding Surprise Valley.
+I hoped the Indian could find it.  Then we'd bring Lassiter and Jane
+here and hide them near till dark, then take you and go.  That would
+give us a night'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 I
+could 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, with
+her face nearer a level with his, white and sweet in the moonlight,
+with her eyes shining and unfathomable, she was more than beautiful.
+
+"You've never been inside my house," she said.  "Come in.  I've
+something for you."
+
+"But it's late," he remonstrated.  "I suppose you've got me a cake or
+pie--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 her
+face 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
+the moon shone through the open window, giving soft, mellow, shadowy
+light.  He discerned objects, but not clearly, for his senses seemed
+absorbed in the strange warmth and intimacy of being for the first
+time with her in her 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
+the slender 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 her
+eyes seemed unnaturally large and black and fearful.
+
+Clip-clop! clip-clop!
+
+The horse stopped outside.  Then followed a metallic clink of spur
+against stirrup--thud of boots on hard ground--heavy footsteps upon
+the porch.
+
+A swift, cold contraction of throat, of breast, convulsed Shefford.
+His only 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--these
+Mormon attributes constituted that power.  And Shefford suffered a
+transformation which must have been ordered by demons.  That sudden
+flame seemed 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 outer
+room.
+
+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 he looked, 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--not through cowardice and fear, but because in one more
+moment he would kill 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 his
+pipe.  He must have seen or heard Shefford coming, for he rose with
+unwonted alacrity, and he kicked the smoldering logs into a flickering
+blaze.
+
+Shefford, realizing his deliverance, came panting, staggering into the
+light.  The Mormon uttered an exclamation.  Then he spoke, anxiously,
+but what he said was not clear in Shefford's thick and throbbing ears.
+He dropped his pipe, a sign of perturbation, and he stared.
+
+But Shefford, without a word, lunged swiftly away into the shadow of
+the cedars.  He found relief in action.  He began a steep ascent of
+the east wall, a dangerous slant he had never dared even in daylight,
+and he climbed it without a slip.  Danger, steep walls, perilous
+heights, night, and black canyon the same--these he never thought of.
+But something drove him to desperate effort, that the hours might
+seem short.
+
+   .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .
+
+The red sun was tipping the eastern wall when he returned to camp, and
+he 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
+eyes rolled.  Moreover, Joe bore a singular aspect, the exact nature
+of which did 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
+certain of 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
+you mean?  Why do you look at me like that?"
+
+"I reckon if I get your horse that'll square us.  Did you come back
+for him?  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 his
+vitals, 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
+blotted out the haggard shade of his face.
+
+"You talk like a fool," said Shefford, sharply, and he strode right up
+to 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 burly
+shoulder.
+
+"Why am I not square?  What do you mean?"
+
+Joe swallowed hard and gave himself a shake.  Then he eyed his comrade
+steadily.
+
+"I was afraid you'd kill him.  I reckon I can't blame you.  I'll help
+you get away.  And I'm a Mormon!  Do you take the hunch? . . . But
+don't deny you killed him!"
+
+"Killed whom?" gasped Shefford.
+
+"Her husband!"
+
+Shefford seemed stricken by a slow, paralyzing horror.  The Mormon's
+changing face grew huge and indistinct and awful in his sight.  He
+was clutched and shaken in Joe's rude hands, yet scarcely felt them.
+Joe seemed to be bellowing at him, but the voice was far off.  Then
+Shefford began to see, to hear through some cold and terrible deadness
+that had come between him and everything.
+
+"Say YOU killed him!" hoarsely supplicated the Mormon.
+
+Shefford had not yet control of speech.  Something in his gaze appeared
+to drive Joe frantic.
+
+"Damn you!  Tell me quick.  Say YOU killed him! . . . If you want to
+know my stand, why, I'm glad! . . . Shefford, don't look so stony!
+. . . For HER sake, say you killed him!"
+
+Shefford stood with a face as gray and still as stone.  With a groan
+the Mormon drew away from him and sank upon a log.  He bowed his head;
+his broad shoulders heaved; husky sounds came from him.  Then with a
+violent wrench 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
+a dark, 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
+had stuff in her."
+
+"Oh, Joe! . . . It's unbelievable!" cried Shefford.  "That lovely,
+innocent girl!  She couldn't--she couldn't."
+
+"She's fixed him.  Don't think of that.  It's too late.  We ought to
+have saved 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
+out Shefford 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
+fight for 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
+will make law enough to--to . . . Shefford, the thing is--get her away.
+Once out of 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 a
+consent that need not have been asked.  And Shefford had a passionate
+gratefulness toward his comrade.  That stultifying and blinding
+prejudice which had always seemed to remove a Mormon outside the
+pale of certain virtue suffered final eclipse; and Joe Lake stood
+out a man, strange and crude, but with a heart and a soul.
+
+"Joe, tell me what to do," said Shefford, with a simplicity that meant
+he needed only to be directed.
+
+"Pull yourself together.  Get your nerve back," replied Joe.  "Reckon
+you'd better show yourself over there.  No one saw you come in this
+morning--your absence from camp isn't known.  It's better you seem
+curious and shocked like the rest of us.  Come on.  We'll go over.
+And afterward we'll get the Indian, and plan."
+
+They left camp and, crossing the brook, took the shaded path toward
+the village.  Hope of saving Fay, the need of all his strength and
+nerve and cunning to effect that end, gave Shefford the supreme
+courage to overcome his horror and fear.  On that short walk under
+the pinyons to Fay's cabin he had suffered many changes of emotion,
+but never anything like this change which made him fierce and strong
+to fight, deep and crafty to plan, hard as iron to endure.
+
+The village appeared very quiet, though groups of women stood at the
+doors of cabins.  If they talked, it was very low.  Henninger and
+Smith, two of the three Mormon men living in the village, were
+standing before the closed door of the school-house.  A tigerish
+feeling thrilled Shefford when he saw them on guard there.  Shefford
+purposely avoided looking at Fay's cabin as long as he could keep
+from it.  When he had to look he saw several hooded, whispering women
+in the yard, and Beal, the other Mormon man, standing in the cabin
+door.  Upon the porch lay the long shape of a man, covered with
+blankets.
+
+Shefford experienced a horrible curiosity.
+
+"Say, Beal, I've fetched Shefford over," said Lake.  "He's pretty much
+cut up."
+
+Beal wagged a solemn head, but said nothing.  His mind seemed absent
+or steeped in gloom, and he looked up as one silently praying.
+
+Joe Lake strode upon the little porch and, reaching down, he stripped
+the 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, now
+that life had gone, that power was stripped of all disguise.  Death, in
+Shefford's years of ministry, had lain under his gaze many times and
+in a multiplicity of aspects, but never before had he seen it stamped
+so strangely.  Shefford did not need to be told that here was a man who
+believed he had conversed with God on earth, who believed he had a
+divine right to rule women, who had a will that would not yield itself
+to death utterly.  Waggoner, then, was the devil who had come masked
+to Surprise Valley, had forced a martyrdom upon Fay Larkin.  And this
+was the Mormon who had made Fay Larkin a murderess.  Shefford had hated
+him living, and now he hated him dead.  Death here was robbed of all
+nobility, of pathos, of majesty.  It was only retribution.  Wild
+justice!  But alas! that it had to be meted out by a white-soled
+girl whose innocence was as great as the unconscious savagery which
+she had assimilated from her lonely and wild environment.  Shefford
+laid a despairing curse upon his own head, and a terrible remorse
+knocked at his heart.  He had left her alone, this girl in whom love
+had made the great change--like a coward he had left her alone.  That
+curse he visited upon himself because he had been the spirit and the
+motive of this wild justice, and his should have been the deed.
+
+Joe Lake touched Shefford's arm and pointed at the haft of a knife
+protruding from Waggoner's breast.  It was a wooden haft.  Shefford
+had seen it before somewhere.
+
+Then he was struck with what perhaps Joe meant him to see--the singular
+impression the haft gave of one sweeping, accurate, powerful stroke.  A
+strong arm had driven that blade home.  The haft was sunk deep; there
+was a little depression in the cloth; no blood showed; and the weapon
+looked as if it could not be pulled out.  Shefford's thought went
+fatally and irresistibly to Fay Larkin's strong arm.  He saw her flash
+that white arm and 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 a flying leap across a crevice upon the walls.  Yes, her
+fine hand and the round, strong arm possessed the strength to have
+given that blade its singular directness and force.  The marvel was
+not in the physical action.  It hid inscrutably in the mystery of
+deadly passion rising out of a gentle and sad heart.
+
+Joe Lake drew up the blanket and shut from Shefford's fascinated gaze
+that 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 till
+they 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.
+The women 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 the
+Mormon, testily.
+
+"I've forgotten.  Was sort of bewildered.  Tell me again. . . . Who
+found--her?"
+
+"The women folks.  She laid right inside the door, in a dead faint.
+She hadn't undressed.  There was blood on her hands an' a cut or
+scratch. The women 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 did
+the talking.  They passed the school-house, and here Shefford quickened
+his step.  He could scarcely bear the feeling that rushed over him.
+And the Mormon gripped his arm as if he understood.
+
+"Shefford, which one of these younger women do you reckon your best
+friend?  Ruth?" asked Lake, earnestly.
+
+"Ruth, by all means.  Just lately I haven't seen her often.  But we've
+been 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's
+have 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 Joe
+knocked there came a sound of footsteps inside, a hand drew aside the
+window-blind, and presently the door opened.  Ruth stood there, dressed
+in somber hue.  She was a pretty, slender, blue-eyed, brown-haired
+young woman.
+
+Shefford imagined from her pallor and the set look of shock upon her
+face, that the tragedy had affected her more powerfully than it had
+the other women.  When he remembered that she had been more friendly
+with Fay Larkin than any other neighbor, he made sure he was right in
+his conjecture.
+
+"Come in," was Ruth's greeting.
+
+"No.  We just wanted to say a word.  I noticed you've not been out.  Do
+you know--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
+door to 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 came
+over 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!" he
+rejoined 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 of
+damn 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 and
+subtly 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 certain
+that 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 to
+Shefford, desperate in a bitter strait with his own manliness, but
+the power 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 he had decided, yet he could not voice the thing.
+
+"Ruth"--Shefford took up the Mormon's unfinished whisper--"if we plan
+to save 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
+can get 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, somber
+figure.  Shefford went directly to the Indian, and Joe tarried at the
+camp-fire, where he raked out some red embers and put one upon the bowl
+of his pipe.  He puffed clouds of white smoke, then found a seat beside
+the others.
+
+"Shefford, go ahead.  Talk.  It'll take a deal of talk.  I'll listen.
+Then I'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 from the village, let her lead him to Surprise Valley, rescue
+Lassiter and Jane Withersteen, and take them all out of the country.
+
+Joe Lake dubiously shook his head.  Manifestly the Surprise Valley
+part of the situation presented a new and serious obstacle.  It
+changed the whole thing.  To try to take the three out by way of
+Kayenta and Durango was not to be thought of, for reasons he briefly
+stated.  The Red Lake trail was the only one left, and if that were
+taken the chances were against Shefford.  It was five days over sand
+to Red Lake--impossible to hide a trail--and even with a day's start
+Shefford could not escape the hard-riding men who would come from
+Stonebridge.  Besides, after reaching Red Lake, there were days and
+days of desert-travel needful to avoid places 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 of
+Stonebridge, more or less, will be riding in here.  You've got to get
+away to-night with the girl--or never!  And to-morrow you've got to
+find that Lassiter and the woman in Surprise Valley.  This valley must
+be back, deep in the canyon country.  Well, you've got to come out this
+way again.  No trail through here would be safe.  Why, you'd put all
+your heads in a rope! . . . You mustn't come through this way.  It'll
+have to be tried across country, off the trails, and that means hell--
+day-and-night travel, no camp, no feed for horses--maybe no water.
+Then you'll have the best trackers in Utah like hounds on your trail."
+
+When the Mormon ceased his forceful speech there was a silence fraught
+with hopeless meaning.  He bowed his head in gloom.  Shefford, growing
+sick 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 his
+own 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
+subtle spirit 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 not
+translate.  Joe Lake listened, gave a violent start, leaped up with all
+his big frame quivering, and then fired question after question at the
+Indian.  When the Navajo had replied to all, Joe drew himself up as if
+facing an irrevocable decision which would wring his very soul.  What
+did he cast off in that moment?  What did he grapple with?  Shefford
+had no means to tell, except by the instinct which baffled him.  But
+whether the Mormon's trial was one of spiritual rending or the natural
+physical fear of a perilous, virtually impossible venture, the fact
+was he was magnificent 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 big river--
+the Colorado.  He knows the head of this canyon.  Nonnezoshe Boco it'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 runs
+down this canyon and water runs to the river.  Nas Ta Bega thinks he
+can take 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
+my end! . . . He plans to take mustangs to-day and wait with them for
+you to-night or to-morrow till you come with the girl.  You'll go get
+Lassiter and the woman out of Surprise Valley.  Then you'll strike
+east for Nonnezoshe Boco.  If possible, you must take a pack of grub.
+You may be days going down--and waiting for me at the mouth of the
+canyon, at the river."
+
+"Joe!  Where will you be?"
+
+"I'll ride like hell for Kayenta, get another horse there, and ride
+like hell for the San Juan River.  There's a big flatboat at the
+Durango crossing.  I'll go down the San Juan in that--into the big
+river.  I'll drift down by day, tie up by night, and watch for you
+at the mouth of every canyon till I come to Nonnezoshe Boco."
+
+Shefford could not believe the evidence of his ears.  He knew the
+treacherous 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
+for nothing."
+
+"The Indian will turn the trick, I tell you.  Take my hunch.  It's
+nothing for me to drift down a swift river.  I worked a ferry-boat
+once."
+
+Shefford, to whom flying straws would have seemed stable, caught the
+inflection of defiance and daring and hope of the Mormon's spirit.
+
+"What then--after you meet us at the mouth of Nonnezoshe Boco?" he
+queried.
+
+"We'll all drift down to Lee's Ferry.  That's at the head of Marble
+Canyon.  We'll get out on the south side of the river, thus avoiding
+any Mormons at the ferry.  Nas Ta Bega knows the country.  It's open
+desert--on the other side of these plateaus.  He can get horses from
+Navajos.  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 mouth of Nonnezoshe.  You must have sharp eyes.  But I forget
+the Indian.  A bird couldn't pass him. . . . And suppose Nonnezoshe
+Boco has a steep-walled, narrow mouth opening into a rapids! . . .
+Whew!  Well, the Indian will figure that, too.  Now, let's put our
+heads together and plan how to turn this end of the trick here.
+Getting the girl!"
+
+After a short colloquy it was arranged that Shefford would go to Ruth
+and talk to her of the aid she had promised.  Joe averred that this aid
+could be best given by Ruth going in her somber gown and hood to the
+school-house, and there, while Joe and Shefford engaged the guards
+outside, she would change apparel and places with Fay and let her
+come forth.
+
+"What'll they do to Ruth?" demanded Shefford.  "We can't accept her
+sacrifice if she's to suffer--or be punished."
+
+"Reckon Ruth has a strong hunch that she can get away with it.  Did
+you notice how strange she said that?  Well, they can't do much to
+her.  The bishop may damn her soul.  But--Ruth--"
+
+Here Lake hesitated and broke off.  Not improbably he had meant to say
+that of all the Mormon women in the valley Ruth was the least likely
+to suffer from punishment inflicted upon her soul.
+
+"Anyway, it's our only chance," went on Joe, "unless we kill a couple
+of men.  Ruth will gladly take what comes to help you."
+
+"All right; I consent," replied Shefford, with emotion.  "And now after
+she comes out--the supposed Ruth--what then?"
+
+"You can be natural-like.  Go with her back to Ruth's cabin.  Then
+stroll off into the cedars.  Then climb the west wall.  Meanwhile Nas
+Ta Bega will ride off with a pack of grub and Nack-yal and several
+other mustangs.  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 the trail for Kayenta and the San Juan."
+
+"Very well; that's settled," said Shefford, soberly.  "I'll go at once
+to see 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 from
+the other side--instead of going through the village," suggested Joe.
+
+Shefford approached Ruth's cabin in a roundabout way; nevertheless,
+she saw 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're
+risking.  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 as
+you think," she said, significantly.
+
+"Why?"
+
+She came close to him, and her hands clasped his arms and she looked
+up at him, her eyes darkening and her face growing paler.  "Will you
+swear to 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
+to tell the bishop and everybody.  I'll tell that Waggoner was jealous,
+that he 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 can they do to me?  My husband is dead . . . and if I have to go
+to hell to keep from marrying another married Mormon, I'll go!"
+
+In that low, passionate utterance Shefford read the death-blow to the
+old Mormon polygamous creed.  In the uplift of his spirit, in the joy
+at this revelation, he almost forgot the stern matter at hand.  Ruth
+and Joe Lake belonged to a younger generation of Mormons.  Their
+nobility in this instance was in part a revolt at the conditions of
+their lives.  Doubt was knocking at Joe Lake's heart, and conviction
+had come to this young sealed wife, bitter and hopeless while she had
+been fettered, strong and mounting now that she was free.  In a flash
+of inspiration Shefford saw the old order changing.  The Mormon creed
+might survive, but that part of it 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 a generation or two of religious
+fanatics.  Shefford had marked a different force and religious fervor
+in the younger Mormons, and now he understood them.
+
+"Ruth, you talk wildly," he said.  "But I understand.  I see.  You are
+free and you're going to stay free. . . . It stuns me to think of that
+man of many 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 to
+me. . . . Listen.  Last night about midnight he came to my window and
+woke me.  I got up and let him in.  He was in a terrible state.  I
+thought he was crazy.  He walked the floor and called on his saints
+and prayed.  When I wanted to light a lamp he wouldn't let me.  He
+was afraid I'd see his face.  But I saw well enough in the moonlight.
+And I knew something had happened.  So I soothed and coaxed him.  He
+had been a man as close-mouthed as a stone.  Yet then I got him to
+talk. . . . He had gone to Mary's, and upon entering, thought he heard
+some one with her.  She didn't answer him at first.  When he found her
+in her bedroom she was like a ghost.  He accused her.  Her silence made
+him furious.  Then he berated her, brought down the wrath of God upon
+her, threatened her with damnation.  All of which she never seemed to
+hear.  But when he tried to touch 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 was all 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 when they're once roused.
+Well, I was hours up with him and finally he got over it.  He didn't
+pray any more.  He paced the room.  It was just daybreak when he said
+the wrath of God had come to him.  I tried to keep him from going back
+to Mary.  But he went. . . . An hour later the women ran to tell me he
+had been found dead at Mary's door."
+
+"Ruth--she was mad--driven--she didn't know what she--was doing," said
+Shefford, brokenly.
+
+"She was always a strange girl, more like an Indian than any one I
+ever knew.  We called her the Sago Lily.  I gave her the name.  She
+was so sweet, 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 there never will be anything come of it.  The Mormons
+will hush it up."
+
+"Ruth, time is flying," rejoined Shefford, hurriedly.  "I must go
+back to Joe.  You be ready for us when we come.  Wear something loose,
+easily thrown off, and don't forget the long hood."
+
+"I'll be ready and watching," she said.  "The sooner the better, I'd
+say."
+
+He left her and returned toward camp in the same circling route by
+which he had come.  The Indian had disappeared and so had his mustang.
+This significant fact augmented Shefford's hurried, thrilling
+excitement.  But one glance at Joe's face changed all that to a
+sudden numbness, a sinking 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.
+He saw 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.  By to-
+morrow the valley will be full as a horse-wrangler's corral. . . .
+Lucky Nas Ta Bega got away before that gang rode in.  Now things won't
+look as queer as they might have looked.  The Indian took a pack of
+grub, six mustangs, 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.  Reckon you can look for a running fight.  For now, as soon
+as your flight is discovered, Shadd will hit your trail.  He's in with
+the Mormons.  You know him--what you'll have to deal with.  But the
+advantage will all be yours.  You can ambush the trail."
+
+"We're in for it.  And the sooner we're off the better," replied
+Shefford, grimly.
+
+"Reckon that's gospel.  Well--come on!"
+
+The Mormon strode off, and Shefford, catching up with him, kept at his
+side.  Shefford's mind was full, but Joe's dark and gloomy face did
+not invite communication.  They entered the pinyon grove and passed
+the cabin where the tragedy had been enacted.  A tarpaulin had been
+stretched across the front porch.  Beal was not in sight, nor were
+any of the women.
+
+"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
+the Stonebridge trail.  But he'll leave that, climb the rocks, then
+hide the outfit and come back to watch for you.  Reckon he'll see you
+when you top the wall."
+
+They passed on into the heart of the village.  Joe tarried at the
+window of a cabin, and passed a few remarks to a woman there, and
+then he inquired for Mother Smith at her house.  When they left here
+the Mormon gave Shefford a nudge.  Then they separated, Joe going
+toward the school-house, while Shefford bent his steps in the
+direction of Ruth's home.
+
+Her door opened before he had a chance to knock.  He entered.  Ruth,
+white and 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
+here and she said Elder Smith told some one that Mary hadn't been
+offered anything to eat yet.  So I'm taking her a little.  It'll be
+a good excuse for me to get in the school-house to see her.  I can
+throw off this dress and she can put it on in a minute.  Then the hood.
+I
+mustn't forget to hide 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
+make me 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 of
+soul-hunger in her eyes.  Shefford did not misunderstand her.  She did
+not mean love, although it was a yearning for real love that she
+mutely expressed.
+
+"Care!  I shall care all my life," he said, with strong feeling.  "I
+shall never 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!" he
+said, huskily.
+
+Then he released her.  She adjusted the hood and, taking up a little
+tray which held food covered with a napkin, she turned to the door.
+He opened it 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 it
+were to be measured by Shefford's emotion the distance would have been
+unending.  The sacrifice offered by Ruth and Joe would have been noble
+under any circumstances had they been Gentiles or persons with no
+particular religion, but, considering that they were Mormons, that
+Ruth had been a sealed-wife, that Joe had been brought up under the
+strange, secret, and binding creed, their action was no less than
+tremendous in its import.  Shefford took it to mean vastly more than
+loyalty to him and pity for Fay Larkin.  As Ruth and Joe had arisen to
+this height, so perhaps would other young Mormons, have arisen.  It
+needed only the situation, the climax, to focus these long-insulated,
+slow-developing and inquiring minds upon the truth--that one wife,
+one mother of children, for one man at one time as a law of nature,
+love, and righteousness.  Shefford felt as if he were marching with
+the whole younger generation of Mormons, as if somehow he had been
+a humble instrument in the working out of their destiny, in the
+awakening that was to eliminate from their religion the only thing
+which kept it from being as good for man, and perhaps as true, as
+any other religion.
+
+And then suddenly he turned the corner of school-house to encounter
+Joe talking with the Mormon Henninger.  Elder Smith was not present.
+
+"Why, hello, Ruth!" greeted Joe. "You've fetched Mary some dinner.
+Now that's good of you."
+
+"May I go in?" asked Ruth.
+
+"Reckon so," replied Henninger, scratching his head.  He appeared to
+be tractable, and probably was good-natured under pleasant conditions.
+"She ought to have somethin' to eat.  An' nobody 'pears--to have
+remembered that--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 Elder
+Smith 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 Mormon
+a natural and unagitated front.  When all his internal structure seemed
+to be in a state of turmoil he did not see how it was possible to keep
+the fact from showing in his face.  So he turned away and took aimless
+steps 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
+the grass."
+
+"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
+of controlling his mind and expression when the door opened and Joe
+stalked out.  He had his sombrero pulled down so that it hid the
+upper half of his face.  His lips were a shade off healthy color.
+He stood there with his back to the door.
+
+"Say, what Mary needs is quiet--to be left alone," he said.  "Ruth says
+if she rests, sleeps a little, she won't get fever. . . . Henninger,
+don't let 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 to
+throbbing.  Joe opened it with a strong and vigorous sweep that
+meant more 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 stepped
+uncertainly out.  She appeared to be Ruth.  Shefford's heart stood
+still because she looked so like Ruth.  But she did not step steadily,
+she seemed 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 see here, Henninger--"
+
+Shefford led the girl away with a hand in apparent carelessness on
+her arm.  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 as to keep her from walking too fast.  No one, however,
+appeared to observe them.  When they passed Ruth's house then
+Shefford began to lose his fear that this was not Fay Larkin.  He
+was far from being calm or clear-sighted.  He thought he recognized
+that free step; nevertheless, he could not make sure.  When they
+passed under the trees, crossed the brook, and turned down along
+the west wall, then doubt ceased in Shefford's mind.  He knew this
+was not Ruth.  Still, so strange was his agitation, so keen his
+suspense, that he needed confirmation of ear, of eye.  He wanted
+to hear her voice, to see her face.  Yet just as strangely there
+was a twist of feeling, a reluctance, a sadness that kept off the
+moment.
+
+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 and skill on the steep wall!  Still, though he knew her, he
+perversely clung to the unreality of the moment.  But when a long braid
+of dead-gold hair tumbled from under the hood, then his heart leaped.
+That identified Fay Larkin.  He had freed her.  He was taking her away.
+Then a sadness embittered his joy.
+
+As always before, she distanced him in the ascent to the top.  She went
+on without looking back.  But Shefford had an irresistible desire to
+took again and the last time at this valley where he had suffered and
+loved so much.
+
+
+
+
+XVI.  SURPRISE VALLEY
+
+
+From the summit of the wall the plateau waved away in red and yellow
+ridges, with here and there little valleys green with cedar and pinyon.
+
+Upon one of these ridges, silhouetted against the sky, appeared the
+stalking figure of the Indian.  He had espied the fugitives.  He
+disappeared in a niche, and presently came again into view round a
+corner 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
+pointed down the niche, which was evidently an opening into one of
+the shallow canyon.  Then he led the way, walking swiftly.  It was
+Shefford, and not Fay, who had difficulty in keeping close to him.
+This speed caused Shefford to become more alive to the business,
+instead of the feeling, of the flight.  The Indian entered a crack
+between low cliffs--a very narrow canyon full of rocks and clumps
+of cedars--and in a half-hour or less he came to where the mustangs
+were halted among some cedars.  Three of the mustangs, including
+Nack-yal, were saddled; one bore a small pack, and the remaining
+two had blankets strapped on their backs.
+
+"Fay, can you ride in that long skirt?" asked Shefford.  How strange
+it seemed that his first words to her were practical when all his
+impassioned thought had been only mute!  But the instant he spoke
+he experienced a relief, a relaxation.
+
+"I'll take it off," replied Fay, just as practically.  And in a
+twinkling she slipped out of both waist and skirt.  She had worn
+them over the short white-flannel dress with which Shefford had
+grown familiar.
+
+As Nack-yal appeared to be the safest mustang for her to ride, Shefford
+helped her upon him and then attended to the stirrups.  When he had
+adjusted them to the proper length he drew the bridle over Nack-yal's
+head and, upon handing it to her, found himself suddenly looking into
+her face.  She had taken off the hood, too.  The instant there eyes
+met he realized that she was strangely afraid to meet his glance, as
+he was to meet hers.  That seemed natural.  But her face was flushed
+and there were unmistakable signs upon it of growing excitement, of
+mounting happiness.  Save for that fugitive glance she would have
+been the Fay Larkin of yesterday.  How he had expected her to look
+he did not know, but it was not like this.  And never had he felt
+her strange quality of simplicity so 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
+not tell them of the--the--about what happened last night."
+
+Her beautiful, grave, and troubled glance returned to meet his, and he
+received a shock that he considered was amaze.  And after more swift
+consideration he believed he was amazed because that look, instead of
+betraying fear or gloom or any haunting shadow of darkness, betrayed
+apprehension for him--grave, sweet, troubled love for him.  She was
+not thinking of herself at all--of what he might think of her, of a
+possible gulf between them, of a vast and terrible change in the
+relation of soul to soul.  He experienced a profound gladness.  Though
+he could not understand her, he was happy that the horror of Waggoner's
+death had escaped her.  He loved her, he meant to give his life to her,
+and right then and there he accepted the burden of her deed and meant
+to bear it without ever letting her know of the shadow between them.
+
+"Fay, we'll forget--what's behind us," he said.  "Now to find Surprise
+Valley.  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, Fay in
+advance.  Presently they rode out of this canyon up to level cedar-
+patched, solid rock, and here Fay turned straight west.  Evidently she
+had been over the ground before.  The heights to which he had climbed
+with her were up to the left, great slopes and looming promontories.
+And the course she chose was as level and easy as any he could have
+picked out in that direction.
+
+When a mile or more of this up-and-down travel had been traversed
+Fay halted 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 Fay headed straight for this rougher country.
+Thereafter from time to time she repeated this action.
+
+"Fay, how do you know you're going in the right direction?" asked
+Shefford, 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, before
+must be the right way, because I saw it when they brought me from
+Surprise Valley."
+
+Shefford had to acknowledge that she was following an Indian's instinct
+for ground he had once covered.
+
+Still Shefford began to worry, and finally dropped back to question
+Nas Ta 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
+his own 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
+and the faster she traveled.  She made several miles an hour, and
+about the middle of the afternoon entered upon the more broken region
+of the plateau.  View became restricted.  Low walls, and ruined cliffs
+of red rock with cedars at their base, and gullies growing into canyon
+and canyon opening into larger ones--these were passed and crossed and
+climbed and rimmed in travel that grew more difficult as the going
+became wilder.  Then there was a steady ascent, up and up all the
+time, though not steep, until another level, green with cedar and
+pinyon, was reached.
+
+It reminded Shefford of the forest near the mouth of the Sagi.  It was
+so dense he could not see far ahead of Fay, and often he lost sight of
+her entirely.  Presently he rode out of the forest into a strip of
+purple sage.  It ended abruptly, and above that abrupt line, seemingly
+far away, rose a long, red wall.  Instantly he recognized that to be
+the opposite wall of a canyon which as yet he could not see.
+
+Fay was acting strangely and he hurried forward.  She slipped off Nack-
+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, her
+attitude one of wild and eloquent significance.
+
+Shefford ran, too, and as he ran the red wall in his eager sight
+seemed to enlarge downward, deeper and deeper, and then it merged
+into a strip of green.
+
+Suddenly beneath him yawned a red-walled gulf, a deceiving gulf seen
+through 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 swiftly
+downward, and her plaintive cry fitted the wildness of her manner and
+the 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
+one thing--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 sought for 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 a
+thousand feet wide and more than that in depth.  It was easy to descend
+because there were so many rocks waist-high that afforded a handhold.
+Shefford marked, however, that Fay never took advantage of these.  More
+than once he paused to watch her.  Swiftly she went down; she stepped
+from rock to rock; lightly she crossed cracks and pits; she ran along
+the sharp and broken edge of a long ledge; she poised on a pointed
+stone and, sure-footed as a mountain-sheep, she sprang to another that
+had scarce surface for a foothold; her moccasins flashed, seemed to
+hold wondrously on any angle; and when a rock tipped or slipped with
+her she leaped to a surer stand.  Shefford watched her performance,
+so swift, agile, so perfectly balanced, showing such wonderful accord
+between eye and foot; and then when he swept his gaze down upon that
+wild valley where she had roamed alone for twelve years he marveled
+no more.
+
+The farther down he got the greater became the size of rocks, until he
+found himself amid huge pieces of cliff as large as houses.  He lost
+sight of Fay entirely, and he anxiously threaded a narrow, winding,
+descending way between the broken masses.  Finally he came out upon
+flat rock again. Fay stood on another rim, looking down.  He saw that
+the slide had moved far out into the valley, and the lower part of it
+consisted of great sections of wall.  In fact, the base of the great
+wall had just moved out with the avalanche, and this much of it held
+its vertical position.  Looking upward, Shefford was astounded and
+thrilled to 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 they
+brought me up.  Here are the sticks they used.  They stuck them in
+this crack, down to that ledge."
+
+Shefford ran to her side and looked down.  There was a narrow split
+in this section of wall and it was perhaps sixty feet in depth.  The
+floor of 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 Indian
+reached his side.  He had no sooner looked than he proceeded to act.
+Selecting one of the sticks, which were strong pieces of cedar, well
+hewn and trimmed, he jammed it between the walls of the crack till it
+stuck fast.  Then sitting astride this one he jammed in another some
+three feet below.  When he got down upon that one it was necessary for
+Shefford to drop him a third stick.  In a comparatively short time
+the Indian reached the ledge below.  Then he called for the lassos.
+Shefford threw them down.  His next move was an attempt to assist Fay,
+but she slipped out of his grasp and descended the ladder with a
+swiftness that made him hold his breath.  Still, when his turn came,
+her spirit so governed him that he went down as swiftly, and even
+leaped sheer the last 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
+the valley.  Shefford folded his vest, put it round Fay, and slipped a
+loop of the lasso under her arms.  Then he and Nas Ta Bega lowered
+her to the grass below.  Fay, throwing off the loop, bounded away like
+a wild creature, uttering the strangest cries he had ever heard, and
+she disappeared along the wall.
+
+"I'll go down," said Shefford to the Indian.  "You stay here to help
+pull us up."
+
+Hand over hand Shefford descended, and when his feet touched the grass
+he experienced a shock of the most singular exultation.
+
+"In Surprise Valley!" he breathed, softly.  The dream that had come
+to him with his friend's story, the years of waiting, wondering, and
+then the long, fruitless, hopeless search in the desert uplands--
+these were in his mind as he turned along the wall where Fay had
+disappeared.  He faced a wide terrace, green with grass and moss and
+starry with strange white flowers, and dark-foliaged, spear-pointed
+spruce-trees.  Below the terrace sloped a bench covered with thick
+copse, and this merged into a forest of dwarf oaks, and beyond
+that was a beautiful strip of white aspens, their leaves quivering
+in the stillness.  The air was close, sweet, warm, fragrant, and
+remarkably dry.  It reminded him of the air he had smelled in dry
+caves under cliffs.  He reached a point from where he saw a meadow
+dotted with red-and-white-spotted cattle and little black burros.
+There were many of them.  And he remembered with a start the agony
+of toil and peril Venters had endured bringing the progenitors of
+this stock into the valley.  What a strange, wild, beautiful story
+it all was!  But a story connected with this valley could not have
+been otherwise.
+
+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 green slope and mossy terrace of sharp-tipped spruces--and
+all this led the eye irresistibly up to the red wall where a vast,
+dark, wonderful cavern yawned, with its rust-colored streaks of stain
+on the wall, and the queer 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 not
+as recently as the last six months.  There was a scant shock of corn
+and many meager standing stalks.  He became aware of a low, whining
+hum and a fragrance overpowering in its sweetness.  And there round
+another corner of wall he came upon an orchard all pink and white in
+blossom and melodious with the buzz and hum of innumerable bees.
+
+He crossed a little stream that had been dammed, went along a pond,
+down beside an irrigation-ditch that furnished water to orchard and
+vineyard, and from there he strode into a beautiful cove between two
+jutting corners of red wall.  It was level and green and the spruces
+stood gracefully everywhere.  Beyond their dark trunks he saw caves
+in the wall.
+
+Suddenly the fragrance of blossom was overwhelmed by the stronger
+fragrance of smoke from a wood fire.  Swiftly he strode under the
+spruces.  Quail fluttered before him as tame as chickens.  Big gray
+rabbits scarcely moved out of his way.  The branches above him were
+full of 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.
+Her face worked in noble emotion.  Shefford seemed to see the ghost
+of that fair beauty Venters had said was Jane Withersteen's.  Her
+hair was gray.  Near her stood a lean, stoop-shouldered man whose
+long hair was perfectly 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 face
+broke the spell.  He leaped forward and his strong hands reached for
+the woman and the man.
+
+"Jane Withersteen! . . . Lassiter!  I have found you!"
+
+"Oh, sir, who are you?" she cried, with rich and deep and quivering
+voice.  "This child came running--screaming.  She could not speak.
+We thought she had gone mad--and escaped to come back to us."
+
+"I am John Shefford," he replied, swiftly.  "I am a friend of Bern
+Venters--of his wife Bess.  I learned your story.  I came west.  I've
+searched a year.  I found Fay.  And we've come to take you away."
+
+"You found Fay?  But that masked Mormon who forced her to sacrifice
+herself to save us! . . . What of him?  It's not been so many long
+years--I remember what my father was--and Dyer and Tull--all those
+cruel churchmen."
+
+"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
+with steady 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 be tracked--pursued.  But we've horses and an Indian
+guide.  We'll get away. . . . I think it better to leave here at once.
+There's no telling how soon 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't
+talk--my heart hurts so!"
+
+Jane Withersteen's face shone with an exceedingly radiant light, and a
+glory 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
+as if 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 a baby."
+
+"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 just the same."
+
+How cool, easy, slow, and mild this Lassiter seemed!  Had the man grown
+old, Shefford wondered?  The past to him manifestly was only yesterday,
+and the danger of the present was as nothing.  Looking in Lassiter's
+face, Shefford was baffled.  If he had not remembered the greatness of
+this old gun-man he might have believed that the lonely years in the
+valley had unbalanced his mind.  In an hour like this coolness seemed
+inexplicable--assuredly would have been impossible in an ordinary man.
+Yet what hid behind that drawling coolness?  What was the meaning of
+those long, sloping, shadowy lines of the face?  What spirit lay in the
+deep, mild, clear eyes?  Shefford experienced a sudden check to what
+had been his first growing impression of a drifting, broken old man.
+
+"Lassiter, pack what little you can carry--mustn't be much--and we'll
+get out of here," said Shefford.
+
+"I shore will.  Reckon I ain't a-goin' to need a pack-train.  We saved
+the clothes we wore in here.  Jane never thought it no use.  But I
+figgered we might need them some day.  They won't be stylish, but I
+reckon they'll do better '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.  "And
+there were two blacks--the grandest horses I ever saw.  Black Star and
+Night!  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 big devil of a sorrel.  His name was Wrangle.  Did
+Venters ever tell you about him--an' thet race with Jerry Card?"
+
+"A hundred times!" replied Shefford.
+
+"Wrangle run the blacks off their legs.  But Jane never would believe
+thet.  An' I couldn't change her all these years. . . . Reckon mebbe
+we'll get 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
+are livin' an' we'll get to see them."
+
+But Jane Withersteen only clasped Fay in her arms, and looked at
+Lassiter with wet and glistening eyes.
+
+Shefford told them to hurry and come to the cliff where the ascent
+from the valley was to be made.  He thought best to leave them alone
+to make their preparations and bid farewell to the cavern home they
+had known for so long.
+
+Then he strolled back along the wall, loitering here to gaze into
+a cave, and there to study crude red paintings in the nooks.  And
+sometimes he halted thoughtfully and did not see anything.  At length
+he rounded a corner of cliff to espy Nas Ta Bega sitting upon the
+ledge, reposeful and watchful as usual.  Shefford told the Indian they
+would be climbing out soon, and then he sat down to wait and let his
+gaze rove over the valley.
+
+He might have sat there a long while, so sad and reflective and
+wondering was his thought, but it seemed a very short time till Fay
+came in sight with her free, swift grace, and Lassiter and Jane some
+distance behind.  Jane carried a small bundle and Lassiter had a sack
+over his shoulder that appeared no inconsiderable burden.
+
+"Them beans shore is heavy," he drawled, as he deposited the sack upon
+the ground.
+
+Shefford curiously took hold of the sack and was amazed to find that a
+second 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 possible
+it can be. . . . Lassiter, we've a long, rough trail.  We've got to
+pack light--"
+
+"Wal, I ain't a-goin' to leave this here sack behind.  Reckon I've been
+all 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 case
+considerably.  A sack of gold nuggets or grains, or beans, as you call
+them, certainly must not be left behind. . . . Come, now, we'll tackle
+this climbing job."
+
+He called up to the Indian and, grasping the rope, began to walk up
+the first slant, and then by dint of hand-over-hand effort and climbing
+with knees and feet he succeeded, with Nas Ta Bega's help, in making
+the ledge.  Then he let down the rope to haul up the sack and bundle.
+That done, he directed Fay to fasten the noose round her as he had
+fixed it before.  When she had complied he called to her to hold
+herself out from the 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 that
+almost perpendicular wall by slipping her hands along the rope and
+stepping as she pulled herself up.  There, if never before, he saw
+the fruit of her years of experience on steep slopes.  Only such
+experience could 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
+than Shefford had supposed him capable of.  From the ledge they turned
+their attention to the narrow crack with its ladder of sticks.  Fay
+had already ascended and now hung over the rim, her white face and
+golden hair framed 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
+these years," replied Lassiter.
+
+This upper half of the climb bid fair to be as difficult for Jane, if
+not so painful, as the lower.  It was necessary for the Indian to go
+up and drop the rope, which was looped around her, and then, with him
+pulling from above and Shefford assisting Jane as she climbed, she was
+finally gotten up without mishap.  When Lassiter reached the level they
+rested a little while and then faced the great slide of jumbled rocks.
+Fay led the way, light, supple, tireless, and Shefford never ceased
+looking at her.  At last they surmounted the long slope and, winding
+along 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 every
+decision or action of the immediate future.  The Indian said he had
+seen a pool of water in a rocky hole, that the day was spent, that
+here was a little 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 such preparations for camp and supper as their light pack
+afforded.  The question of beds was easily answered, for the mats
+of soft needles under pinyon and cedar would be comfortable places
+to sleep.
+
+When Shefford felt free again the sun was setting.  Lassiter and Jane
+were walking under the trees.  The Indian had returned to camp.  But
+Fay was missing.  Shefford imagined he knew where to find her, and upon
+going 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
+to stay 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,
+shadowy beneath them.  The opposite wall seemed fired by crimson flame,
+save far down at its base, which the sun no longer touched.  And the
+dark line of 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, split the darker spaces; deep down at the floor the forest
+darkened, the strip of aspen paled, the meadow turned gray; and all
+under the shelves and in the great caverns a purple gloom deepened.
+Then the sun set.  And swiftly twilight was there below while day
+lingered above. On the opposite wall the fire died and the stone
+grew cold.
+
+A canyon night-hawk voiced his lonely, weird, and melancholy cry, and
+it seemed to pierce and mark the silence.
+
+A pale star, peering out of a sky that had begun to turn blue, marked
+the end of twilight.  And all the purple shadows moved and hovered and
+changed till, softly and mysteriously, they embraced black night.
+
+Beautiful, wild, strange, silent Surprise Valley!  Shefford saw it
+before and beneath him, a dark abyss now, the abode of loneliness.
+He imagined faintly what was in Fay Larkin's heart.  For the last
+time she had seen the sun set there and night come with its dead
+silence and sweet mystery and phantom shadows, its velvet blue sky
+and white trains of stars.
+
+He, who had dreamed and longed and searched, found that the hour had
+been incalculable for him in its import.
+
+
+
+
+XVII.  THE TRAIL TO NONNEZOSHE
+
+
+When Shefford awoke next morning and sat up on his bed of pinyon boughs
+the 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
+were haltered near by; Jane Withersteen combed out her long, tangled
+tresses with a crude wooden comb; and Fay Larkin was not in sight.
+As she had 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
+and purple shadows, and now it was pink-walled, clear and rosy and
+green and white, with wonderful shafts of gold slanting down from the
+notched eastern rim.  Fay stood on the promontory, and Shefford did
+not break the spell of her silent farewell to her wild home.  A strange
+emotion abided with him and he knew he would always, all his life,
+regret leaving Surprise 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
+soon all was in readiness for the flight.  Fay was given Nack-yal, Jane
+the saddled horse Shefford had ridden, and Lassiter the Indian's roan.
+Shefford and Nas Ta Bega were to ride the blanketed mustangs, and the
+sixth and last one bore the pack.  Nas Ta Bega set off, leading this
+horse; the others of the party lined in behind, with Shefford at the
+rear.
+
+Nas Ta Bega led at a brisk trot, and sometimes, on level stretches
+of ground, at an easy canter; and Shefford had a grim realization
+of what this flight was going to be for these three fugitives, now
+so unaccustomed to riding.  Jane and Lassiter, however, needed no
+watching, and showed they had never forgotten how to manage a horse.
+The Indian back-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 strange ground from that which he had been over.  In another hour
+they got out of 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 Bega disappeared; and then the others of the party.  When
+Shefford turned the corner of wall he saw a short strip of bare, rocky
+ground with only sky beyond.  The Indian and his followers had halted
+in a group.  Shefford rode to them, halted himself, and in one
+sweeping glance realized the meaning of their silent gaze.  But
+immediately Nas Ta Bega started down; 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 great yellow-
+and-purple corrugated world of distance, now on a level with his
+eyes.  He was drawn by the beauty and the grandeur of that scene and
+transfixed by the realization that he had dared to venture to find a
+way through this vast, wild, and upflung fastness.  He kept looking
+afar, sweeping the three-quartered circle of horizon till his judgment
+of distance was confounded and his sense of proportion dwarfed one
+moment and magnified the next.  Then he withdrew his fascinated gaze
+to adopt the Indian's method of studying unlimited spaces in the
+desert--to look with slow, contracted eyes from near to far.
+
+His companions had begun to zigzag down a long slope, bare of rock,
+with yellow gravel patches showing between the scant strips of green,
+and here and there a scrub-cedar.  Half a mile down, the slope merged
+into green level.  But close, keen gaze made out this level to be a
+rolling plain, growing darker green, with blue lines of ravines, and
+thin, undefined spaces that might be mirage.  Miles and miles it swept
+and relied and heaved to lose its waves in apparent darker level.  A
+round, red rock stood isolated, marking the end of the barren plain,
+and farther on were other round rocks, all isolated, all of different
+shape.  They resembled huge grazing cattle.  But as Shefford gazed,
+and his sight gained strength from steadily holding it to separate
+features these rocks were strangely magnified.  They grew and grew into
+mounds, castles, domes, crags--great, red, wind-carved buttes.  One by
+one they drew his gaze to the wall of upflung rock.  He seemed to see
+a thousand domes of a thousand shapes and colors, and among them a
+thousand blue clefts, each one a little mark in his sight, yet which
+he knew was a canyon.  So far he gained some idea of what he saw.  But
+beyond this wide area of curved lines rose another wall, dwarfing the
+lower, dark red, horizon--long, magnificent in frowning boldness, and
+because of its limitless deceiving surfaces, breaks, and lines,
+incomprehensible to the sight of man.  Away to the eastward began a
+winding, ragged, blue line, looping back upon itself, and then winding
+away again, growing wider and bluer.  This line was the San Juan Canyon.
+Where was Joe Lake at that moment?  Had he embarked yet on the river--
+did that blue line, so faint, so deceiving, hold him and the boat?
+Almost it was impossible to believe.  Shefford followed the blue line
+all its length, a hundred miles, he fancied, down toward the west where
+it joined a dark, purple, shadowy cleft.  And this was the Grand Canyon
+of the Colorado.  Shefford's eye swept along with that 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, as he swung
+in fascinated gaze, it split the wonderful wall--a vast plateau now
+with great red peaks and yellow mesas.  The canyon was full of purple
+smoke.  It turned, it gaped, it lost itself and showed again in that
+chaos 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.
+The tranquillity of lesser spaces was not here manifest.  Sound,
+movement, life, seemed to have no fitness here.  Ruin was there and
+desolation and decay.  The meaning of the ages was flung at him, and a
+man became nothing.  When he had gazed at the San Juan Canyon he had
+been appalled at 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 and majestic wilderness, in which the Grand Canyon was
+only a dim line, he strangely lost his terror and something else came
+to him from across the shining spaces.  If Nas Ta Bega led them safely
+down to the river, if Joe Lake met them at the mouth of Nonnezoshe
+Boco, if they survived the rapids of that terrible gorge, then
+Shefford would have to face his soul and 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 alternated
+between this strange intimation of faith, this subtle uplift of hid
+spirit, and the growing gloom and shadow in his love for Fay Larkin.
+Not that 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 for Fay's crime, and he saw with light, with deeper sadness,
+with sterner truth.
+
+More than once the Indian turned on his mustang to look up the slope
+and the light flashed from his dark, somber face.  Shefford
+instinctively looked back himself, and then realized the unconscious
+motive of the action.  Deep within him there had been a premonition of
+certain pursuit, and the Indian's reiterated backward glance had at
+length brought the feeling upward.  Thereafter, as they descended,
+Shefford gradually added to his already wrought emotions a mounting
+anxiety.
+
+No sign of a trail showed where the base of the slope rolled out to
+meet the green plain.  The earth was gravelly, with dark patches of
+heavy silt, almost like cinders; and round, black rocks, flinty and
+glassy, cracked away from the hoofs of the mustangs.  There was a level
+bench a mile wide, then a ravine, and then an ascent, and after that,
+rounded ridge and ravine, one after the other, like huge swells of a
+monstrous sea.  Indian paint-brush vied in its scarlet hue with the
+deep magenta of cactus.  There was no sage.  Soapweed and meager grass
+and a bunch of cactus here and there lent the green to that barren;
+and it was green only at a distance.  Nas Ta Bega kept on a steady,
+even trot.  The sun climbed.  The wind rose and whipped dust from
+under the mustangs.
+
+Shefford looked back often, and the farther out in the plain he
+reached the higher loomed the plateau they had descended; and as he
+faced ahead again the lower sank the red-domed and castled horizon to
+the fore.  The ravines became deeper, with dry rock bottoms, and the
+ridge-tops sharper, with outcroppings of yellow, crumbling ledges.
+Once across the central depression of that plain a gradual ascent
+became evident, and the round rocks grew clearer in sight, began to
+rise shine and grow.  And thereafter every slope brought them nearer.
+
+The sun was straight overhead and hot when Nas Ta Bega halted the
+party under the first lonely scrub-cedar.  They all dismounted to
+stretch their limbs, and rest the horses.  It was not a talkative
+group, Lassiter's comments on the never-ending green plain elicited no
+response.  Jane Withersteen looked afar with the past in her eyes.
+Shefford felt Fay's wistful glance and could not meet it; indeed, he
+seemed to want to hide something from her.  The Indian bent a falcon
+gaze on the distant slope, and Shefford did not like that intent,
+searching, steadfast watchfulness.  Suddenly Nas Ta Bega stiffened
+and whipped the halter he held.
+
+"Ugh!" he exclaimed.
+
+All eyes followed the direction of his dark hand.  Puffs of dust rose
+from the base of the long slope they had descended; tiny dark specks
+moved 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 did
+not look at either of them.  The Indian began swiftly to tighten the
+saddle-cinches of his roan, and Shefford did likewise for Nack-yal.
+Then Shefford drew his rifle out of the saddle-sheath and Joe Lake's
+big guns from 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 grew
+clawlike as he reached for the guns.  He threw open the cylinders,
+spilled out the shells, snapped back the cylinders.  Then he went
+through motions too swift for Shefford to follow.  But Shefford heard
+the hammers falling so swiftly they blended their clicks almost in one
+sound.  Lassiter reloaded the guns with a speed comparable with the
+other actions.  A remarkable transformation had come over him.  He did
+not seem the same man.  The mild eyes had changed; the long, shadowy,
+sloping lines were tense cords; and there was a cold, ashy shade on
+his face,
+
+"Twelve years!" he muttered to himself.  "I dropped them old guns back
+there where I rolled the rock. . . . Twelve years!"
+
+Shefford realized the twelve years were as if they had never been.  And
+he would rather have had this old gun-man with him than a dozen
+ordinary men.
+
+The Indian spoke rapidly in Navajo, saying that once in the rocks they
+were safe.  Then, after another look at the distant dust-puffs, he
+wheeled his mustang.
+
+It was doubtful if the party could have kept near him had they been
+responsible for the gait of their mounts.  The fact was that the way
+the called to his mustang or some leadership in the one rode drew the
+others to a like trot or climb or canter.  For a long time Shefford
+did not turn round; he knew what to expect.  And when he did turn he
+was startled at the gain made by the pursuers.  But he was encouraged
+as well by the looming, red, rounded peaks seemingly now so close.
+He could see the dark splits between the sloping curved walls, the
+pinyon patches in the amphitheater under the circled walls.  That was
+a wild place they were approaching, and, once in there, he believed
+pursuit would be useless.  However, there were miles to go still,
+and those hard-riding devils behind made alarming decrease in the
+intervening distance.  Shefford could see the horses plainly now.
+How they made the dust fly!  He counted up to six--and then the dust
+and moving line caused the others to be indistinguishable.
+
+At last only a long, gently rising slope separated the fugitives from
+that labyrinthine network of wildly carved rock.  But it was the clear
+air that made the distance seem short.  Mile after mile the mustangs
+climbed, and when they were perhaps half-way across that last slope to
+the 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 Bega
+kept his mustang at a steady walk, in spite of the gaining pursuers.
+There came a point, however, when the Indian, reaching comparatively
+level ground, put his mount to a swinging canter.  The other mustangs
+broke into the same gait.
+
+It became a race then, with the couple of miles between fugitives
+and pursuers only imperceptibly lessened.  Nas Ta Bega had saved his
+mustangs and Shadd had ridden his to the limit.  Shefford kept looking
+back, gripping his rifle, hoping it would not come to a fight, yet
+slowly losing that reluctance.
+
+Sage began to show on the slope, and other kinds of brush and cedars
+straggled everywhere.  The great rocks loomed closer, the red color
+mixed with yellow, and the slopes lengthening out, not so steep, yet
+infinitely longer than they had seemed at a distance.
+
+Shefford ceased to feel the dry wind in his face.  They were already
+in the lee of the wall.  He could see the rock-squirrels scampering to
+their holes.  The mustangs valiantly held to the gait, and at last the
+Indian disappeared between two rounded comers of cliff.  The others
+were close behind.  Shefford wheeled once more.  Shadd and his gang
+were a mile in the 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 and
+follow.  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 climbed
+straight up for a while, and then wound around a swell, to turn this
+way and that, always going up.  Shefford began to see similar mounds
+of rock all around him, of every shape that could be called a curve.
+There were yellow domes far above, and small red domes far below.
+Ridges ran from one hill of rock to another.  There were no abrupt
+breaks, but holes and pits and caves were everywhere, and occasionally,
+deep down, an amphitheater green with cedar and pinyon.  The Indian
+appeared to have a clear idea of where he wanted to go, though there
+was no vestige of a trail on those bare slopes.  At length Shefford
+was high enough to see back 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 his
+followers another and a higher wall beyond, with a ridged, bare, wild,
+and scalloped depression between.  Here footing began to be precarious
+for both man and beast.  When the ascent of the second wall began it
+was necessary to zigzag up, slowly and carefully, taking advantage of
+every level bulge or depression.  They must have consumed half an hour
+mounting this slope to the summit.  Once there, Shefford drew a sharp
+breath with both backward and forward glances.  Shadd and his gang, in
+single file, showed dark upon the bare stone ridge behind.  And to the
+fore there twisted and dropped and curved the most dangerous slopes
+Shefford had ever seen.  The fugitives had reached the height of stone
+wall, of the divide, and many of the drops upon this side were
+perpendicular and too steep to see the bottom.
+
+Nas Ta Bega led along the ridge-top and then started down, following
+the waves in the rock.  He came out upon a round promontory from which
+there could not have been any turning of a horse.  The long slant
+leading down was at an angle Shefford declared impossible for the
+animals.  Yet the Indian started down.  His mustang needed urging, but
+at last edged upon the steep descent.  Shefford and the others had to
+hold back and wait.  It was thrilling to see the intelligent mustang.
+He did not step.  He slid his fore hoofs a few inches at a time and
+kept directly behind the Indian.  If he fell he would knock Nas Ta
+Bega off his feet and they would both roll down together.  There was
+no doubt in Shefford's mind that the mustang knew this as well as the
+Indian.  Foot by foot they worked down to a swelling bulge, and here
+Nas Ta Bega left his mustang and came back for the pack-horse.  It was
+even more difficult to get this beast down.  Then the Indian called for
+Lassiter and Jane and Fay to come down.  Shefford began to keep a sharp
+lookout behind and above, and did not see how the three fared on the
+slope, but evidently there was no mishap.  Nas Ta Bega mounted the
+slope again, and at the moment sight of Shadd's dark bays silhouetted
+against the sky caused Shefford to call out:
+
+"We've got to hurry!"
+
+The Indian led one mustang and called to the others.  Shefford stepped
+close 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 upon
+the rim of a steep-walled amphitheater.  Along the rim was a yard-wide
+level, with the chasm to the left and steep slope to the right.  There
+was no time to flinch at the danger, when an even greater danger
+menaced from 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 was surefooted and his confidence helped the others.  At the apex
+of the curve the only course led away from the rim, and here there was
+no level.  Four of the mustangs slipped and slid down the smooth rock
+until they stopped in a shallow depression.  It cost time to get them
+out, to straighten pack and saddles.  Shefford thought he heard a yell
+in the rear, but he could not see anything of the gang.
+
+They rounded this precipice only to face a worse one.  Shefford's
+nerve was sorely tried when he saw steep slants everywhere, all
+apparently leading down into chasms, and no place a man, let alone a
+horse, could put a foot with safety.  Nevertheless the imperturbable
+Indian never slacked his pace.  Always he appeared to find a way, and
+he never had to turn back.  His winding course, however, did not now
+cover much distance in a straight line, and herein lay the greatest
+peril.  Any moment Shadd and his men might come within range.
+
+Upon a particularly tedious and dangerous side of rocky hill the
+fugitives lost so much time that Shefford grew exceedingly alarmed.
+Still, they accomplished it without accident, and their pursuers
+did not heave in sight.  Perhaps they were having trouble in a
+bad place.
+
+The afternoon was waning.  The red sun hung low above the yellow
+mesa to the left, and there was a perceptible shading of light.
+
+At last Nas Ta Bega came to a place that halted him.  It did not look
+so bad as places they had successfully passed.  Yet upon closer study
+Shefford did not see how they were to get around the neck of the gully
+at their feet.  Presently the Indian put the bridle over the head of
+his mustang and left him free.  He did likewise for two more mustangs,
+while Lassiter and Shefford rendered a like service to theirs.  Then
+the Indian started down, with his mustang following him.  The pack-
+animal came next, then Fay and Nack-yal, then Lassiter and his mount,
+with Jane and hers next, and Shefford last.  They followed the Indian,
+picking their steps swiftly, looking nowhere except at the stone under
+their feet.  The right side of the chasm was rimmed, the curve at the
+head crossed, and then the real peril of this trap had to be faced.
+It was a narrow slant of ledge, doubling back parallel with the course
+already traversed.
+
+A sharp warning cry from Nas Ta Bega scarcely prepared Shefford for
+hoarse yells, and then a rattling rifle-volley from the top of the
+slope opposite.  Bullets thudded on the cliff, whipped up red dust,
+and spanged and droned away.
+
+Fay Larkin screamed and staggered back against the wall.  Nack-yal was
+hit, and with frightened snort he reared, pawed the air, and came down,
+pounding the stone.  The mustang behind him went to his knees, sank
+with his head over the rim, and, slipping off, plunged into the depths.
+In an instant a dull crash came up.
+
+For a moment there was imminent peril for the horses, more in the
+yawning hole than in the spanging of badly aimed bullets.  Lassiter
+drew Jane up a little slope out of the way of the frightened mustangs,
+and Shefford, 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 behind a corner till the Indian drove the mustangs round it.
+Shefford's swift fingers were wet and red with the blood from Fay's
+arm when he had bound the wound with his scarf.  Lassiter had gotten
+around with Jane and was calling Shefford to hurry.
+
+It had been Shefford's idea to halt there and fight.  But he did not
+want to send Fay on alone, so he hurried ahead with her.  The Indian
+had the horses going fast on a long level, overhung by bulging wall.
+Lassiter and Jane were looking back.  Shefford, becoming aware of a
+steep slope to his left, looked down to see a narrow chasm and great
+crevices in the cliffs, with bunches of cedars here and there.
+
+Presently Nas Ta Bega disappeared with the mustangs.  He had evidently
+turned off to go down behind the split cliffs.  Shefford and Fay caught
+up with Lassiter and Jane, and, panting, hurrying, looking backward
+and then 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, and then through one of the narrow cracks to come out upon
+the rim, among cedars.  Here the Indian waited for them.  He pointed
+down another long swell of naked stone to a narrow green split which
+was evidently different from all these curved pits and holes and
+abysses, for this one had straight walls and wound away out of sight.
+It was the head of a canyon.
+
+"Nonnezoshe Boco!" said the Indian.
+
+"Nas Ta Bega, go on!" replied Shefford.  "When Shadd comes out on
+that slope above he can't see you--where you go down.  Hurry on with
+the horses and women.  Lassiter, you go with them.  And if Shadd
+passes me and comes up with you--do your best. . . . I'm going to
+ambush that Piute and his gang!"
+
+"Shore you've picked out a good place," replied Lassiter.
+
+In another moment Shefford was alone.  He heard the light, soft pat and
+slide of the hoofs of the mustangs as they went down.  Presently that
+sound ceased.
+
+He looked at the red stain on his hands--from the blood of the girl he
+loved.  And he had to stifle a terrible wrath that shook his frame.  In
+regard to Shadd's pursuit, it had not been blood that he had feared,
+but capture for Fay.  He and Nas Ta Bega might have expected a shot if
+they resisted, but to wound that unfortunate girl--it made a tiger out
+of him.  When he had stilled the emotions that weakened and shook him
+and reached cold and implacable control of himself, he crawled under
+the cedars 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 had escaped from that murderous volley.  But Shadd did not come.
+
+The sun had lost its warmth and was tipping the lofty mesa to his
+right.  Soon twilight would make travel on those walls more perilous
+and darkness would make it impossible.  Shadd must hurry or abandon
+the pursuit for that day.  Shefford found himself grimly hopeful.
+
+Suddenly he heard the click of hoofs.  It came, faint yet clear, on
+the still air.  He glued his sight upon that corner where he expected
+the pursuers to appear.  More cracks of hoofs pierced his ear, clearer
+and sharper this time.  Presently he gathered that they could not
+possibly come from beyond the corner he was watching.  So he looked
+far to the left of that place, seeing no one, then far to the right.
+Out over a bulge of stone he caught sight of the bobbing head of a
+horse--then another--and still another.
+
+He was astounded.  Shadd had gone below that place where the attack
+had been made and he had come up this steep slope.  More horses
+appeared--to the number of eight.  Shefford easily recognized a low,
+broad, squat rider to be Shadd.  Assuredly the Piute did not know this
+country.  Possibly, however, he had feared an ambush.  But Shefford
+grew convinced that Shadd had not expected an ambush, or at least did
+not fear it, and had mistaken the Indian's course.  Moreover, if he
+led his gang a few rods farther up that slope he would do worse than
+make a mistake--he would be facing a double peril.
+
+What fearless horsemen these Indians were!  Shadd was mounted, as were
+three others of his gang.  Evidently the white men, the outlaws, were
+the ones on foot.  Shefford thrilled and his veins stung when he saw
+these pursuers come passing what he considered the danger mark.  But
+manifestly they 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 nor could they turn back.  The alternative was to
+climb the slope, and that was a desperate chance.
+
+They came up, now about on a level with Shefford, and perhaps three
+hundred yards distant.  He gripped his rifle with a fatal assurance
+that he could kill one of them now.  Still he waited.  Curiosity
+consumed him because every foot they advanced heightened their peril.
+Shefford wondered if Shadd would have chosen that course if he had
+not supposed the Navajo had chosen it first.  It was plain that one
+of the walking Piutes stooped now and then to examine the rock.  He
+was looking for some faint sign of a horse track.
+
+Shadd halted within two hundred yards of where Shefford lay hidden.
+His keen eye had caught the significance of the narrowing level
+before he had reached the end.  He pointed and spoke.  Shefford
+heard his voice.  The others replied.  They all looked up at the
+steep slope, down into the chasm right below them, and across into
+the cedars.  The Piute in the rear succeeded in turning his horse,
+went back, and began to circle up the slope.  The others entered into
+an argument and they became more closely grouped upon the narrow bench.
+Their mustangs were lean, wiry, wild, vicious, and Shefford calculated
+grimly upon what a stampede might mean 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 started
+back, apparently to circle round and up.  The others of the gang
+appeared uncertain.  They yelled hoarsely at Shadd, who halted on the
+steep slant some twenty paces above them.  He spoke and made motions
+that evidently meant the climb was easy enough.  It looked easy for
+him.  His dark face flashed red in the rays of the sun.
+
+At this critical moment Shefford decided to fire.  He meant to kill
+Shadd, hoping if the leader was gone the others would abandon the
+pursuit.  The rifle wavered a little as he aimed, then grew still.  He
+fired.  Shadd never flinched.  But the fiery mustang, perhaps wounded,
+certainly terrified, plunged down with piercing, horrid scream.  Shadd
+fell under him.  Shrill yells rent the air.  Like a thunderbolt the
+sliding horse was upon men and animals below.
+
+A heavy shock, wild snorts, upflinging heads and hoofs, a terrible
+tramping, thudding, shrieking melee, then a brown, twisting, tangled
+mass 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
+another instant there was a lighter crash and a lighter sliding roar.
+
+Two horses, shaking, paralyzed with fear, were left upon the narrow
+level.  Beyond them a couple of men were crawling along the stone.
+Up on the level stood the two Indians, holding down frightened horses,
+and staring at the fatal slope.
+
+And Shefford lay there under the cedar, in the ghastly grip of the
+moment, hardly comprehending that his ill-aimed shot had been a
+thunderbolt.
+
+He did not think of shooting at the Piutes; they, however, recovering
+from their shock, evidently feared the ambush, for they swiftly drew
+up the slope and passed out of sight.  The frightened horses below
+whistled and tramped along the lower level, finally vanishing.  There
+was nothing left on the bare wall to prove to Shefford that it had
+been the scene of swift and tragic death.  He leaned from his covert
+and peered over the rim.  Hundreds of feet below he saw dark growths
+of pinyons.  There was no sign of a pile of horses and men, and then
+he realized that he could not tell the number that had perished.  The
+swift finale had been as stunning to him as if lightning had struck
+near him.
+
+Suddenly it flashed over him what state of suspense and torture Fay
+and Jane must be in at that very moment.  And, leaping up, he ran out
+of the cedars to the slope behind and hurried down at risk of limb.
+The sun had set 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.  The canyon was about fifty yards wide
+and it headed under the great slope of Navajo Mountain.  These smooth,
+rounded walls appeared to end at its low rim.
+
+Shefford slid down upon a grassy bank, and finding the tracks of the
+horses, he followed them.  They led along the wall.  As soon as he had
+assured himself that Nas Ta Bega had gone down the canyon he abandoned
+the tracks and pushed ahead swiftly.  He heard the soft rush of running
+water.  In the center of the canyon wound heavy lines of bright-green
+foliage, bordering a rocky brook.  The air was close, warm, and sweet
+with perfume of flowers.  The walls were low and shelving, and soon
+lost that rounded appearance peculiar to the wind-worn slopes above.
+Shefford came 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 bitter bite of alkali.  He crossed and pushed on, running on the
+grassy levels.  Flowers were everywhere, but he did not notice them
+particularly.  The canyon made many leisurely turns, and its size, if
+it enlarged at all, was not perceptible to him yet.  The rims above
+him were perhaps fifty feet high.  Cottonwood-trees began to appear
+along the brook, and blossoming buck-brush in the corners of wall.
+
+He had traveled perhaps a mile when Nas Ta Bega, appearing to come out
+of 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 were
+beyond a little way.  Shefford took Nas Ta Bega's arm, and as they
+walked, and he panted for breath, he told what had happened back on
+the slopes.
+
+The Indian made one of his singular speaking sweeps of hand, and he
+scrutinized Shefford's face, but he received the news in silence.
+They turned a corner of wall, crossed a wide, shallow, boulder-strewn
+place in the brook, and mounted the bank to a thicket.  Beyond this,
+from a clump of cottonwoods, Lassiter strode out with a gun in each
+hand.  He had been hiding.
+
+"Shore I'm glad to see you," he said, and the eyes that piercingly
+fixed on Shefford were now as keen as formerly they had been mild.
+
+"Gone!  Lassiter--they're gone," broke out Shefford.  "Where's Fay--
+and Jane?"
+
+Lassiter called, and presently the women came out of the thick brake,
+and Fay bounded forward with her swift stride, while Jane followed
+with eager step and anxious face.  Then they all surrounded Shefford.
+
+"It was Shadd--and his gang," panted Shefford.  "Eight in all.  Three
+or four Piutes--the others outlaws.  They lost track of us.  Went
+below the place--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
+to the point where he saw his mistake and then how the catastrophe
+fell.
+
+"I shot--and missed," repeated Shefford, with the sweat in beads on
+his pale face.  "I missed Shadd.  Maybe I hit the horse.  He plunged
+--reared--fell back--a terrible fall--right upon that bunch of horses
+and men below. . . . In a horrible, wrestling, screaming tangle they
+slid 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 have no 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
+them guns, after all."
+
+"Hardly on that gang," laughed Shefford.  "The two Piutes and what
+others escaped turned back.  Maybe they'll meet a posse of Mormons--
+for of course the Mormons will track us, too--and come back to where
+Shadd lost his life.  That's an awful place.  Even the Piute got lost
+--couldn't follow Nas Ta Bega.  It would take any pursuers some time
+to find how we got in here.  I believe we need not fear further
+pursuit.  Certainly not to-night or to-morrow.  Then we'll be far
+down the canyon."
+
+When Shefford concluded his earnest remarks the faces of Fay and Jane
+had 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
+untied his scarf from her arm.  As the blood had hardened, it was
+necessary to slit her sleeve to the shoulder.  Using his scarf, he
+washed the blood from the wound, and found it to be merely a cut,
+a groove, on the surface.
+
+"That's nothing," Shefford said, lightly.  "It'll heal in a day.  But
+there'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
+made this mark on your beautiful arm."
+
+Fay looked at him with wonderful eyes.  "Do women wear gowns without
+sleeves?" she asked.
+
+"They do."
+
+"Have I a--beautiful arm?"
+
+She stretched it out, white, blue-veined, the skin fine as satin, the
+lines 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, and
+his mind flashed with lightning swiftness to a picture that haunted
+him--Waggoner lying dead on the porch with that powerfully driven
+knife in his breast.  Shefford shuddered through all his being.
+Would this phantom come often to him like that?  Hurriedly he bound
+up her arm with the scarf and did not look at her, and was conscious
+that she felt a subtle change in him.
+
+The short twilight ended with the fugitives comfortable in a camp that
+for natural features could not have been improved upon.  Darkness found
+Fay 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's
+excessive fatigue, urged him to sleep.  Shefford demurred, insisting
+that he share the night-watch.  But Nas Ta Bega, by agreeing that
+Shefford might have the following night's duty, prevailed upon him.
+
+Shefford seemed to shut his eyes upon darkness and to open them
+immediately to the light.  The stream of blue sky above, the gold
+tints on the western rim, the rosy, brightening colors down in the
+canyon, were proofs of the sunrise.  This morning Nas Ta Bega proceeded
+leisurely, and his manner was comforting.  When all was in readiness
+for 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 best
+places to cross the brook, the best banks to climb, and it was a
+process of continual repetition.  As the Indian picked out the course
+and the mustangs followed his lead there was nothing for Shefford to
+do but take his choice between reflection that seemed predisposed
+toward gloom and an absorption in the beauty, color, wildness, and
+changing character of Nonnezoshe Boco.
+
+Assuredly his experience in the desert did not count in it a trip down
+into a strange, beautiful, lost canyon such as this.  It did not widen,
+though the walls grew higher. They began to lean and bulge, and the
+narrow strip of sky above resembled a flowing blue river.  Huge caverns
+had 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 ran
+close under one of these overhanging places the running water made a
+singular, indescribable sound.  A crack from a hoof on a stone rang
+like a hollow bell and echoed from wall to wall.  And the croak of a
+frog--the only living creature he had so far noted in the canyon--was
+a weird and melancholy 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--did
+not come spontaneously.  And he suffered a remorse that he could not
+be honestly 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
+to find the white ones?  I have found white lilies in Surprise Valley,
+but never any pink or yellow."
+
+Shefford had seen flowers all along the green banks, but he had not
+marked the lilies.  Here he dismounted and gathered several.  They
+were larger than the white ones of higher altitudes, of the same
+exquisite beauty and fragility, of such rare pink and yellow hues
+as he had never seen.  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
+impossible to prevent the mustangs treading them under hoof.  And as
+the canyon deepened, and many little springs added their tiny volume to
+the brook, every grassy bench was dotted with lilies, like a green sky
+star-spangled.  And this increasing luxuriance manifested itself in the
+banks of purple moss and clumps of lavender daisies and great clusters
+of yellow violets.  The brook was lined by blossoming buck-rush; the
+rocky corners showed the crimson and magenta of cactus; ledges were
+green with shining moss that sparkled with little white flowers.  The
+hum of bees filled the air.
+
+But by and by this green and colorful and verdant beauty, the almost
+level floor of the canyon, the banks of soft earth, the thickets and
+the clumps of cotton-woods, the shelving caverns and the bulging
+walls--these features gradually were lost, and Nonnezoshe Boco began
+to deepen in bare red and white stone steps, the walls sheered away
+from one another, breaking into sections and ledges, and rising higher
+and higher, and there began to be manifested a dark and solemn
+concordance with the nature that had created this rent in the earth.
+
+There was a stretch of miles where steep steps in hard red rock
+alternated with long levels of round boulders.  Here one by one
+the mustangs went lame.  And the fugitives, dismounting to spare
+the faithful beasts, slipped and stumbled over these loose and
+treacherous stones.  Fay was the only one who did not show distress.
+She was glad to be on foot again and the rolling boulders were as
+stable as solid rock for her.
+
+The hours passed; the toil increased; the progress diminished; one
+of the mustangs failed entirely and was left; and all the while the
+dimensions of Nonnezoshe Boco magnified and its character changed.
+It became a thousand-foot walled canyon, leaning, broken, threatening,
+with great yellow slides blocking passage, with huge sections split
+off from the main wall, with immense dark and gloomy caverns.
+Strangely, it had no intersecting canyon.  It jealously guarded
+its secret.  Its unusual formations of cavern and pillar and half-
+arch led the mind to expect any monstrous stone-shape left by an
+avalanche or cataclysm.
+
+Down and down the fugitives toiled.  And now the stream-bed was bare
+of boulders, and the banks of earth.  The floods that had rolled down
+that canyon had here borne away every loose thing.  All the floor was
+bare red and white stone, polished, glistening, slippery, affording
+treacherous foothold.  And the time came when Nas Ta Bega abandoned
+the stream-bed to take to the rock-strewn and cactus-covered ledges
+above.
+
+Jane gave out and had to be assisted upon the weary mustang.  Fay was
+persuaded to mount Nack-yal again.  Lassiter plodded along.  The Indian
+bent 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
+rimmed the 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 with
+folded arms, gazing down where the canyon veered. Something in Nas Ta
+Bega's pose quickened Shefford's pulse and then his steps.  He reached
+the Indian and the point where he, too, could see beyond that vast
+jutting wall that had obstructed his view.
+
+A mile beyond all was bright with the colors of sunset, and spanning
+the canyon in the graceful shape arid beautiful hues of a rainbow was a
+magnificent stone bridge.
+
+"Nonnezoshe!" exclaimed the Navajo, with a deep and sonorous roll in
+his voice.
+
+
+
+
+XVIII.  AT THE FOOT OF THE RAINBOW
+
+
+The rainbow bridge was the one great natural phenomenon, the one grand
+spectacle, which Shefford had ever seen that did not at first give
+vague disappointment, a confounding of reality, a disenchantment of
+contrast with 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 a singular and revivifying freshness.  He had a strange,
+mystic perception of this rosy-hued stupendous arch of stone, as if
+in a former life it had been a goal he could not reach.  This wonder
+of nature, though all-satisfying, all-fulfilling to his artist's soul,
+could not be a resting-place for him, a destination where something
+awaited him, a height he must scale to find peace, the end of his
+strife.  But it seemed all these.  He could not understand his
+perception or his emotion.  Still, here at last, apparently, was the
+rainbow of his boyish dreams and of his manhood--a rainbow magnified
+even beyond those dreams, no longer transparent and ethereal, but
+solidified, a thing of ages, sweeping up majestically from the red
+walls, its iris-hued arch against the blue sky.
+
+Nas Ta Bega led on down the ledge and Shefford plodded thoughtfully
+after him.  The others followed.  A jutting corner of wall again
+hid the canyon.  The Indian was working round to circle the huge
+amphitheater.  It was slow, irritating, strenuous toil, for the way
+was on a steep slant, rough and loose and dragging.  The rocks were
+as hard and jagged as lava.  And the cactus further hindered progress.
+When at last the long half-circle had been accomplished the golden
+and rosy lights had faded.
+
+Again the canyon opened to view.  All the walls were pale and steely
+and the stone bridge loomed dark.  Nas Ta Bega said camp would be
+made at the bridge, which was now close.  Just before they reached
+it the Navajo halted with one of his singular actions.  Then he stood
+motionless.  Shefford realized that Nas Ta Bega was saying his prayer
+to this great stone god.  Presently the Indian motioned for Shefford
+to lead the others and the horses on under the bridge.  Shefford did
+so, and, upon turning, was amazed to see the Indian climbing the steep
+and difficult slope on the other side.  All the party watched him until
+he disappeared behind the huge base of cliff that supported the arch.
+Shefford selected a level place for camp, some few rods away, and here,
+with Lassiter, unsaddled and unpacked the lame, drooping mustangs.
+When this was done twilight had fallen.  Nas Ta Bega appeared, coming
+down the steep slope on this side of the bridge.  Then Shefford divined
+why the Navajo had made that arduous climb.  He would not go under the
+bridge.  Nonnezoshe was a Navajo god.  And Nas Ta Bega, though educated
+as a white man, was true to the superstition of his ancestors.
+
+Nas Ta Bega turned the mustangs loose to fare for what scant grass
+grew on bench and slope.  Firewood was even harder to find than grass.
+When the camp duties had been performed and the simple meal eaten
+there was gloom gathering in the canyon and the stars had begun to
+blink in the pale strip of blue above the lofty walls.  The place was
+oppressive and the fugitives mostly silent.  Shefford spread a bed of
+blankets for the women, and Jane at once lay wearily down.  Fay stood
+beside the flickering fire, and Shefford felt her watching him.  He
+was conscious of a desire to get away from her haunting gaze.  To
+the gentle good-night he bade her she made no response.
+
+Shefford moved away into a strange dark shadow cast by the bridge
+against the pale starlight.  It was a weird, black belt, where he
+imagined he was invisible, but out of which he could see.  There was
+a slab of rock near the foot of the bridge, and here Shefford composed
+himself to watch, to feel, to think the unknown thing that seemed to
+be inevitably coming to him.
+
+A slight stiffening of his neck made him aware that he had been
+continually looking up at the looming arch.  And he found that
+insensibly it 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 for immediate comprehension.  He wanted to
+ponder on what had formed it--to reflect upon its meaning as to
+age and force of nature, yet all he could do at each moment was to
+see.  White stars hung along the dark curved line.  The rim of the
+arch seemed to shine.  The moon must be up there somewhere.  The
+far side of the canyon was now a blank, black wall.  Over its
+towering rim showed a pale glow.  It brightened.  The shades in
+the canyon lightened, then a white disk of moon peered over the dark
+line.  The bridge turned to silver, and the gloomy, shadowy belt it
+had cast blanched and vanished.
+
+Shefford became aware of the presence of Nas Ta Bega.  Dark, silent,
+statuesque, with inscrutable eyes uplifted, with all that was
+spiritual of the Indian suggested by a somber and tranquil knowledge
+of his place there, he represented the same to Shefford as a solitary
+figure of human life brought out the greatness of a great picture.
+Nonnezoshe Boco needed life, wild life, life of its millions of
+years--and here stood the dark and silent Indian.
+
+There was a surge in Shefford's heart and in his mind a perception of
+a moment of incalculable change to his soul.  And at that moment Fay
+Larkin stole like a phantom to his side and stood there with her
+uncovered head shining 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
+you too 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
+too great an emotion--did he read too much--did he add from his soul?
+For him the wild, starry, haunted eyes mirrored all that he had seen
+and felt under Nonnezoshe.  And for herself they shone eloquently of
+courage and 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
+since we started you've been different, somehow."
+
+"Fay, think how hard and dangerous the trip's been!  I've been worried
+--and sick with dread--with--  Oh, you can't imagine the strain
+I'm under!  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,
+he believed, if he let himself think about it, he would know what
+troubled her.
+
+"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 did
+before?"
+
+"Why, child!  Of course--I love you," he replied, brokenly, and he drew
+her closer.  He had never embraced her, never kissed her.  But there
+was a whiteness about her then--a wraith--a something from her soul,
+and he  could only gaze at her.
+
+"I love you," she whispered.  "I thought I knew it that--that night.
+But I'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.  "I
+haven'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
+colored with a dark and leaping blush.
+
+"We'll be married as soon as we get out of the desert," he went on.
+"And we'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 pretty
+soon--when I can say something more to you--I'll forget all except
+Surprise 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 be sorry if you weren't. . . . I'm glad he's dead."
+
+"YOU--THINK--I--"  Shefford's gasping whisper failed in the shock of
+the revelation that Fay believed he had killed Waggoner.  Then with
+the inference came the staggering truth--her guiltlessness; and a
+paralyzing joy held him stricken.
+
+A powerful hand fell upon Shefford's shoulder, startling him.  Nas Ta
+Bega stood there, looking down upon him and Fay.  Never had the Indian
+seemed so dark, inscrutable of face.  But in his magnificent bearing,
+in the spirit that Shefford sensed in him, there were nobility and
+power and a strange pride.
+
+The Indian kept one hand on Shefford's shoulder, and with the other
+he 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 way
+out 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
+boastful blow on his breast added only to the dignity, and not to
+the denial, of a 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, quivering
+gladness.  It was the woman--the human--the soul born in her that
+came uppermost then; now, when there was no direct call to the wild
+and elemental in her nature, she showed a heart above revenge, the
+instinct of a saving right, of truth as Shefford knew them.  He took
+her into his arms and never had he loved her so well.
+
+"Nas Ta Bega, you killed the Mormon," declared Shefford, with a voice
+that had gained strength.  No silent Indian suggestion of a deed would
+suffice in that moment.  Shefford needed to hear the Navajo speak--to
+have Fay hear him speak.  "Nas Ta Bega, I know I understand.  But tell
+her.  Speak so she will know.  Tell it as a white man would!"
+
+"I heard her cry out," replied the Indian, in his slow English.  "I
+waited.  When he came I killed him."
+
+A poignant why was wrenched from Shefford.  Nas Ta Bega stood silent.
+
+"BI NAI!"  And when that sonorous Indian name rolled in dignity from
+his lips he silently stalked away into the gloom.  That was his answer
+to the white man.
+
+Shefford bent over Fay, and as the strain on him broke he held her
+closer and closer and his tears streamed down and his voice broke in
+exclamations of tenderness and thanksgiving.  It did not matter what
+she had thought, but she must never know what he had thought.  He
+clasped her as something precious he had lost and regained.  He was
+shaken with a passion of remorse.  How could he have believed Fay
+Larkin guilty of murder?  Women less wild and less justified than she
+had been driven to such a deed, yet how could he have believed it of
+her, when for two days he had been with her, had seen her face, and
+deep into her eyes?  There was mystery in his very blindness.  He cast
+the whole thought from him for ever.  There was no shadow between Fay
+and him.  He had found her.  He had saved her.  She was free.  She
+was innocent.  And suddenly, as he seemed delivered from contending
+tumults within, he became aware that it was no unresponsive creature
+he had folded to his breast.
+
+He became suddenly alive to the warm, throbbing contact of her bosom,
+to her strong arms clinging round his neck, to her closed eyes, to the
+rapt whiteness of her face.  And he bent to cold lips that seemed to
+receive his first kisses as new and strange; but tremulously changed,
+at last to meet his own, and then to burn with sweet and thrilling
+fire.
+
+"My darling, my dream's come true," he said.  "You are my treasure.  I
+found you here at the foot of the rainbow! . . . What if it is a stone
+rainbow--if all is not as I had dreamed?  I followed a gleam.  And it's
+led me to love and faith!"
+
+   .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .
+
+Hours afterward Shefford walked alone to and fro under the bridge.  His
+trouble had given place to serenity.  But this night of nights he must
+live out wide-eyed to its end.
+
+The moon had long since crossed the streak of star-fired blue above
+and the canyon was black in shadow.  At times a current of wind, with
+all the strangeness of that strange country in its hollow moan, rushed
+through the great stone arch.  At other times there was silence such as
+Shefford imagined dwelt deep under this rocky world.  At still other
+times an owl hooted, and the sound was nameless.  But it had a mocking
+echo that never ended.  An echo of night, silence, gloom, melancholy
+death, age, eternity!
+
+The Indian lay asleep with his dark face upturned, and the other
+sleepers lay calm and white in the starlight.
+
+Shefford saw in them the meaning of life and the past--the illimitable
+train of faces that had shone the stars.  There was a spirit in the
+canyon, and whether or not it was what the Navajo embodied in the great
+Nonnezoshe, or the life of this present, or the death of the ages, or
+the nature so magnificently manifested in those silent, dreaming
+waiting walls--the truth for Shefford was that this spirit was God.
+
+Life was eternal.  Man's immortality lay in himself.  Love of a woman
+was hope--happiness.  Brotherhood--that mystic and grand "Bi Nai!" of
+the Navajo--that was religion.
+
+
+
+
+XIX.  THE GRAND CANYON OF THE COLORADO
+
+
+The night passed, the gloom turned gray, the dawn stole cool and pale
+into the canyon.  When Nas Ta Bega drove the mustangs into camp the
+lofty ramparts of the walls were rimmed with gold and the dark arch
+of Nonnezoshe began to lose its steely gray.
+
+The women had rested well and were in better condition to travel.  Jane
+was cheerful and Fay radiant one moment and in a dream the next.  She
+was beginning to live in that wonderful future.  They talked more than
+usual at breakfast, and Lassiter made droll remarks.  Shefford, with
+his great and 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.  For
+all the concern he showed he might have known every foot of the canyon
+below Nonnezoshe.  But, for Shefford, with the dawn had returned
+anxiety, a restless feeling of the need of hurry.  What obstacles,
+what impassable gorges, might lie between this bridge and the river!
+The Indian's inscrutable serenity and Fay's trust, her radiance, the
+exquisite glow upon her face, sustained Shefford and gave him patience
+to endure and conceal his dread.
+
+At length the flight was resumed, with Nas Ta Bega leading on foot,
+and Shefford walking in the rear.  A quarter of a mile below camp
+the Indian led down a declivity into the bottom of the narrow gorge,
+where the stream 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 of the descent and turned to look behind.  Shefford
+contrasted her tremulous smile, her half-happy good-by to this place,
+with the white stillness of her face when she had bade farewell to
+Surprise Valley.  Then she rode Nack-yal down into the gorge.
+
+Shefford knew that this would be his last look at the rainbow bridge.
+As he gazed the tip of the great arch lost its cold, dark stone color
+and began to shine.  The sun had just arisen high enough over some
+low break in the wall to reach the bridge.  Shefford watched.  Slowly,
+in wondrous transformation, the gold and blue and rose and pink and
+purple blended their hues, softly, mistily, cloudily, until once again
+the arch was a rainbow.
+
+Ages before life had evolved upon the earth it had spread its grand
+arch from wall to wall, black and mystic at night, transparent and
+rosy in the sunrise, at sunset a flaming curve limned against the
+heavens.  When the race of man had passed it would, perhaps, stand
+there still.  It was not for many eyes to see.  Only by toil, sweat,
+endurance, blood, could any man ever look at Nonnezoshe.  So it would
+always be alone, grand, silent, beautiful, unintelligible.
+
+Shefford bade Nonnezoshe a mute, reverent farewell.  Then plunging
+down the weathered slope of the gorge to the stream below, he hurried
+forward to join the others.  They had progressed much farther than he
+imagined they would have, and this was owing to the fact that the
+floor of the gorge afforded easy travel.  It was gravel on rock bottom,
+tortuous, but open, with infrequent and shallow downward steps.  The
+stream did not now rush and boil along and tumble over rock-encumbered
+ledges.  In corners the water collected in round, green, eddying pools.
+There were patches of grass and willows and mounds of moss.  Shefford's
+surprise equaled his relief, for he believed that the violent descent
+of Nonnezoshe Boco had been passed.  Any turn now, he imagined, might
+bring the party out upon the 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 never manifest.
+
+Shefford's anticipation, however, was not soon realized.  The fugitives
+traveled miles farther down Nonnezoshe Boco, and the only changes were
+that the walls of the lower gorge heightened and merged into those
+above and that these upper ones towered ever loftier.  Shefford had
+to throw his head straight back to look up at the rims, and the narrow
+strip of sky was now indeed a flowing stream of blue.
+
+Difficult steps were met, too, yet nothing compared to those of the
+upper canyon.  Shefford calculated that this day's travel had advanced
+several hours; and more than ever now he was anticipating the mouth of
+Nonnezoshe Boco.  Still another hour went by.  And then came striking
+changes.  The canyon narrowed till the walls were scarcely twenty paces
+apart; the color of stone grew dark red above and black down low; the
+light 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.
+He had heard something.  The others grouped round him, but did not
+hear a sound except the soft flow of water and the heave of the
+mustangs.  Then the 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 light which 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 lagged
+behind, let the others pass out of hearing, and then he listened.  At
+last he was rewarded.  Low and deep, dull and strange, with some
+quality to incite dread, came a roar.  Thereafter, at intervals,
+usually at turns in the canyon, and when a faint stir of warm air
+fanned his cheeks, he heard the sound, growing clearer and louder.
+
+He rounded an abrupt corner to have the roar suddenly fill his ears,
+to see the lane extend straight to a ragged vent, and beyond that, at
+some distance, a dark, ragged, bulging wall, like iron.  As he hurried
+forward he was surprised to find that the noise did not increase.  Here
+it kept a strange uniformity of tone and volume.  The others of the
+party passed out of the mouth of Nonnezoshe Boco in advance of
+Shefford, and when he reached it they were grouped upon a bank of
+sand.  A dark-red canyon yawned before them, and through it slid the
+strangest river Shefford had ever seen.  At first glance he imagined
+the strangeness consisted of the dark-red color of the water, but at
+the second he was not so sure.  All the others, except Nas Ta Bega,
+eyed the river blankly, as if they did not know what to think.  The
+roar came from round a huge bulging wall downstream.  Up the canyon,
+half a mile, at another turn, there was a leaping 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
+come out 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
+Ta Bega collected a pile of driftwood to be used for fire, and then
+he took the mustangs back up the side canyon to find grass for them.
+Lassiter appeared unusually quiet, and soon passed from weary rest on
+the sand to deep slumber.  Fay and Jane succumbed to an exhaustion
+that manifested itself the moment relaxation set in, and they, too,
+fell asleep.  Shefford patrolled the long strip of sand under the
+wall, and watched up the river for Joe Lake.  The Indian returned
+and went along the river, climbed over the jutting, sharp slopes
+that reached into the water, and passed out of sight up-stream
+toward the rapid.
+
+Shefford had a sense that the river and the canyon were too magnificent
+to be compared with others.  Still, all his emotions and sensations
+had been so wrought upon, he seemed not to have any left by which he
+might judge of what constituted the difference.  He would wait.  He
+had a grim conviction that before he was safely out of this earth-
+riven crack he would know.  One thing, however, struck him, and it
+was that up the canyon, high over the lower walls, hazy and blue,
+stood other walls, and beyond and above them, dim in purple distance,
+upreared still other walls.  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
+he must escape with his party, it was natural that it absorbed him,
+to the neglect of the gigantic cliffs.  And the more he watched the
+river, studied it, listened to it, imagined its nature, its power, its
+restlessness, the more he dreaded it.  As the hours of the afternoon
+wore away, and he strolled along and rested on the banks, his first
+impressions, and what he realized might be his truest ones, were
+gradually lost.  He could not bring them back.  The river was
+changing, deceitful.  It worked upon his mind.  The low, hollow
+roar filled his ears and seemed to mock him.  Then he endeavored
+to stop thinking about it, to confine his attention to the gap up-
+stream where sooner or later he prayed that Joe Lake and his boat
+would appear.  But, though he controlled 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 any
+likelihood of Joe's arrival was past for that day.  Shefford could
+not get over an impression of strangeness--of the impossibility of
+the reality presented to his naked eyes.  These lonely fugitives in
+the huge-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.
+There were a few moments when the distant peaks and domes and
+turrets were glorified in changing sunset hues.  But the beauty
+was fleeting. Fay still showed lassitude.  She was quiet, yet
+cheerful, and the sweetness of her smile, her absolute trust in
+him, stirred and strengthened anew his spirit.  Yet he suffered
+torture when he thought of trusting Fay's life, her soul, and her
+beauty to this strange red river.
+
+Night brought him relief.  He could not see the river; only the low
+roar made its presence known out there in the shadows.  And, there
+being no need to stay awake, he dropped at once into heavy slumber.
+He was roused by hands dragging at him.  Nas Ta Bega bent over him.
+It was broad daylight.  The yellow wall high above was glistening.
+A fire was crackling and pleasant odors were wafted to him.  Fay and
+Jane and Lassiter sat around the tarpaulin at breakfast.  After the
+meal suspense and strain were manifested in all the fugitives, even
+the imperturbable Indian being more than usually watchful.  His eyes
+scarcely ever left the black gap where the river slid round the turn
+above.  Soon, as on the preceding day, he disappeared up the ragged,
+iron-bound shore.  There was scarcely an attempt at conversation.  A
+controlling thought bound that group into silence--if Joe Lake was
+ever going to come he would come to-day.
+
+Shefford asked himself a hundred times if it were possible, and his
+answer seemed to be in the low, sullen, muffled roar of the river.
+And as the morning wore on toward noon his dread deepened until all
+chance appeared hopeless.  Already he had begun to have vague and
+unformed and disquieting ideas of the only avenue of escape left--
+to return up Nonnezoshe Boco--and that would be to enter a trap.
+
+Suddenly a piercing cry pealed down the canyon.  It was followed by
+echoes, weird and strange, that clapped from wall to wall in mocking
+concatenation.  Nas Ta Bega appeared high on the ragged slope.  The
+cry had been the Indian's.  He swept an arm out, pointing up-stream,
+and stood like a statue on the iron rocks.
+
+Shefford's keen gaze sighted a moving something in the bend of the
+river.  It was long, low, dark, and flat, with a lighter object
+upright in 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,
+pale faces toward that bend in the river.
+
+Shefford ran up the shore toward the Indian.  He climbed the jutting
+slant of rock.  The boat was now full in the turn--it moved faster--
+it was nearing the smooth incline above the rapid.  There! it glided
+down--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 the shape of a big flatboat--and then it rode the swift, choppy
+current out of 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
+current right before them, and Joe must needs see them so that he
+might sheer the 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 raised
+aloft both arms, and bellowed down the canyon.  The echoes boomed from
+wall to wall, every one stronger with the deep, hoarse triumph in the
+Mormon's voice, till they passed on, growing weaker, to die away in
+the roar of the river below.  Then Joe bent to a long oar that appeared
+to be fastened to the stern of the boat, and the craft drifted out of
+the swifter current toward the shore.  It reached a point opposite to
+where Shefford and the Indian waited, and, though Joe made prodigious
+efforts, it slid on.  Still, it also drifted shoreward, and half-way
+down to the mouth of Nonnezoshe Boco Joe threw the end of a rope to
+the Indian.
+
+"Ho! Ho!" yelled the Mormon, again setting into motion the fiendish
+echoes.  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 rope
+fast to a snag of a log of driftwood embedded in the sand, and the
+boat swung 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 pole with a plank nailed to the end.  The craft was empty save
+for another pole and plank, Joe's coat, and a broken-handled shovel.
+There were water and sand on the flooring.  Joe stepped ashore and
+he was gripped first by Shefford and then by the Indian.  He was an
+unkempt and gaunt giant, yet how steadfast and reliable, how grimly
+strong to inspire hope!
+
+"Reckon most of me's here," he said in reply to greetings.  "I've had
+water aplenty.  My God!  I've had WATER!"  He rolled out a grim laugh.
+"But no grub for three days. . . . Forgot to fetch some!"
+
+How practical he was!  He told Fay she looked good for sore eyes, but
+he needed a biscuit most of all.  There was just a second of singular
+hesitation when he faced Lassiter, and then the big, strong hand of
+the young Mormon went out to meet the old gunman's.  While they fed
+him and he ate like a starved man Shefford told of the flight from
+the village, the rescuing of Jane and Lassiter from Surprise Valley,
+the descent from the plateau, the catastrophe to Shadd's gang--and,
+concluding, Shefford, without any explanation, told that Nas Ta Bega
+had killed the Mormon Waggoner.
+
+"Reckon I had that figured," replied Joe.  "First off.  I didn't
+think so. . . . 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 grand horses in his outfit.  Pity about them."
+
+Later when Joe had a moment alone with Shefford he explained that
+during his ride to Kayenta he had realized Fay's innocence and who had
+been responsible for the tragedy.  He took Withers, the trader, into
+his confidence, and they planned a story, which Withers was to carry
+to Stonebridge, that would exculpate Fay and Shefford of anything more
+serious than flight.  If Shefford got Fay safely out of the country at
+once that would end the matter for all concerned.
+
+"Reckon I'm some ferry-boatman, too--a FAIRY boatman.  Haw! Haw!" he
+added.  "And we're going through. . . . Now I want you to help me
+rig this tarpaulin up over the bow of the boat.  If we can fix it up
+strong it'll keep the waves from curling over.  They filled her four
+times for me."
+
+They folded the tarpaulin three times, and with stout pieces of split
+plank and horseshoe nails from Shefford's saddle-bags and pieces of
+rope they rigged up a screen around bow and front corners.
+
+Nas Ta Bega put the saddles in the boat.  The mustangs were far up
+Nonnezoshe Boco and would work their way back to green and luxuriant
+canyons.  The Indian said they would soon become wild and would never
+be found.  Shefford regretted Nack-yal, but was glad the faithful
+little mustang would be free in one of those beautiful canyons.
+
+"Reckon we'd better be off," called Joe.  "All aboard!"  He placed Fay
+and Jane in a corner of the bow, where they would be spared sight of
+the rapids.  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 the mountains it's twenty feet above normal and rising fast.  But
+that's well for us.  It covers the stones in the rapids.  If it hadn't
+been in flood Joe would be an angel now!"
+
+The boat cleared the sand, lazily wheeled in the eddying water, and
+suddenly seemed caught by some powerful gliding force.  When it swept
+out beyond the jutting wall Shefford saw a quarter of a mile of
+sliding water that appeared to end abruptly.  Beyond lengthened out
+the gigantic gap between the black and frowning cliffs.
+
+"Wow!" ejaculated Joe.  "Drops out of sight there.  But that one ain't
+much.  I can tell by the roar.  When you see my hair stand up straight
+--then watch out! . . . Lassiter, you look after the women.  Shefford,
+you stand ready to bail out with the shovel, for we'll sure ship
+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; strange
+gurglings rose from under the bow.  Shefford stood on tiptoe to see
+the break 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 and tumbling and diminishing down to the narrowing apex of the
+rapid.  It was a frightful sight, yet it thrilled Shefford.  Joe worked
+the steering-oar back and forth and headed the boat straight for the
+middle of the incline.  The boat reached the round rim, gracefully
+dipped with a heavy sop, and went shooting down.  The wind blew wet in
+Shefford's face.  He stood erect, thrilling, fascinated, frightened.
+Then he seemed to feel himself lifted; the curling wave leaped at the
+boat; there was a shock that laid him flat; and when he rose to his
+knees all about him was roar and spray and leaping, muddy waves.  Shock
+after shock jarred the boat.  Splashes of water stung his face.  And
+then the jar and the motion, the confusion and roar, gradually lessened
+until presently Shefford rose to see smooth water ahead and the long,
+trembling rapid behind.
+
+"Get busy, bailer," yelled Joe.  "Pretty soon you'll be glad you have
+to bail--so you can't see!"
+
+There were several inches of water in the bottom of the boat and
+Shefford learned for the first time the expediency of a shovel in
+the art of bailing.
+
+"That tarpaulin worked powerful good," went on Joe.  "And it saves the
+women.  Now if it just don't bust on a big wave!  That one back there
+was little."
+
+When Shefford had scooped out all the water he went forward to see
+how Fay 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 himself
+feel.  Almost at the moment he marked a silence that had fallen into
+the canyon; then it broke to a low, dull, strange roar.
+
+"Aha! Hear that?"  The Mormon shook his shaggy head.  "Reckon we're
+in Cataract 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 the
+somber Mormon--a kind of wild, gay excitement.  His eyes rolled as he
+watched the river ahead and he puffed out his cheek with his tongue.
+
+The rugged, overhanging walls of the canyon grew sinister in Shefford's
+sight.  They were jaws.  And the river--that made him shudder to look
+down into it.  The little whirling pits were eyes peering into his,
+and they raced on with the boat, disappeared, and came again, always
+with the little, hollow gurgles.
+
+The craft drifted swiftly and the roar increased.  Another rapid seemed
+to move up into view.  It came at a bend in the canyon.  When the breeze
+struck Shefford's cheeks he did not this time experience exhilaration.
+The current accelerated its sliding motion and bore the flatboat
+straight 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--letting it drop--
+and crests of angry waves curled over the side.  Shefford, kneeling,
+felt the water slap around him, and in his ears was a deafening roar.
+There were endless moments of strife and hell and flying darkness of
+spray all about him, and under him the rocking boat.  When they
+lessened--ceased in violence--he stood ankle-deep in water, and then
+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.
+That rapid passed and with more water to bail, he resumed his share in
+the manning of the crude craft.  It was more than a share--a tremendous
+responsibility to which he bent with all his might.  He heard Joe
+yell--and again--and again.  He heard the increasing roars one after
+another till they seemed one continuous bellow.  He felt the shock, the
+pitch, the beating waves, and then the lessening power of sound and
+current.  That set him to his task.  Always in these long intervals of
+toil he seemed to see, without looking up, the growing proportions of
+the canyon.  And the river had become a living, terrible thing.  The
+intervals of his tireless effort when he scooped the water overboard
+were fleeting, and the rides through rapid after rapid were endless
+periods of waiting terror.  His spirit and his hope were overwhelmed
+by the rush and roar and fury.
+
+Then, as he worked, there came a change--a rest to deafened ears--a
+stretch of river that seemed quiet after chaos--and here for the first
+time he bailed the boat clear of water.
+
+Jane and Fay were huddled in a corner, with the flapping tarpaulin now
+half fallen over them.  They were wet and muddy.  Lassiter crouched
+like a man dazed by a bad dream, and his white hair hung, stained and
+bedraggled, 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 below
+the western ramparts.  A cool breeze blew up the canyon, laden with a
+sound that was the same, yet not the same, as those low, dull roars
+which 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 to the river.  He bent lower--listened.  Then as the rumble
+became a strange, deep, reverberating roll, as if the monstrous river
+were rolling huge stones down a subterranean canyon, Shefford saw with
+dilating eyes that the Mormon's hair was rising stiff upon his head.
+
+"Hear that!" said Joe, turning an ashen face to Shefford.  "We'll
+drop off the earth now.  Hang on to the girl, so if we go you can
+go together. . . . And, pard, if you've a God--pray!"
+
+Nas Ta Bega faced the bend from whence that rumble came, and he was
+the same dark, inscrutable, impassive Indian as of old.  What was
+death to him?
+
+Shefford felt the strong, rushing love of life surge in him, and it
+was not 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 in his 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 terrible
+uproar.  The current racing that way was divided or uncertain, and
+it gave strange motion to the boat.  Joe and Nas Ta Bega shoved
+desperately upon the oar, all to no purpose.  The currents had their
+will.  The bow of the boat took the place of the stern.  Then swift
+at the head of a curved incline it shot beyond the bulging wall.
+
+And Shefford saw an awful place before them.  The canyon had narrowed
+to half its width, and turned almost at right angles.  The huge clamor
+of appalling sound came from under the cliff where the swollen river
+had to pass and where there was not space.  The rapid rushed in
+gigantic swells right upon the wall, boomed against it, climbed and
+spread and fell away, to recede and gather new impetus, to leap madly
+on down the canyon.
+
+Shefford went to his knees, clasped Fay, and Jane, too.  But facing
+this appalling thing he had to look.  Courage and despair came to him
+at the last.  This must be the end.  With long, buoyant swing the boat
+sailed down, shot over the first waves, was caught and lifted upon the
+great swell and impelled straight toward the cliff.  Huge whirlpools
+raced alongside, and from them came a horrible, engulfing roar.
+Monstrous bulges rose on the other side.  All the stupendous power of
+that mighty river of downward-rushing silt swung the boat aloft, up
+and up, as the swell climbed the wall.  Shefford, with transfixed
+eyes and harrowed soul, watched the wet black wall.  It loomed down
+upon him.  The stern of the boat went high.  Then when the crash that
+meant doom seemed imminent the swell spread and fell back from the
+wall and the boat never struck at all.  By some miraculous chance it
+had been favored by a strange and momentary receding of the huge spent
+swell.  Then it slid back, was caught and whirled by the current into
+a red, frothy, up-flung rapids below.  Shefford bowed his head over.
+Fay and saw no more, nor felt nor heard.  What seemed a long time
+after that the broken voice of the Mormon recalled him to his labors.
+
+The boat was half full of water.  Nas Ta Bega scooped out great sheets
+of it with his hands.  Shefford sprang to aid him, found the shovel,
+and plunged into the task.  Slowly but surely they emptied the boat.
+And then Shefford saw that twilight had fallen.  Joe was working the
+craft toward a narrow bank of sand, to which, presently, they came,
+and the Indian sprang out to moor to a rock.
+
+The fugitives went ashore and, weary and silent and drenched, they
+dropped in the warm sand.
+
+But Shefford could not sleep.  The river kept him awake.  In the
+distance it rumbled, low, deep, reverberating, and near at hand it was
+a thing of mutable mood.  It moaned, whined, mocked, and laughed.  It
+had the soul of a 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 way through those dead walls, cutting and tearing
+and wearing, its heavy burden of silt was death, destruction, and
+decay.  A silent river, a murmuring, 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 a river of sounds.
+
+All the beautiful sounds he knew and loved he heard--the sigh of the
+wind 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 a woman.  And there were the boom of the surf, the roar of the north
+wind in the forest, the roll of thunder.  And there were the sounds not
+of earth--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 out
+of the canyon and sunlight far up on the ramparts renewed Shefford's
+spirit.  He rose and awoke the others.  Fay's wistful smile still
+held its faith.  They ate of the gritty, water-soaked food.  Then they
+embarked.  The current carried them swiftly down and out of hearing of
+the last rapid.  The character of the river and the canyon changed.
+The current lessened to a slow, smooth, silent, eddying flow.  The walls
+grew straight, sheer, gloomy, and vast.  Shefford noted these features,
+but he was listening so hard for the roar of the next rapid that he
+scarcely appreciated them.  All the fugitives were listening.  Every
+bend in the canyon--and now the turns were numerous--might hold a rapid.
+Shefford strained  his  ears.  He imagined the low, dull, strange
+rumble.  He had it in 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!
+Hear that?"
+
+But there was no true sound, Joe only imagined what he expected and
+hated and dreaded to hear.
+
+Mile after mile they drifted through the silent gloom between those
+vast and magnificent walls.  After the speed, the turmoil, the
+whirling, shrieking, thundering, the never-ceasing sound and change
+and motion of the rapids above, this slow, quiet drifting, this utter,
+absolute silence, these eddying stretches of still water below, worked
+strangely upon Shefford's mind and he feared he was going mad.
+
+There was no change to the silence, no help for the slow drift, no
+lessening 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
+upper walls, the gloom returned, and still there was only the dead,
+vast, insupportable silence.
+
+There came bends where the current quickened, ripples widened, long
+lanes 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 and
+sunshine, and far beyond this league-wide open rose vermilion-colored
+cliffs.  A mile below the river disappeared in a dark, boxlike passage
+from which came a rumble that made Shefford's flesh creep.
+
+The Mormon flung high his arms and let out the stentorian yell that
+had rolled down to the fugitives as they waited at the mouth of
+Nonnezoshe Boco.  But now it had a wilder, more exultant note. Strange
+how he shifted 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
+craft slowly turned toward the left-hand shore, where a long, low
+bank of green willows and cottonwoods gave welcome relief to the
+eyes.  Upon the opposite side of the river Shefford saw a boat,
+similar to the one he was 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
+rumble of the remorseless river became something no more to dread.
+
+
+
+
+XX.  WILLOW SPRINGS
+
+
+Two days' travel from the river, along the saw-toothed range of Echo
+Cliffs, stood Presbrey's trading-post, a little red-stone square house
+in a green and pretty valley called Willow Springs.
+
+It was nearing the time of sunset--that gorgeous hour of color in the
+Painted 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
+first sighted 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
+of surprise, and his florid face lost its lazy indolence to become
+wreathed in a huge smile.
+
+"Haven't seen a white person in six months!" was his extraordinary
+greeting.
+
+An hour later Shefford, clean-shaven, comfortably clothed once more,
+found himself a different man; and when he saw Fay in white again,
+with a new and indefinable light shining through that old, haunting
+shadow in her eyes, then the world changed and he embraced perfect
+happiness.
+
+There was a dinner such as Shefford had not seen for many a day, and
+such as Fay had never seen, and that brought to Jane Withersteen's
+eyes the dreamy memory of the bountiful feasts which, long years ago,
+had been her pride.  And there was a story told to the curious trader
+and his kind wife--a story with its beginning back in those past years,
+of riders of the purple sage, of Fay Larkin as a child and then as a
+wild girl in Surprise Valley, of the flight down Nonnezoshe Boco an
+the canyon, of a great Mormon and a noble Indian.
+
+Presbrey stared with his deep-set eyes and wagged his tousled head and
+stared again; then with the quick perception of the practical desert
+man he said:
+
+"I'm sending teamsters in to Flagstaff to-morrow.  Wife and I will go
+along with you.  We've light wagons.  Three days, maybe--or four--and
+we'll be there. . . . Shefford, I'm going to see you marry Fay Larkin!"
+
+Fay and Jane and Lassiter showed strangely against this background of
+approaching civilization.  And Shefford realized more than ever the
+loneliness and isolation and wildness of so many years for them.
+
+When the women had retired Shefford and the men talked a while.  Then
+Joe Lake rose to stretch his big frame.
+
+"Friends, reckon I'm all in," he said.  "Good night."  In passing he
+laid a heavy hand on Shefford's shoulder.  "Well, you got out.  I've
+only a queer notion how.  But SOME ONE besides an Indian and a Mormon
+guided you out!. . . Be good to the girl. . . . Good-by, pard!"
+
+Shefford grasped the big hand and in the emotion of the moment did not
+catch 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.
+The coyotes were yelping.  The stars shone steadfast, bright, cold.
+Nas Ta Bega stalked out of the shadow of the house and joined Shefford.
+They walked in silence.  Shefford's heart was too full for utterance
+and the Indian seldom spoke at any time.  When Shefford was ready to
+go in Nas Ta Bega extended his hand.
+
+"Good-by--Bi Nai!" he said, strangely, using English and Navajo in
+what Shefford supposed to be merely good night.  The starlight shone
+full upon the dark, inscrutable face of the Indian.  Shefford bade
+him good night and then watched him stride away in the silver gloom.
+
+But next morning Shefford understood.  Nas Ta Bega and Joe Lake were
+gone.  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 gone out of Shefford's life as he had come into it.
+
+What these two men represented in Shefford's uplift was too great for
+the present to define, but they and the desert that had developed them
+had taught him the meaning of life.  He might fail often, since failure
+was the lot of his kind, but could he ever fail again in faith in man
+or God 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 a
+sleepless and eternal regret for that Indian on his lonely cedar
+slope with the spirits of his vanishing race calling him.
+
+   .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .
+
+Willow Springs appeared to be a lively place that morning.  Presbrey
+was gay and his sweet-faced wife was excited.  The teamsters were a
+jolly, whistling lot.  And the lean mustangs kicked and bit at one
+another.  The trader had brought out two light wagons for the trip,
+and, after the manner 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 the
+clouds, around their summits.
+
+Jane Withersteen looked at the radiant Fay and lived again in her
+happiness.  And at last excitement had been communicated to the old
+gun-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, as he 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
+of alfalfa and cotton wood, down the valley with its smoking hogans
+and whistling 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 of
+rolling pasture-land.  And here a beautiful meadow, green and red
+in clover, merged upon an orchard in the midst of which a brown-tiled
+roof showed above the trees.
+
+One afternoon in May a group of people, strangely agitated, walked
+down a shady lane toward the meadow.
+
+"Wal, Jane, I always knew we'd get a look at them hosses again--I shore
+knew," Lassiter was saying in the same old, cool, careless drawl.  But
+his clawlike hands shook a little.
+
+"Oh! will they know me?" asked Jane Withersteen, turning to a stalwart
+man--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 had
+recalled her from a sad and memorable past.
+
+"Black Star will know her, surely," replied Bess.  "Sometimes he points
+his nose toward the west and watches as if he saw the purple slopes and
+smelt the sage of Utah!  He has never forgotten.  But Night has grown
+deaf and 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
+splendid in every line.
+
+"Do you remember them?" whispered Shefford.
+
+"Oh, I only needed to see Black Star," murmured Fay, her voice
+quivering.  "I can remember being lifted on his back. . . . How
+strange!  It seems so long ago. . . . Look!  Mother Jane is going
+out to them."
+
+Jane Withersteen advanced alone through the clover, and it was with
+unsteady steps.  Presently she halted.  What glorious and bitter
+memories were expressed in her strange, poignant call!
+
+Black Star started and swept up his noble head and looked.  But Night
+went on calmly grazing.  Then Jane called again--the same strange call,
+only louder, and this time broken.  Black Star raised his head higher
+and he whistled a piercing blast.  He saw Jane; he knew her as he had
+remembered 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'
+the blacks 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'll
+have him--something left of her old home?" asked Bess, wistfully.
+
+"Indeed it is good.  But, Bess, Jane Withersteen will find a new spirit
+and 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 riders of the purple sage."
+
+Venters smiled his gladness.  "And you--Lassiter--what shall you
+remember?" he queried.
+
+The old gun-man looked at Jane and then at his clawlike hands and then
+at 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
+wild uplands, of the great towers and walls, of the golden sunsets
+on the canyon ramparts, of the silent, fragrant valleys where the
+cedars and the sago-lilies grew, of those starlit nights when his
+love and faith awoke, of grand and lonely Nonnezoshe, of that red,
+sullen, thundering, mysterious Colorado River, of a wonderful Indian
+and a noble Mormon--of all that was embodied for him in the meaning
+of the rainbow trail.
+
+
+
+
+THE END
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Rainbow Trail, by Zane Grey
+
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