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diff --git a/5067-0.txt b/5067-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c8e3eec --- /dev/null +++ b/5067-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11462 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Rainbow Trail, by Zane Grey + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Rainbow Trail + +Author: Zane Grey + +Release Date: February, 2004 [EBook #5067] +Posting Date: May 31, 2009 +Last Updated: March 10, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE RAINBOW TRAIL *** + + + + +Produced by Doug Levy + + + + + + + + + +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 cañon, 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 cañon 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 Cañon, 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 Cañon 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 cañon. 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 Cañon, 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 +cañon? 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 cañon winding +between huge beetling red walls. He heard the murmur of flowing water. +The trail led down to the cañon floor, which appeared to be level and +green and cut by deep washes in red earth. Could this cañon 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 vastness 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 cañon 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 cañon. 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 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 cañon 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 cañon 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 +cañon. + +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 cañon 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 cañon. + +. . . . . . . . . . . + +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 cañon. 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 cañon. 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 cañon 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 +cañon 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 cañon 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 cañon 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 cañon, +through greasewood flats and over grassy 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 cañon, 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 cañon 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 cañon, 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 cañon 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 cañon 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 cañon 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 cañon, 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 +cañon 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 cañon, 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 cañon 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 cañon. + +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 cañon. + +“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 cañon, +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 cañon 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 cañon 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 cañon.” + +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 cañon, 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 +cañon. 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--cañon, 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 cañon, 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 cañon 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. Piñon and cedar trees +surrounded the little log and stone houses, and along the walls of the +cañon 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, +clad 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 cañon. 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 cañon +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 cañon 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 Cañon 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 cañon 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 Cañon. And the other dark +line, that's Escalante Cañon. They wind down into this great purple +chasm--'way over here to the left--and that's the Grand Cañon. 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 cañon 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 cañon +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 +cañon 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 cañon.” + +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 cañon 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 cañon 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 +cañon 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 cañon +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 Cañon. 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 cañon. 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 cañon, 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 cañon 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 cañon 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 Cañon, Keams Cañon, 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 cañon. 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 cañon 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 Cañon! 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 cañon 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 cañon 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 +cañon--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 whose 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 cañon 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 Cañon.... 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 cañon, 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 cañon 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 +cañon 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 came 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 cañon 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 +cañon. 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 cañon. 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 cañon 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 cañon, 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 cañon 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 +cañon 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 +cañon; 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 cañon 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 Cañon, 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 cañon 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 cañon to the big +river--the Colorado. He knows the head of this cañon. Nonnezoshe Boco +it's called--cañon 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 cañon 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 cañon, 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 cañon 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 +Cañon. 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 was 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 +cañon. 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 cañon 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 cañon?” 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 cañon 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 cañon and +cañon 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 cañon 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 cañon 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 cañon 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 cañon. +Shefford calculated that they were coming to the end of the plateau. +The low walls slanted lower; the cañon 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 cañon. 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 Cañon. 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 Cañon 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 cañon. 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 cañon 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 Cañon 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 Cañon 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 his +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 +Indian 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 +cañon. + +“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 +cañon 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 cañon he abandoned +the tracks and pushed ahead swiftly. He heard the soft rush of running +water. In the center of the cañon 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 +cañon 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 cañon.” + +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 cañon, +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 cañon 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 cañon--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 cañon. +They stood up everywhere starlike out of the green. It was impossible +to prevent the mustangs treading them under hoof. And as the cañon +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 cañon, 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 cañon, 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 cañon. 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 +cañon 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 cañon 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 Indian 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 cañon 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 cañon 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 +cañon. 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 cañon 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 cañon 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 cañon was now a blank, black wall. Over +its towering rim showed a pale glow. It brightened. The shades in the +cañon 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 cañon 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 +cañon, 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 cañon. 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 cañon +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 cañon. 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 cañon 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 cañon 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 Cañon,” 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 cañon, 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 cañon +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 cañon, 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 Cañon 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 cañon 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 cañon 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 +cañon, 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 cañon 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 cañon. 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 cañon. 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 +cañon; then it broke to a low, dull, strange roar. + +“Aha! Hear that?” The Mormon shook his shaggy head. “Reckon we're in +Cataract Cañon. 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 cañon 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 cañon. 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 cañon, 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 cañon. 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 cañon, 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 cañon, 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 cañon 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 +cañon. + +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 cañon 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 cañon 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 +cañon--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 cañon. +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 +cañon, 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 +cañon 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 + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE RAINBOW TRAIL *** + +***** This file should be named 5067-0.txt or 5067-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/5/0/6/5067/ + +Produced by Doug Levy + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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