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+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: January 20, 2014]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE RAINBOW TRAIL ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Doug Levy
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE RAINBOW TRAIL, a Romance
+
+by ZANE GREY.
+
+
+
+Transcriber's note:
+
+In the original text the words "canyon" and "pinyon" are spelled in the
+Spanish form, "canon" and "pinon", with tildes above the center "n"s.
+Since the plain text format precludes the use of tildes, I've changed
+these words to the more familiar spelling to make them easier to
+read.--D.L.
+
+
+
+CONTENTS.
+
+
+    FOREWORD
+
+
+    CHAPTER.
+
+    I.     RED LAKE.
+
+    II.    THE SAGI.
+
+    III.   KAYENTA.
+
+    IV.    NEW FRIENDS.
+
+    V.     ON THE TRAIL.
+
+    VI.    IN THE HIDDEN VALLEY.
+
+    VII.   SAGO-LILIES.
+
+    VIII.  THE HOGAN OF NAS TA BEGA.
+
+    IX.    IN THE DESERT CRUCIBLE.
+
+    X.     STONEBRIDGE.
+
+    XI.    AFTER THE TRIAL.
+
+    XII.   THE REVELATION.
+
+    XIII.  THE STORY OF SURPRISE VALLEY.
+
+    XIV.   THE NAVAJO.
+
+    XV.    WILD JUSTICE.
+
+    XVI.   SURPRISE VALLEY.
+
+    XVII.  THE TRAIL TO NONNEZOSHE.
+
+    XVIII. AT THE FOOT OF THE RAINBOW.
+
+    XIX.   THE GRAND CANYON OF THE COLORADO.
+
+    XX.    WILLOW SPRINGS.
+
+
+    EPILOGUE
+
+
+
+
+FOREWORD
+
+
+The spell of the desert comes back to me, as it always will come. I see
+the veils, like purple smoke, in the canyon, and I feel the silence. And
+it seems that again I must try to pierce both and to get at the strange
+wild life of the last American wilderness--wild still, almost, as it
+ever was.
+
+
+While this romance is an independent story, yet readers of "Riders of
+the Purple Sage" will find in it an answer to a question often asked.
+
+I wish to say also this story has appeared serially in a different
+form in one of the monthly magazines under the title of "The Desert
+Crucible."             ZANE GREY.
+
+             June, 1915.
+
+
+
+
+
+THE RAINBOW TRAIL
+
+
+
+
+I. RED LAKE
+
+
+Shefford halted his tired horse and gazed with slowly realizing eyes.
+
+A league-long slope of sage rolled and billowed down to Red Lake, a dry
+red basin, denuded and glistening, a hollow in the desert, a lonely and
+desolate door to the vast, wild, and broken upland beyond.
+
+All day Shefford had plodded onward with the clear horizon-line a thing
+unattainable; and for days before that he had ridden the wild bare flats
+and climbed the rocky desert benches. The great colored reaches and
+steps had led endlessly onward and upward through dim and deceiving
+distance.
+
+A hundred miles of desert travel, with its mistakes and lessons and
+intimations, had not prepared him for what he now saw. He beheld what
+seemed a world that knew only magnitude. Wonder and awe fixed his gaze,
+and thought remained aloof. Then that dark and unknown northland flung
+a menace at him. An irresistible call had drawn him to this seamed and
+peaked border of Arizona, this broken battlemented wilderness of Utah
+upland; and at first sight they frowned upon him, as if to warn him not
+to search for what lay hidden beyond the ranges. But Shefford thrilled
+with both fear and exultation. That was the country which had been
+described to him. Far across the red valley, far beyond the ragged line
+of black mesa and yellow range, lay the wild canyon with its haunting
+secret.
+
+Red Lake must be his Rubicon. Either he must enter the unknown to seek,
+to strive, to find, or turn back and fail and never know and be always
+haunted. A friend's strange story had prompted his singular journey; a
+beautiful rainbow with its mystery and promise had decided him. Once in
+his life he had answered a wild call to the kingdom of adventure
+within him, and once in his life he had been happy. But here in the
+horizon-wide face of that up-flung and cloven desert he grew cold; he
+faltered even while he felt more fatally drawn.
+
+As if impelled Shefford started his horse down the sandy trail, but he
+checked his former far-reaching gaze. It was the month of April, and the
+waning sun lost heat and brightness. Long shadows crept down the slope
+ahead of him and the scant sage deepened its gray. He watched the
+lizards shoot like brown streaks across the sand, leaving their slender
+tracks; he heard the rustle of pack-rats as they darted into their
+brushy homes; the whir of a low-sailing hawk startled his horse.
+
+Like ocean waves the slope rose and fell, its hollows choked with sand,
+its ridge-tops showing scantier growth of sage and grass and weed. The
+last ridge was a sand-dune, beautifully ribbed and scalloped and lined
+by the wind, and from its knife-sharp crest a thin wavering sheet of
+sand blew, almost like smoke. Shefford wondered why the sand looked red
+at a distance, for here it seemed almost white. It rippled everywhere,
+clean and glistening, always leading down.
+
+Suddenly Shefford became aware of a house looming out of the bareness
+of the slope. It dominated that long white incline. Grim, lonely,
+forbidding, how strangely it harmonized with the surroundings! The
+structure was octagon-shaped, built of uncut stone, and resembled a
+fort. There was no door on the sides exposed to Shefford's gaze, but
+small apertures two-thirds the way up probably served as windows and
+port-holes. The roof appeared to be made of poles covered with red
+earth.
+
+Like a huge cold rock on a wide plain this house stood there on the
+windy slope. It was an outpost of the trader Presbrey, of whom Shefford
+had heard at Flagstaff and Tuba. No living thing appeared in the
+limit of Shefford's vision. He gazed shudderingly at the unwelcoming
+habitation, at the dark eyelike windows, at the sweep of barren slope
+merging into the vast red valley, at the bold, bleak bluffs. Could any
+one live here? The nature of that sinister valley forbade a home there,
+and the spirit of the place hovered in the silence and space. Shefford
+thought irresistibly of how his enemies would have consigned him to
+just such a hell. He thought bitterly and mockingly of the narrow
+congregation that had proved him a failure in the ministry, that had
+repudiated his ideas of religion and immortality and God, that had
+driven him, at the age of twenty-four, from the calling forced upon him
+by his people. As a boy he had yearned to make himself an artist; his
+family had made him a clergyman; fate had made him a failure. A failure
+only so far in his life, something urged him to add--for in the lonely
+days and silent nights of the desert he had experienced a strange birth
+of hope. Adventure had called him, but it was a vague and spiritual
+hope, a dream of promise, a nameless attainment that fortified his
+wilder impulse.
+
+As he rode around a corner of the stone house his horse snorted and
+stopped. A lean, shaggy pony jumped at sight of him, almost displacing
+a red long-haired blanket that covered an Indian saddle. Quick thuds
+of hoofs in sand drew Shefford's attention to a corral made of peeled
+poles, and here he saw another pony.
+
+Shefford heard subdued voices. He dismounted and walked to an open door.
+In the dark interior he dimly descried a high counter, a stairway, a
+pile of bags of flour, blankets, and silver-ornamented objects, but the
+persons he had heard were not in that part of the house. Around another
+corner of the octagon-shaped wall he found another open door, and
+through it saw goat-skins and a mound of dirty sheep-wool, black and
+brown and white. It was light in this part of the building. When he
+crossed the threshold he was astounded to see a man struggling with
+a girl--an Indian girl. She was straining back from him, panting, and
+uttering low guttural sounds. The man's face was corded and dark with
+passion. This scene affected Shefford strangely. Primitive emotions were
+new to him.
+
+Before Shefford could speak the girl broke loose and turned to flee. She
+was an Indian and this place was the uncivilized desert, but Shefford
+knew terror when he saw it. Like a dog the man rushed after her. It was
+instinct that made Shefford strike, and his blow laid the man flat. He
+lay stunned a moment, then raised himself to a sitting posture, his
+hand to his face, and the gaze he fixed upon Shefford seemed to combine
+astonishment and rage.
+
+"I hope you're not Presbrey," said Shefford, slowly. He felt awkward,
+not sure of himself.
+
+The man appeared about to burst into speech, but repressed it. There
+was blood on his mouth and his hand. Hastily he scrambled to his feet.
+Shefford saw this man's amaze and rage change to shame. He was tall and
+rather stout; he had a smooth tanned face, soft of outline, with a weak
+chin; his eyes were dark. The look of him and his corduroys and his soft
+shoes gave Shefford an impression that he was not a man who worked hard.
+By contrast with the few other worn and rugged desert men Shefford had
+met this stranger stood out strikingly. He stooped to pick up a soft
+felt hat and, jamming it on his head, he hurried out. Shefford followed
+him and watched him from the door. He went directly to the corral,
+mounted the pony, and rode out, to turn down the slope toward the south.
+When he reached the level of the basin, where evidently the sand was
+hard, he put the pony to a lope and gradually drew away.
+
+"Well!" ejaculated Shefford. He did not know what to make of this
+adventure. Presently he became aware that the Indian girl was sitting on
+a roll of blankets near the wall. With curious interest Shefford studied
+her appearance. She had long, raven-black hair, tangled and disheveled,
+and she wore a soiled white band of cord above her brow. The color of
+her face struck him; it was dark, but not red nor bronzed; it almost
+had a tinge of gold. Her profile was clear-cut, bold, almost stern. Long
+black eyelashes hid her eyes. She wore a tight-fitting waist garment of
+material resembling velveteen. It was ripped along her side, exposing
+a skin still more richly gold than that of her face. A string of silver
+ornaments and turquoise-and-white beads encircled her neck, and it moved
+gently up and down with the heaving of her full bosom. Her skirt was
+some gaudy print goods, torn and stained and dusty. She had little feet,
+incased in brown moccasins, fitting like gloves and buttoning over the
+ankles with silver coins.
+
+"Who was that man? Did he hurt you?" inquired Shefford, turning to gaze
+down the valley where a moving black object showed on the bare sand.
+
+"No savvy," replied the Indian girl.
+
+"Where's the trader Presbrey?" asked Shefford.
+
+She pointed straight down into the red valley.
+
+"Toh," she said.
+
+In the center of the basin lay a small pool of water shining brightly in
+the sunset glow. Small objects moved around it, so small that Shefford
+thought he saw several dogs led by a child. But it was the distance
+that deceived him. There was a man down there watering his horses. That
+reminded Shefford of the duty owing to his own tired and thirsty beast.
+Whereupon he untied his pack, took off the saddle, and was about ready
+to start down when the Indian girl grasped the bridle from his hand.
+
+"Me go," she said.
+
+He saw her eyes then, and they made her look different. They were as
+black as her hair. He was puzzled to decide whether or not he thought
+her handsome.
+
+"Thanks, but I'll go," he replied, and, taking the bridle again, he
+started down the slope. At every step he sank into the deep, soft sand.
+Down a little way he came upon a pile of tin cans; they were everywhere,
+buried, half buried, and lying loose; and these gave evidence of how
+the trader lived. Presently Shefford discovered that the Indian girl
+was following him with her own pony. Looking upward at her against the
+light, he thought her slender, lithe, picturesque. At a distance he
+liked her.
+
+He plodded on, at length glad to get out of the drifts of sand to the
+hard level floor of the valley. This, too, was sand, but dried and baked
+hard, and red in color. At some season of the year this immense flat
+must be covered with water. How wide it was, and empty! Shefford
+experienced again a feeling that had been novel to him--and it was that
+he was loose, free, unanchored, ready to veer with the wind. From the
+foot of the slope the water hole had appeared to be a few hundred rods
+out in the valley. But the small size of the figures made Shefford
+doubt; and he had to travel many times a few hundred rods before those
+figures began to grow. Then Shefford made out that they were approaching
+him.
+
+Thereafter they rapidly increased to normal proportions of man and
+beast. When Shefford met them he saw a powerful, heavily built young man
+leading two ponies.
+
+"You're Mr. Presbrey, the trader?" inquired Shefford.
+
+"Yes, I'm Presbrey, without the Mister," he replied.
+
+"My name's Shefford. I'm knocking about on the desert. Rode from beyond
+Tuba to-day."
+
+"Glad to see you," said Presbrey. He offered his hand. He was a stalwart
+man, clad in gray shirt, overalls, and boots. A shock of tumbled light
+hair covered his massive head; he was tanned, but not darkly, and there
+was red in his cheeks; under his shaggy eyebrows were deep, keen eyes;
+his lips were hard and set, as if occasion for smiles or words was rare;
+and his big, strong jaw seemed locked.
+
+"Wish more travelers came knocking around Red Lake," he added. "Reckon
+here's the jumping-off place."
+
+"It's pretty--lonesome," said Shefford, hesitating as if at a loss for
+words.
+
+Then the Indian girl came up. Presbrey addressed her in her own
+language, which Shefford did not understand. She seemed shy and would
+not answer; she stood with downcast face and eyes. Presbrey spoke again,
+at which she pointed down the valley, and then moved on with her pony
+toward the water-hole.
+
+Presbrey's keen eyes fixed on the receding black dot far down that oval
+expanse.
+
+"That fellow left--rather abruptly," said Shefford, constrainedly. "Who
+was he?"
+
+"His name's Willetts. He's a missionary. He rode in to-day with this
+Navajo girl. He was taking her to Blue Canyon, where he lives and
+teaches the Indians. I've met him only a few times. You see, not many
+white men ride in here. He's the first white man I've seen in six
+months, and you're the second. Both the same day!... Red Lake's getting
+popular! It's queer, though, his leaving. He expected to stay all night.
+There's no other place to stay. Blue Canyon is fifty miles away."
+
+"I'm sorry to say--no, I'm not sorry, either--but I must tell you I was
+the cause of Mr. Willetts leaving," replied Shefford.
+
+"How so?" inquired the other.
+
+Then Shefford related the incident following his arrival.
+
+"Perhaps my action was hasty," he concluded, apologetically. "I didn't
+think. Indeed, I'm surprised at myself."
+
+Presbrey made no comment and his face was as hard to read as one of the
+distant bluffs.
+
+"But what did the man mean?" asked Shefford, conscious of a little
+heat. "I'm a stranger out here. I'm ignorant of Indians--how they're
+controlled. Still I'm no fool.... If Willetts didn't mean evil, at least
+he was brutal."
+
+"He was teaching her religion," replied Presbrey. His tone held faint
+scorn and implied a joke, but his face did not change in the slightest.
+
+Without understanding just why, Shefford felt his conviction justified
+and his action approved. Then he was sensible of a slight shock of
+wonder and disgust.
+
+"I am--I was a minister of the Gospel," he said to Presbrey. "What you
+hint seems impossible. I can't believe it."
+
+"I didn't hint," replied Presbrey, bluntly, and it was evident that
+he was a sincere, but close-mouthed, man. "Shefford, so you're a
+preacher?... Did you come out here to try to convert the Indians?"
+
+"No. I said I WAS a minister. I am no longer. I'm just a--a wanderer."
+
+"I see. Well, the desert's no place for missionaries, but it's good for
+wanderers.... Go water your horse and take him up to the corral. You'll
+find some hay for him. I'll get grub ready."
+
+Shefford went on with his horse to the pool. The water appeared thick,
+green, murky, and there was a line of salty crust extending around the
+margin of the pool. The thirsty horse splashed in and eagerly bent his
+head. But he did not like the taste. Many times he refused to drink, yet
+always lowered his nose again. Finally he drank, though not his fill.
+Shefford saw the Indian girl drink from her hand. He scooped up a
+handful and found it too sour to swallow. When he turned to retrace his
+steps she mounted her pony and followed him.
+
+A golden flare lit up the western sky, and silhouetted dark and lonely
+against it stood the trading-post. Upon his return Shefford found the
+wind rising, and it chilled him. When he reached the slope thin gray
+sheets of sand were blowing low, rising, whipping, falling, sweeping
+along with soft silken rustle. Sometimes the gray veils hid his boots.
+It was a long, toilsome climb up that yielding, dragging ascent, and he
+had already been lame and tired. By the time he had put his horse away
+twilight was everywhere except in the west. The Indian girl left her
+pony in the corral and came like a shadow toward the house.
+
+Shefford had difficulty in finding the foot of the stairway. He climbed
+to enter a large loft, lighted by two lamps. Presbrey was there,
+kneading biscuit dough in a pan.
+
+"Make yourself comfortable," he said.
+
+The huge loft was the shape of a half-octagon. A door opened upon the
+valley side, and here, too, there were windows. How attractive the place
+was in comparison with the impressions gained from the outside! The
+furnishings consisted of Indian blankets on the floor, two beds, a
+desk and table, several chairs and a couch, a gun-rack full of rifles,
+innumerable silver-ornamented belts, bridles, and other Indian articles
+upon the walls, and in one corner a wood-burning stove with teakettle
+steaming, and a great cupboard with shelves packed full of canned foods.
+
+Shefford leaned in the doorway and looked out. Beneath him on a roll of
+blankets sat the Indian girl, silent and motionless. He wondered what
+was in her mind, what she would do, how the trader would treat her. The
+slope now was a long slant of sheeted moving shadows of sand. Dusk had
+gathered in the valley. The bluffs loomed beyond. A pale star twinkled
+above. Shefford suddenly became aware of the intense nature of the
+stillness about him. Yet, as he listened to this silence, he heard
+an intermittent and immeasurably low moan, a fitful, mournful murmur.
+Assuredly it was only the wind. Nevertheless, it made his blood run
+cold. It was a different wind from that which had made music under
+the eaves of his Illinois home. This was a lonely, haunting wind, with
+desert hunger in it, and more which he could not name. Shefford listened
+to this spirit-brooding sound while he watched night envelop the valley.
+How black, how thick the mantle! Yet it brought no comforting sense
+of close-folded protection, of walls of soft sleep, of a home. Instead
+there was the feeling of space, of emptiness, of an infinite hall down
+which a mournful wind swept streams of murmuring sand.
+
+"Well, grub's about ready," said Presbrey.
+
+"Got any water?" asked Shefford.
+
+"Sure. There in the bucket. It's rain-water. I have a tank here."
+
+Shefford's sore and blistered face felt better after he had washed off
+the sand and alkali dust.
+
+"Better not wash your face often while you're in the desert. Bad plan,"
+went on Presbrey, noting how gingerly his visitor had gone about his
+ablutions. "Well, come and eat."
+
+Shefford marked that if the trader did live a lonely life he fared well.
+There was more on the table than twice two men could have eaten. It was
+the first time in four days that Shefford had sat at a table, and he
+made up for lost opportunity.
+
+His host's actions indicated pleasure, yet the strange, hard face never
+relaxed, never changed. When the meal was finished Presbrey declined
+assistance, had a generous thought of the Indian girl, who, he said,
+could have a place to eat and sleep down-stairs, and then with the skill
+and despatch of an accomplished housewife cleared the table, after which
+work he filled a pipe and evidently prepared to listen.
+
+It took only one question for Shefford to find that the trader was
+starved for news of the outside world; and for an hour Shefford fed that
+appetite, even as he had been done by. But when he had talked himself
+out there seemed indication of Presbrey being more than a good listener.
+
+"How'd you come in?" he asked, presently.
+
+"By Flagstaff--across the Little Colorado--and through Moencopie."
+
+"Did you stop at Moen Ave?"
+
+"No. What place is that?"
+
+"A missionary lives there. Did you stop at Tuba?"
+
+"Only long enough to drink and water my horse. That was a wonderful
+spring for the desert."
+
+"You said you were a wanderer.... Do you want a job? I'll give you one."
+
+"No, thank you, Presbrey."
+
+"I saw your pack. That's no pack to travel with in this country. Your
+horse won't last, either. Have you any money?"
+
+"Yes, plenty of money."
+
+"Well, that's good. Not that a white man out here would ever take a
+dollar from you. But you can buy from the Indians as you go. Where are
+you making for, anyhow?"
+
+Shefford hesitated, debating in mind whether to tell his purpose or not.
+His host did not press the question.
+
+"I see. Just foot-loose and wandering around," went on Presbrey. "I can
+understand how the desert appeals to you. Preachers lead easy, safe,
+crowded, bound lives. They're shut up in a church with a Bible and good
+people. When once in a lifetime they get loose--they break out."
+
+"Yes, I've broken out--beyond all bounds," replied Shefford, sadly.
+He seemed retrospective for a moment, unaware of the trader's keen and
+sympathetic glance, and then he caught himself. "I want to see some wild
+life. Do you know the country north of here?"
+
+"Only what the Navajos tell me. And they're not much to talk. There's
+a trail goes north, but I've never traveled it. It's a new trail every
+time an Indian goes that way, for here the sand blows and covers old
+tracks. But few Navajos ride in from the north. My trade is mostly with
+Indians up and down the valley."
+
+"How about water and grass?"
+
+"We've had rain and snow. There's sure to be, water. Can't say about
+grass, though the sheep and ponies from the north are always fat....
+But, say, Shefford, if you'll excuse me for advising you--don't go
+north."
+
+"Why?" asked Shefford, and it was certain that he thrilled.
+
+"It's unknown country, terribly broken, as you can see from here, and
+there are bad Indians biding in the canyon. I've never met a man who had
+been over the pass between here and Kayenta. The trip's been made, so
+there must be a trail. But it's a dangerous trip for any man, let alone
+a tenderfoot. You're not even packing a gun."
+
+"What's this place Kayenta?" asked Shefford.
+
+"It's a spring. Kayenta means Bottomless Spring. There's a little
+trading-post, the last and the wildest in northern Arizona. Withers, the
+trader who keeps it, hauls his supplies in from Colorado and New Mexico.
+He's never come down this way. I never saw him. Know nothing of him
+except hearsay. Reckon he's a nervy and strong man to hold that post. If
+you want to go there, better go by way of Keams Canyon, and then around
+the foot of Black Mesa. It'll be a long ride--maybe two hundred miles."
+
+"How far straight north over the pass?"
+
+"Can't say. Upward of seventy-five miles over rough trails, if there are
+trails at all.... I've heard rumors of a fine tribe of Navajos living in
+there, rich in sheep and horses. It may be true and it may not. But I do
+know there are bad Indians, half-breeds and outcasts, hiding in there.
+Some of them have visited me here. Bad customers! More than that,
+you'll be going close to the Utah line, and the Mormons over there are
+unfriendly these days."
+
+"Why?" queried Shefford, again with that curious thrill.
+
+"They are being persecuted by the government."
+
+Shefford asked no more questions and his host vouchsafed no more
+information on that score. The conversation lagged. Then Shefford
+inquired about the Indian girl and learned that she lived up the valley
+somewhere. Presbrey had never seen her before Willetts came with her
+to Red Lake. And this query brought out the fact that Presbrey was
+comparatively new to Red Lake and vicinity. Shefford wondered why a
+lonely six months there had not made the trader old in experience.
+Probably the desert did not readily give up its secrets. Moreover, this
+Red Lake house was only an occasionally used branch of Presbrey's main
+trading-post, which was situated at Willow Springs, fifty miles westward
+over the mesa.
+
+"I'm closing up here soon for a spell," said Presbrey, and now his
+face lost its set hardness and seemed singularly changed. It was a
+difference, of light and softness. "Won't be so lonesome over at Willow
+Springs.... I'm being married soon."
+
+"That's fine," replied Shefford, warmly. He was glad for the sake of
+this lonely desert man. What good a wife would bring into a trader's
+life!
+
+Presbrey's naive admission, however, appeared to detach him from his
+present surroundings, and with his massive head enveloped by a cloud of
+smoke he lived in dreams.
+
+Shefford respected his host's serene abstraction. Indeed, he was
+grateful for silence. Not for many nights had the past impinged so
+closely upon the present. The wound in his soul had not healed, and to
+speak of himself made it bleed anew. Memory was too poignant; the past
+was too close; he wanted to forget until he had toiled into the heart of
+this forbidding wilderness--until time had gone by and he dared to face
+his unquiet soul. Then he listened to the steadily rising roar of the
+wind. How strange and hollow! That wind was freighted with heavy sand,
+and he heard it sweep, sweep, sweep by in gusts, and then blow with
+dull, steady blast against the walls. The sound was provocative of
+thought. This moan and rush of wind was no dream--this presence of his
+in a night-enshrouded and sand-besieged house of the lonely desert was
+reality--this adventure was not one of fancy. True indeed, then, must
+be the wild, strange story that had led him hither. He was going on to
+seek, to strive, to find. Somewhere northward in the broken fastnesses
+lay hidden a valley walled in from the world. Would they be there, those
+lost fugitives whose story had thrilled him? After twelve years would
+she be alive, a child grown to womanhood in the solitude of a beautiful
+canyon? Incredible! Yet he believed his friend's story and he indeed
+knew how strange and tragic life was. He fancied he heard her voice
+on the sweeping wind. She called to him, haunted him. He admitted the
+improbability of her existence, but lost nothing of the persistent
+intangible hope that drove him. He believed himself a man stricken in
+soul, unworthy, through doubt of God, to minister to the people who had
+banished him. Perhaps a labor of Hercules, a mighty and perilous work of
+rescue, the saving of this lost and imprisoned girl, would help him in
+his trouble. She might be his salvation. Who could tell? Always as a boy
+and as a man he had fared forth to find the treasure at the foot of the
+rainbow.
+
+
+
+
+II. THE SAGI
+
+
+Next morning the Indian girl was gone and the tracks of her pony led
+north. Shefford's first thought was to wonder if he would overtake her
+on the trail; and this surprised him with the proof of how unconsciously
+his resolve to go on had formed.
+
+Presbrey made no further attempt to turn Shefford back. But he insisted
+on replenishing the pack, and that Shefford take weapons. Finally
+Shefford was persuaded to accept a revolver. The trader bade him good-by
+and stood in the door while Shefford led his horse down the slope
+toward the water-hole. Perhaps the trader believed he was watching the
+departure of a man who would never return. He was still standing at the
+door of the post when Shefford halted at the pool.
+
+Upon the level floor of the valley lay thin patches of snow which
+had fallen during the night. The air was biting cold, yet stimulated
+Shefford while it stung him. His horse drank rather slowly and
+disgustedly. Then Shefford mounted and reluctantly turned his back upon
+the trading-post.
+
+As he rode away from the pool he saw a large flock of sheep approaching.
+They were very closely, even densely, packed, in a solid slow-moving
+mass and coming with a precision almost like a march. This fact
+surprised Shefford, for there was not an Indian in sight. Presently he
+saw that a dog was leading the flock, and a little later he discovered
+another dog in the rear of the sheep. They were splendid, long-haired
+dogs, of a wild-looking shepherd breed. He halted his horse to watch the
+procession pass by. The flock covered fully an acre of ground and the
+sheep were black, white, and brown. They passed him, making a little
+pattering roar on the hard-caked sand. The dogs were taking the sheep in
+to water.
+
+Shefford went on and was drawing close to the other side of the basin,
+where the flat red level was broken by rising dunes and ridges, when he
+espied a bunch of ponies. A shrill whistle told him that they had seen
+him. They were wild, shaggy, with long manes and tails. They stopped,
+threw up their heads, and watched him. Shefford certainly returned the
+attention. There was no Indian with them. Presently, with a snort, the
+leader, which appeared to be a stallion, trotted behind the others,
+seemed to be driving them, and went clear round the band to get in the
+lead again. He was taking them in to water, the same as the dogs had
+taken the sheep.
+
+These incidents were new and pleasing to Shefford. How ignorant he had
+been of life in the wilderness! Once more he received subtle intimations
+of what he might learn out in the open; and it was with a less weighted
+heart that he faced the gateway between the huge yellow bluffs on his
+left and the slow rise of ground to the black mesa on his right. He
+looked back in time to see the trading-post, bleak and lonely on the
+bare slope, pass out of sight behind the bluffs. Shefford felt no
+fear--he really had little experience of physical fear--but it was
+certain that he gritted his teeth and welcomed whatever was to come to
+him. He had lived a narrow, insulated life with his mind on spiritual
+things; his family and his congregation and his friends--except that
+one new friend whose story had enthralled him--were people of quiet
+religious habit; the man deep down in him had never had a chance. He
+breathed hard as he tried to imagine the world opening to him, and
+almost dared to be glad for the doubt that had sent him adrift.
+
+The tracks of the Indian girl's pony were plain in the sand. Also there
+were other tracks, not so plain, and these Shefford decided had been
+made by Willetts and the girl the day before. He climbed a ridge, half
+soft sand and half hard, and saw right before him, rising in striking
+form, two great yellow buttes, like elephant legs. He rode between them,
+amazed at their height. Then before him stretched a slowly ascending
+valley, walled on one side by the black mesa and on the other by low
+bluffs. For miles a dark-green growth of greasewood covered the valley,
+and Shefford could see where the green thinned and failed, to give place
+to sand. He trotted his horse and made good time on this stretch.
+
+The day contrasted greatly with any he had yet experienced. Gray clouds
+obscured the walls of rock a few miles to the west, and Shefford saw
+squalls of snow like huge veils dropping down and spreading out. The
+wind cut with the keenness of a knife. Soon he was chilled to the bone.
+A squall swooped and roared down upon him, and the wind that bore the
+driving white pellets of snow, almost like hail, was so freezing bitter
+cold that the former wind seemed warm in comparison. The squall passed
+as swiftly as it had come, and it left Shefford so benumbed he could not
+hold the bridle. He tumbled off his horse and walked. By and by the sun
+came out and soon warmed him and melted the thin layer of snow on the
+sand. He was still on the trail of the Indian girl, but hers were now
+the only tracks he could see.
+
+All morning he gradually climbed, with limited view, until at last he
+mounted to a point where the country lay open to his sight on all sides
+except where the endless black mesa ranged on into the north. A rugged
+yellow peak dominated the landscape to the fore, but it was far away.
+Red and jagged country extended westward to a huge flat-topped wall of
+gray rock. Lowering swift clouds swept across the sky, like drooping
+mantles, and darkened the sun. Shefford built a little fire out of dead
+greasewood sticks, and with his blanket round his shoulders he hung over
+the blaze, scorching his clothes and hands. He had been cold before in
+his life but he had never before appreciated fire. This desert blast
+pierced him. The squall enveloped him, thicker and colder and windier
+than the other, but, being better fortified, he did not suffer so much.
+It howled away, hiding the mesa and leaving a white desert behind.
+Shefford walked on, leading his horse, until the exercise and the sun
+had once more warmed him.
+
+This last squall had rendered the Indian girl's trail difficult to
+follow. The snow did not quickly melt, and, besides, sheep tracks and
+the tracks of horses gave him trouble, until at last he was compelled to
+admit that he could not follow her any longer. A faint path or trail
+led north, however, and, following that, he soon forgot the girl. Every
+surmounted ridge held a surprise for him. The desert seemed never to
+change in the vast whole that encompassed him, yet near him it was
+always changing. From Red Lake he had seen a peaked, walled, and
+canyoned country, as rough as a stormy sea; but when he rode into that
+country the sharp and broken features held to the distance.
+
+He was glad to get out of the sand. Long narrow flats, gray with grass
+and dotted with patches of greasewood, and lined by low bare ridges of
+yellow rock, stretched away from him, leading toward the yellow peak
+that seemed never to be gained upon.
+
+Shefford had pictures in his mind, pictures of stone walls and wild
+valleys and domed buttes, all of which had been painted in colorful and
+vivid words by his friend Venters. He believed he would recognize the
+distinctive and remarkable landmarks Venters had portrayed, and he was
+certain that he had not yet come upon one of them. This was his second
+lonely day of travel and he had grown more and more susceptible to the
+influence of horizon and the different prominent points. He attributed
+a gradual change in his feelings to the loneliness and the increasing
+wildness. Between Tuba and Flagstaff he had met Indians and an
+occasional prospector and teamster. Here he was alone, and though he
+felt some strange gladness, he could not help but see the difference.
+
+He rode on during the gray, lowering, chilly day, and toward evening
+the clouds broke in the west, and a setting sun shone through the
+rift, burnishing the desert to red and gold. Shefford's instinctive
+but deadened love of the beautiful in nature stirred into life, and the
+moment of its rebirth was a melancholy and sweet one. Too late for the
+artist's work, but not too late for his soul!
+
+For a place to make camp he halted near a low area of rock that lay like
+an island in a sea of grass. There was an abundance of dead greasewood
+for a camp-fire, and, after searching over the rock, he found little
+pools of melted snow in the depressions. He took off the saddle and
+pack, watered his horse, and, hobbling him as well as his inexperience
+permitted, he turned him loose on the grass.
+
+Then while he built a fire and prepared a meal the night came down upon
+him. In the lee of the rock he was well sheltered from the wind, but
+the air, was bitter cold. He gathered all the dead greasewood in the
+vicinity, replenished the fire, and rolled in his blanket, back to the
+blaze. The loneliness and the coyotes did not bother him this night.
+He was too tired and cold. He went to sleep at once and did not awaken
+until the fire died out. Then he rebuilt it and went to sleep again.
+Every half-hour all night long he repeated this, and was glad indeed
+when the dawn broke.
+
+The day began with misfortune. His horse was gone; it had been stolen,
+or had worked out of sight, or had broken the hobbles and made off. From
+a high stone ridge Shefford searched the grassy flats and slopes, all
+to no purpose. Then he tried to track the horse, but this was equally
+futile. He had expected disasters, and the first one did not daunt him.
+He tied most of his pack in the blanket, threw the canteen across his
+shoulder, and set forth, sure at least of one thing--that he was a very
+much better traveler on foot than on horseback.
+
+Walking did not afford him the leisure to study the surrounding country;
+however, from time to time, when he surmounted a bench he scanned the
+different landmarks that had grown familiar. It took hours of steady
+walking to reach and pass the yellow peak that had been a kind of
+goal. He saw many sheep trails and horse tracks in the vicinity of this
+mountain, and once he was sure he espied an Indian watching him from a
+bold ridge-top.
+
+The day was bright and warm, with air so clear it magnified objects
+he knew to be far away. The ascent was gradual; there were many narrow
+flats connected by steps; and the grass grew thicker and longer. At noon
+Shefford halted under the first cedar-tree, a lonely, dwarfed shrub that
+seemed to have had a hard life. From this point the rise of ground was
+more perceptible, and straggling cedars led the eye on to a purple slope
+that merged into green of pinyon and pine. Could that purple be the
+sage Venters had so feelingly described, or was it merely the purple of
+deceiving distance? Whatever it might be, it gave Shefford a thrill and
+made him think of the strange, shy, and lovely woman Venters had won out
+here in this purple-sage country.
+
+He calculated that he had ridden thirty miles the day before and had
+already traveled ten miles today, and therefore could hope to be in the
+pass before night. Shefford resumed his journey with too much energy and
+enthusiasm to think of being tired. And he discovered presently that
+the straggling cedars and the slope beyond were much closer than he
+had judged them to be. He reached the sage to find it gray instead of
+purple. Yet it was always purple a little way ahead, and if he half shut
+his eyes it was purple near at hand. He was surprised to find that he
+could not breathe freely, or it seemed so, and soon made the discovery
+that the sweet, pungent, penetrating fragrance of sage and cedar had
+this strange effect upon him. This was an exceedingly dry and odorous
+forest, where every open space between the clumps of cedars was choked
+with luxuriant sage. The pinyons were higher up on the mesa, and the
+pines still higher. Shefford appeared to lose himself. There were no
+trails; the black mesa on the right and the wall of stone on the left
+could not be seen; but he pushed on with what was either singular
+confidence or rash impulse. And he did not know whether that slope was
+long or short. Once at the summit he saw with surprise that it broke
+abruptly and the descent was very steep and short on that side. Through
+the trees he once more saw the black mesa, rising to the dignity of a
+mountain; and he had glimpses of another flat, narrow valley, this time
+with a red wall running parallel with the mesa. He could not help but
+hurry down to get an unobstructed view. His eagerness was rewarded by a
+splendid scene, yet to his regret he could not force himself to believe
+it had any relation to the pictured scenes in his mind. The valley was
+half a mile wide, perhaps several miles long, and it extended in a curve
+between the cedar-sloped mesa and a looming wall of red stone. There was
+not a bird or a beast in sight. He found a well-defined trail, but it
+had not been recently used. He passed a low structure made of peeled
+logs and mud, with a dark opening like a door. It did not take him many
+minutes to learn that the valley was longer than he had calculated.
+He walked swiftly and steadily, in spite of the fact that the pack had
+become burdensome. What lay beyond the jutting corner of the mesa had
+increasing fascination for him and acted as a spur. At last he turned
+the corner, only to be disappointed at sight of another cedar slope.
+He had a glimpse of a single black shaft of rock rising far in the
+distance, and it disappeared as his striding forward made the crest of
+the slope rise toward the sky.
+
+Again his view became restricted, and he lost the sense of a slow and
+gradual uplift of rock and an increase in the scale of proportion.
+Half-way up this ascent he was compelled to rest; and again the sun was
+slanting low when he entered the cedar forest. Soon he was descending,
+and he suddenly came into the open to face a scene that made his heart
+beat thick and fast.
+
+He saw lofty crags and cathedral spires, and a wonderful canyon winding
+between huge beetling red walls. He heard the murmur of flowing water.
+The trail led down to the canyon floor, which appeared to be level and
+green and cut by deep washes in red earth. Could this canyon be the
+mouth of Deception Pass? It bore no resemblance to any place Shefford
+had heard described, yet somehow he felt rather than saw that it was the
+portal to the wild 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 canyon seem full of blue haze. He
+saw a bare slope of stone out of which cedar-trees were growing. And as
+he looked about him he became aware of a singular and very perceptible
+change in the lights and shades. The sun was setting; the crags were
+gold-tipped; the shadows crept upward; the sky seemed to darken swiftly;
+then the gold changed to red, slowly dulled, and the grays and purples
+stood out. Shefford was entranced with the beautiful changing effects,
+and watched till the walls turned black and the sky grew steely and a
+faint star peeped out. Then he set about the necessary camp tasks.
+
+Dead cedars right at hand assured him a comfortable night with steady
+fire; and when he had satisfied his hunger he arranged an easy seat
+before the blazing logs, and gave his mind over to thought of his weird,
+lonely environment.
+
+The murmur of running water mingled in harmonious accompaniment with the
+moan of the wind in the cedars--wild, sweet sounds that were balm to his
+wounded spirit! They seemed a part of the silence, rather than a break
+in it or a hindrance to the feeling of it. But suddenly that silence
+did break to the rattle of a rock. Shefford listened, thinking some wild
+animal was prowling around. He felt no alarm. Presently he heard the
+sound again, and again. Then he recognized the crack of unshod hoofs
+upon rock. A horse was coming down the trail. Shefford rather resented
+the interruption, though he still had no alarm. He believed he was
+perfectly safe. As a matter of fact, he had never in his life been
+anything but safe and padded around with wool, hence, never having
+experienced peril, he did not know what fear was.
+
+Presently he saw a horse and rider come into dark prominence on the
+ridge just above his camp. They were silhouetted against the starry
+sky. The horseman stopped and he and his steed made a magnificent black
+statue, somehow wild and strange, in Shefford's sight. Then he came on,
+vanished in the darkness under the ridge, presently to emerge into the
+circle of camp-fire light.
+
+He rode to within twenty feet of Shefford and the fire. The horse was
+dark, wild-looking, and seemed ready to run. The rider appeared to be an
+Indian, and yet had something about him suggesting the cowboy. At once
+Shefford remembered what Presbrey had said about half-breeds. A little
+shock, inexplicable to Shefford, rippled over him.
+
+He greeted his visitor, but received no answer. Shefford saw a dark,
+squat figure bending forward in the saddle. The man was tense. All about
+him was dark except the glint of a rifle across the saddle. The face
+under the sombrero was only a shadow. Shefford kicked the fire-logs and
+a brighter blaze lightened the scene. Then he saw this stranger a little
+more clearly, and made out an unusually large head, broad dark face, a
+sinister tight-shut mouth, and gleaming black eyes.
+
+Those eyes were unmistakably hostile. They roved searchingly over
+Shefford's pack and then over his person. Shefford felt for the gun that
+Presbrey had given him. But it was gone. He had left it back where he
+had lost his horse, and had not thought of it since. Then a strange,
+slow-coming cold agitation possessed Shefford. Something gripped his
+throat.
+
+Suddenly Shefford was stricken at a menacing movement on the part of
+the horseman. He had drawn a gun. Shefford saw it shine darkly in the
+firelight. The Indian meant to murder him. Shefford saw the grim, dark
+face in a kind of horrible amaze. He felt the meaning of that drawn
+weapon as he had never felt anything before in his life. And he
+collapsed back into his seat with an icy, sickening terror. In a second
+he was dripping wet with cold sweat. Lightning-swift thoughts flashed
+through his mind. It had been one of his platitudes that he was not
+afraid of death. Yet here he was a shaking, helpless coward. What had
+he learned about either life or death? Would this dark savage plunge
+him into the unknown? It was then that Shefford realized his hollow
+philosophy and the bitter-sweetness of life. He had a brain and a soul,
+and between them he might have worked out his salvation. But what were
+they to this ruthless night-wanderer, this raw and horrible wildness of
+the desert?
+
+Incapable of voluntary movement, with tongue cleaving to the roof of his
+mouth, Shefford watched the horseman and the half-poised gun. It was not
+yet leveled. Then it dawned upon Shefford that the stranger's head was
+turned a little, his ear to the wind. He was listening. His horse was
+listening. Suddenly he straightened up, wheeled his horse, and trotted
+away into the darkness. But he did not climb the ridge down which he had
+come.
+
+Shefford heard the click of hoofs upon the stony trail. Other horses and
+riders were descending into the canyon. They had been the cause of his
+deliverance, and in the relaxation of feeling he almost fainted. Then he
+sat there, slowly recovering, slowly ceasing to tremble, divining that
+this situation was somehow to change his attitude toward life.
+
+Three horses, two with riders, moved in dark shapes across the skyline
+above the ridge, disappeared as had Shefford's first visitor, and then
+rode into the light. Shefford saw two Indians--a man and a woman; then
+with surprise recognized the latter to be the Indian girl he had met at
+Red Lake. He was still more surprised to recognize in the third horse
+the one he had lost at the last camp. Shefford rose, a little shaky on
+his legs, to thank these Indians for a double service. The man slipped
+from his saddle and his moccasined feet thudded lightly. He was tall,
+lithe, erect, a singularly graceful figure, and as he advanced Shefford
+saw a dark face and sharp, dark eyes. The Indian was bareheaded, with
+his hair bound in a band. He resembled the girl, but appeared to have a
+finer face.
+
+"How do?" he said, in a voice low and distinct. He extended his hand,
+and Shefford felt a grip of steel. He returned the greeting. Then
+the Indian gave Shefford the bridle of the horse, and made signs that
+appeared to indicate the horse had broken his hobbles and strayed.
+Shefford thanked him. Thereupon the Indian unsaddled and led the horses
+away, evidently to water them. The girl remained behind. Shefford
+addressed her, but she was shy and did not respond. He then set about
+cooking a meal for his visitors, and was busily engaged at this when the
+Indian returned without the horses. Presently Shefford resumed his seat
+by the fire and watched the two eat what he had prepared. They certainly
+were hungry and soon had the pans and cups empty. Then the girl drew
+back a little into the shadow, while the man sat with his legs crossed
+and his feet tucked under him.
+
+His dark face was smooth, yet it seemed to have lines under the surface.
+Shefford was impressed. He had never seen an Indian who interested him
+as this one. Looked at superficially, he appeared young, wild, silent,
+locked in his primeval apathy, just a healthy savage; but looked at more
+attentively, he appeared matured, even old, a strange, sad, brooding
+figure, with a burden on his shoulders. Shefford found himself growing
+curious.
+
+"What place?" asked Shefford, waving his hand toward the dark opening
+between the black cliffs.
+
+"Sagi," replied the Indian.
+
+That did not mean anything to Shefford, and he asked if the Sagi was the
+pass, but the Indian shook his head.
+
+"Wife?" asked Shefford, pointing to the girl.
+
+The Indian shook his head again. "_Bi-la_," he said.
+
+"What you mean?" asked Shefford. "What _bi-la_?"
+
+"Sister," replied the Indian. He spoke the word reluctantly, as if the
+white man's language did not please him, but the clearness and correct
+pronunciation surprised Shefford.
+
+"What name--what call her?" he went on.
+
+"Glen Naspa."
+
+"What your name?" inquired Shefford, indicating the Indian.
+
+"Nas Ta Bega," answered the Indian.
+
+"Navajo?"
+
+The Indian bowed with what seemed pride and stately dignity.
+
+"My name John Shefford. Come far way back toward rising sun. Come stay
+here long."
+
+Nas Ta Bega's dark eyes were fixed steadily upon Shefford. He reflected
+that he could not remember having felt so penetrating a gaze. But
+neither the Indian's eyes nor face gave any clue to his thoughts.
+
+"Navajo no savvy Jesus Christ," said the Indian, and his voice rolled
+out low and deep.
+
+Shefford felt both amaze and pain. The Indian had taken him for a
+missionary.
+
+"No!... Me no missionary," cried Shefford, and he flung up a
+passionately repudiating hand.
+
+A singular flash shot from the Indian's dark eyes. It struck Shefford
+even at this stinging moment when the past came back.
+
+"Trade--buy wool--blanket?" queried Nas Ta Bega.
+
+"No," replied Shefford. "Me want ride--walk far." He waved his hand to
+indicate a wide sweep of territory. "Me sick."
+
+Nas Ta Bega laid a significant finger upon his lungs.
+
+"No," replied Shefford. "Me strong. Sick here." And with motions of his
+hands he tried to show that his was a trouble of the heart.
+
+Shefford received instant impression of this Indian's intelligent
+comprehension, but he could not tell just what had given him the
+feeling. Nas Ta Bega rose then and walked away into the shadow. Shefford
+heard him working around the dead cedar-tree, where he had probably gone
+to get fire-wood. Then Shefford heard a splintering crash, which was
+followed by a crunching, bumping sound. Presently he was astounded to
+see the Indian enter the lighted circle dragging the whole cedar-tree,
+trunk first. Shefford would have doubted the ability of two men to drag
+that tree, and here came Nas Ta Bega, managing it easily. He laid the
+trunk on the fire, and then proceeded to break off small branches, to
+place them advantageously where the red coals kindled them into a blaze.
+
+The Indian's next move was to place his saddle, which he evidently meant
+to use for a pillow. Then he spread a goat-skin on the ground, lay
+down upon it, with his back to the fire, and, pulling a long-haired
+saddle-blanket over his shoulders, he relaxed and became motionless. His
+sister, Glen Naspa, did likewise, except that she stayed farther away
+from the fire, and she had a larger blanket, which covered her well. It
+appeared to Shefford that they went to sleep at once.
+
+Shefford felt as tired as he had ever been, but he did not think he
+could soon drop into slumber, and in fact he did not want to.
+
+There was something in the companionship of these Indians that he had
+not experienced before. He still had a strange and weak feeling--the
+aftermath of that fear which had sickened him with its horrible icy
+grip. Nas Ta Bega's arrival had frightened away that dark and silent
+prowler of the night; and Shefford was convinced the Indian had saved
+his life. The measure of his gratitude was a source of wonder to him.
+Had he cared so much for life? Yes--he had, when face to face with
+death. That was something to know. It helped him. And he gathered from
+his strange feeling that the romantic quest which had brought him
+into the wilderness might turn out to be an antidote for the morbid
+bitterness of heart.
+
+With new sensations had come new thoughts. Right then it was very
+pleasant to sit in the warmth and light of the roaring cedar fire. There
+was a deep-seated ache of fatigue in his bones. What joy it was to rest!
+He had felt the dry scorch of desert thirst and the pang of hunger.
+How wonderful to learn the real meaning of water and food! He had just
+finished the longest, hardest day's work of his life! Had that anything
+to do with a something almost like peace which seemed to hover near in
+the shadows, trying to come to him? He had befriended an Indian girl,
+and now her brother had paid back the service. Both the giving and
+receiving were somehow sweet to Shefford. They opened up hitherto vague
+channels of thought. For years he had imagined he was serving people,
+when he had never lifted a hand. A blow given in the defense of an
+Indian girl had somehow operated to make a change in John Shefford's
+existence. It had liberated a spirit in him. Moreover, it had worked its
+influence outside his mind. The Indian girl and her brother had followed
+his trail to return his horse, perhaps to guide him safely, but,
+unknowingly perhaps, they had done infinitely more than that for him. As
+Shefford's eye wandered over the dark, still figures of the sleepers he
+had a strange, dreamy premonition, or perhaps only a fancy, that there
+was to be more come of this fortunate meeting.
+
+For the rest, it was good to be there in the speaking silence, to feel
+the heat on his outstretched palms and the cold wind on his cheek, to
+see the black wall lifting its bold outline and the crags reaching for
+the white stars.
+
+
+
+
+III. KAYENTA
+
+
+The stamping of horses awoke Shefford. He saw a towering crag, rosy
+in the morning light, like a huge red spear splitting the clear blue
+of sky. He got up, feeling cramped and sore, yet with unfamiliar
+exhilaration. The whipping air made him stretch his hands to the fire.
+An odor of coffee and broiled meat mingled with the fragrance of wood
+smoke. Glen Naspa was on her knees broiling a rabbit on a stick over the
+red coals. Nas Ta Bega was saddling the ponies. The canyon appeared
+to be full of purple shadows under one side of dark cliffs and golden
+streaks of mist on the other where the sun struck high up on the walls.
+
+"Good morning," said Shefford.
+
+Glen Naspa shyly replied in Navajo.
+
+"How," was Nas Ta Bega's greeting.
+
+In daylight the Indian lost some of the dark somberness of face that had
+impressed Shefford. He had a noble head, in poise like that of an eagle,
+a bold, clean-cut profile, and stern, close-shut lips. His eyes were the
+most striking and attractive feature about him; they were coal-black
+and piercing; the intent look out of them seemed to come from a keen and
+inquisitive mind.
+
+Shefford ate breakfast with the Indians, and then helped with the few
+preparations for departure. Before they mounted, Nas Ta Bega pointed
+to horse tracks in the dust. They were those that had been made by
+Shefford's threatening visitor of the night before. Shefford explained
+by word and sign, and succeeded at least in showing that he had been
+in danger. Nas Ta Bega followed the tracks a little way and presently
+returned.
+
+"Shadd," he said, with an ominous shake of his head. Shefford did not
+understand whether he meant the name of his visitor or something else,
+but the menace connected with the word was clear enough.
+
+Glen Naspa mounted her pony, and it was a graceful action that pleased
+Shefford. He climbed a little stiffly into his own saddle. Then Nas Ta
+Bega got up and pointed northward.
+
+"Kayenta?" he inquired.
+
+Shefford nodded and then they were off, with Glen Naspa in the lead.
+They did not climb the trail which they had descended, but took one
+leading to the right along the base of the slope. Shefford saw down into
+the red wash that bisected the canyon floor. It was a sheer wall of
+red clay or loam, a hundred feet high, and at the bottom ran a swift,
+shallow stream of reddish water. Then for a time a high growth of
+greasewood hid the surroundings from Shefford's sight. Presently the
+trail led out into the open, and Shefford saw that he was at the neck of
+a wonderful valley that gradually widened with great jagged red peaks on
+the left and the black mesa, now a mountain, running away to the right.
+He turned to find that the opening of the Sagi could no longer be seen,
+and he was conscious of a strong desire to return and explore that
+canyon.
+
+Soon Glen Naspa put her pony to a long, easy, swinging canter and her
+followers did likewise. As they got outward into the valley Shefford
+lost the sense of being overshadowed and crowded by the nearness of
+the huge walls and crags. The trail appeared level underfoot, but at a
+distance it was seen to climb. Shefford found where it disappeared over
+the foot of a slope that formed a graceful rising line up to the
+cedared flank of the mesa. The valley floor, widening away to the north,
+remained level and green. Beyond rose the jagged range of red peaks,
+all strangely cut and slanting. These distant deceiving features of
+the country held Shefford's gaze until the Indian drew his attention
+to things near at hand. Then Shefford saw flocks of sheep dotting
+the gray-green valley, and bands of beautiful long-maned, long-tailed
+ponies.
+
+For several miles the scene did not change except that Shefford imagined
+he came to see where the upland plain ended or at least broke its level.
+He was right, for presently the Indian pointed, and Shefford went on to
+halt upon the edge of a steep slope leading down into a valley vast in
+its barren gray reaches.
+
+"Kayenta," said Nas Ta Bega.
+
+Shefford at first saw nothing except the monotonous gray valley reaching
+far to the strange, grotesque monuments of yellow cliff. Then close
+under the foot of the slope he espied two squat stone houses with red
+roofs, and a corral with a pool of water shining in the sun.
+
+The trail leading down was steep and sandy, but it was not long.
+Shefford's sweeping eyes appeared to take in everything at once--the
+crude stone structures with their earthen roofs, the piles of dirty
+wool, the Indians lolling around, the tents, and wagons, and horses,
+little lazy burros and dogs, and scattered everywhere saddles, blankets,
+guns, and packs.
+
+Then a white man came out of the door. He waved a hand and shouted.
+Dust and wool and flour were thick upon him. He was muscular and
+weather-beaten, and appeared young in activity rather than face. A gun
+swung at his hip and a row of brass-tipped cartridges showed in his
+belt. Shefford looked into a face that he thought he had seen before,
+until he realized the similarity was only the bronze and hard line and
+rugged cast common to desert men. The gray searching eyes went right
+through him.
+
+"Glad to see you. Get down and come in. Just heard from an Indian that
+you were coming. I'm the trader Withers," he said to Shefford. His voice
+was welcoming and the grip of his hand made Shefford's ache.
+
+Shefford told his name and said he was as glad as he was lucky to arrive
+at Kayenta.
+
+"Hello! Nas Ta Bega!" exclaimed Withers. His tone expressed a surprise
+his face did not show. "Did this Indian bring you in?"
+
+Withers shook hands with the Navajo while Shefford briefly related what
+he owed to him. Then Withers looked at Nas Ta Bega and spoke to him in
+the Indian tongue.
+
+"Shadd," said Nas Ta Bega. Withers let out a dry little laugh and his
+strong hand tugged at his mustache.
+
+"Who's Shadd?" asked Shefford.
+
+"He's a half-breed Ute--bad Indian, outlaw, murderer. He's in with
+a gang of outlaws who hide in the San Juan country.... Reckon you're
+lucky. How'd you come to be there in the Sagi alone?"
+
+"I traveled from Red Lake. Presbrey, the trader there, advised against
+it, but I came anyway."
+
+"Well." Withers's gray glance was kind, if it did express the
+foolhardiness of Shefford's act. "Come into the house.... Never mind the
+horse. My wife will sure be glad to see you."
+
+Withers led Shefford by the first stone house, which evidently was the
+trading-store, into the second. The room Shefford entered was large,
+with logs smoldering in a huge open fireplace, blankets covering every
+foot of floor space, and Indian baskets and silver ornaments everywhere,
+and strange Indian designs painted upon the whitewashed walls. Withers
+called his wife and made her acquainted with Shefford. She was a slight,
+comely little woman, with keen, earnest, dark eyes. She seemed to be
+serious and quiet, but she made Shefford feel at home immediately. He
+refused, however, to accept the room offered him, saying that he me
+meant to sleep out under the open sky. Withers laughed at this and said
+he understood. Shefford, remembering Presbrey's hunger for news of the
+outside world, told this trader and his wife all he could think of; and
+he was listened to with that close attention a traveler always gained in
+the remote places.
+
+"Sure am glad you rode in," said Withers, for the fourth time. "Now you
+make yourself at home. Stay here--come over to the store--do what you
+like. I've got to work. To-night we'll talk."
+
+Shefford went out with his host. The store was as interesting as
+Presbrey's, though much smaller and more primitive. It was full of
+everything, and smelled strongly of sheep and goats. There was a narrow
+aisle between sacks of flour and blankets on one side and a high counter
+on the other. Behind this counter Withers stood to wait upon the buying
+Indians. They sold blankets and skins and bags of wool, and in exchange
+took silver money. Then they lingered and with slow, staid reluctance
+bought one thing and then another--flour, sugar, canned goods, coffee,
+tobacco, ammunition. The counter was never without two or three Indians
+leaning on their dark, silver-braceleted arms. But as they were slow to
+sell and buy and go, so were others slow to come in. Their voices were
+soft and low and it seemed to Shefford they were whispering. He liked
+to hear them and to look at the banded heads, the long, twisted rolls
+of black hair tied with white cords, the still dark faces and watchful
+eyes, the silver ear-rings, the slender, shapely brown hands, the lean
+and sinewy shapes, the corduroys with a belt and gun, and the small,
+close-fitting buckskin moccasins buttoned with coins. These Indians
+all appeared young, and under the quiet, slow demeanor there was fierce
+blood and fire.
+
+By and by two women came in, evidently squaw and daughter. The former
+was a huge, stout Indian with a face that was certainly pleasant if not
+jolly.
+
+She had the corners of a blanket tied under her chin, and in the folds
+behind on her broad back was a naked Indian baby, round and black of
+head, brown-skinned, with eyes as bright as beads. When the youngster
+caught sight of Shefford he made a startled dive into the sack of the
+blanket. Manifestly, however, curiosity got the better of fear, for
+presently Shefford caught a pair of wondering dark eyes peeping at him.
+
+"They're good spenders, but slow," said Withers. "The Navajos are
+careful and cautious. That's why they're rich. This squaw, Yan As Pa,
+has flocks of sheep and more mustangs than she knows about."
+
+"Mustangs. So that's what you call the ponies?" replied Shefford.
+
+"Yep. They're mustangs, and mostly wild as jack-rabbits."
+
+Shefford strolled outside and made the acquaintance of Withers's helper,
+a Mormon named Whisner. He was a stockily built man past maturity, and
+his sun-blistered face and watery eyes told of the open desert. He was
+engaged in weighing sacks of wool brought in by the Indians. Near by
+stood a framework of poles from which an immense bag was suspended. From
+the top of this bag protruded the head and shoulders of an Indian who
+appeared to be stamping and packing wool with his feet. He grinned at
+the curious Shefford. But Shefford was more interested in the Mormon. So
+far as he knew, Whisner was the first man of that creed he had ever met,
+and he could scarcely hide his eagerness. Venters's stories had been
+of a long-past generation of Mormons, fanatical, ruthless, and
+unchangeable. Shefford did not expect to meet Mormons of this kind.
+But any man of that religion would have interested him. Besides this,
+Whisner seemed to bring him closer to that wild secret canyon he had
+come West to find. Shefford was somewhat amazed and discomfited to have
+his polite and friendly overtures repulsed. Whisner might have been an
+Indian. He was cold, incommunicative, aloof; and there was something
+about him that made the sensitive Shefford feel his presence was
+resented.
+
+Presently Shefford strolled on to the corral, which was full of shaggy
+mustangs. They snorted and kicked at him. He had a half-formed wish that
+he would never be called upon to ride one of those wild brutes, and then
+he found himself thinking that he would ride one of them, and after a
+while any of them. Shefford did not understand himself, but he fought
+his natural instinctive reluctance to meet obstacles, peril, suffering.
+
+He traced the white-bordered little stream that made the pool in the
+corral, and when he came to where it oozed out of the sand under the
+bluff he decided that was not the spring which had made Kayenta famous.
+Presently down below the trading-post he saw a trough from which burros
+were drinking. Here he found the spring, a deep well of eddying water
+walled in by stones, and the overflow made a shallow stream meandering
+away between its borders of alkali, like a crust of salt. Shefford
+tasted the water. It bit, but it was good.
+
+Shefford had no trouble in making friends with the lazy sleepy-eyed
+burros. They let him pull their long ears and rub their noses, but the
+mustangs standing around were unapproachable. They had wild eyes; they
+raised long ears and looked vicious. He let them alone.
+
+Evidently this trading-post was a great deal busier than Red Lake.
+Shefford counted a dozen Indians lounging outside, and there were others
+riding away. Big wagons told how the bags of wool were transported out
+of the wilds and how supplies were brought in. A wide, hard-packed road
+led off to the east, and another, not so clearly defined, wound away to
+the north. And Indian trails streaked off in all directions.
+
+Shefford discovered, however, when he had walked off a mile or so across
+the valley to lose sight of the post, that the feeling of wildness
+and loneliness returned to him. It was a wonderful country. It held
+something for him besides the possible rescue of an imprisoned girl from
+a wild canyon.
+
+. . . . . . . . . . .
+
+That night after supper, when Withers and Shefford sat alone before
+the blazing logs in the huge fireplace, the trader laid his hand on
+Shefford's and said, with directness and force:
+
+"I've lived my life in the desert. I've met many men and have been a
+friend to most.... You're no prospector or trader or missionary?"
+
+"No," replied Shefford.
+
+"You've had trouble?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Have you come in here to hide? Don't be afraid to tell me. I won't give
+you away."
+
+"I didn't come to hide."
+
+"Then no one is after you? You've done no wrong?"
+
+"Perhaps I wronged myself, but no one else," replied Shefford, steadily.
+
+"I reckoned so. Well, tell me, or keep your secret--it's all one to me."
+
+Shefford felt a desire to unburden himself. This man was strong,
+persuasive, kindly. He drew Shefford.
+
+"You're welcome in Kayenta," went on Withers. "Stay as long as you like.
+I take no pay from a white man. If you want work I have it aplenty."
+
+"Thank you. That is good. I need to work. We'll talk of it later. ...
+But just yet I can't tell you why I came to Kayenta, what I want to
+do, how long I shall stay. My thoughts put in words would seem so
+like dreams. Maybe they are dreams. Perhaps I'm only chasing a
+phantom--perhaps I'm only hunting the treasure at the foot of the
+rainbow."
+
+"Well, this is the country for rainbows," laughed Withers. "In summer
+from June to August when it storms we have rainbows that'll make you
+think you're in another world. The Navajos have rainbow mountains,
+rainbow canyons, rainbow bridges of stone, rainbow trails. It sure is
+rainbow country."
+
+That deep and mystic chord in Shefford thrilled. Here it was
+again--something tangible at the bottom of his dream.
+
+Withers did not wait for Shefford to say any more, and almost as if
+he read his visitor's mind he began to talk about the wild country he
+called home.
+
+He had lived at Kayenta for several years--hard and profitless years by
+reason of marauding outlaws. He could not have lived there at all but
+for the protection of the Indians. His father-in-law had been friendly
+with the Navajos and Piutes for many years, and his wife had been
+brought up among them. She was held in peculiar reverence and affection
+by both tribes in that part of the country. Probably she knew more of
+the Indians' habits, religion, and life than any white person in the
+West. Both tribes were friendly and peaceable, but there were bad
+Indians, half-breeds, and outlaws that made the trading-post a venture
+Withers had long considered precarious, and he wanted to move and
+intended to some day. His nearest neighbors in New Mexico and Colorado
+were a hundred miles distant and at some seasons the roads were
+impassable. To the north, however, twenty miles or so, was situated a
+Mormon village named Stonebridge. It lay across the Utah line. Withers
+did some business with this village, but scarcely enough to warrant
+the risks he had to run. During the last year he had lost several
+pack-trains, one of which he had never heard of after it left
+Stonebridge.
+
+"Stonebridge!" exclaimed Shefford, and he trembled. He had heard that
+name. In his memory it had a place beside the name of another village
+Shefford longed to speak of to this trader.
+
+"Yes--Stonebridge," replied Withers. "Ever heard the name?"
+
+"I think so. Are there other villages in--in that part of the country?"
+
+"A few, but not close. Glaze is now only a water-hole. Bluff and
+Monticello are far north across the San Juan.... There used to be
+another village--but that wouldn't interest you."
+
+"Maybe it would," replied Shefford, quietly.
+
+But his hint was not taken by the trader. Withers suddenly showed a
+semblance of the aloofness Shefford had observed in Whisner.
+
+"Withers, pardon an impertinence--I am deeply serious.... Are you a
+Mormon?"
+
+"Indeed I'm not," replied the trader, instantly.
+
+"Are you for the Mormons or against them?"
+
+"Neither. I get along with them. I know them. I believe they are a
+misunderstood people."
+
+"That's for them."
+
+"No. I'm only fair-minded."
+
+Shefford paused, trying to curb his thrilling impulse, but it was too
+strong.
+
+"You said there used to be another village.... Was the name of
+it--Cottonwoods?"
+
+Withers gave a start and faced round to stare at Shefford in blank
+astonishment.
+
+"Say, did you give me a straight story about yourself?" he queried,
+sharply.
+
+"So far as I went," replied Shefford.
+
+"You're no spy on the lookout for sealed wives?"
+
+"Absolutely not. I don't even know what you mean by sealed wives."
+
+"Well, it's damn strange that you'd know the name Cottonwoods.... Yes,
+that's the name of the village I meant--the one that used to be. It's
+gone now, all except a few stone walls."
+
+"What became of it?"
+
+"Torn down by Mormons years ago. They destroyed it and moved away. I've
+heard Indians talk about a grand spring that was there once. It's gone,
+too. Its name was--let me see--"
+
+"Amber Spring," interrupted Shefford.
+
+"By George, you're right!" rejoined the trader, again amazed. "Shefford,
+this beats me. I haven't heard that name for ten years. I can't help
+seeing what a tenderfoot--stranger--you are to the desert. Yet, here you
+are--speaking of what you should know nothing of.... And there's more
+behind this."
+
+Shefford rose, unable to conceal his agitation.
+
+"Did you ever hear of a rider named Venters?"
+
+"Rider? You mean a cowboy? Venters. No, I never heard that name."
+
+"Did you ever hear of a gunman named Lassiter?" queried Shefford, with
+increasing emotion.
+
+"No."
+
+"Did you ever hear of a Mormon woman named--Jane Withersteen?"
+
+"No."
+
+Shefford drew his breath sharply. He had followed a gleam--he had caught
+a fleeting glimpse of it.
+
+"Did you ever hear of a child--a girl--a woman--called Fay Larkin?"
+
+Withers rose slowly with a paling face.
+
+"If you're a spy it'll go hard with you--though I'm no Mormon," he said,
+grimly.
+
+Shefford lifted a shaking hand.
+
+"I WAS a clergyman. Now I'm nothing--a wanderer--least of all a spy."
+
+Withers leaned closer to see into the other man's eyes; he looked long
+and then appeared satisfied.
+
+"I've heard the name Fay Larkin," he said, slowly. "I reckon that's all
+I'll say till you tell your story."
+
+. . . . . . . . . . .
+
+Shefford stood with his back to the fire and he turned the palms of
+his hands to catch the warmth. He felt cold. Withers had affected him
+strangely. What was the meaning of the trader's somber gravity? Why was
+the very mention of Mormons attended by something austere and secret?
+
+"My name is John Shefford. I am twenty-four," began Shefford. "My
+family--"
+
+Here a knock on the door interrupted Shefford.
+
+"Come in," called Withers.
+
+The door opened and like a shadow Nas Ta Bega slipped in. He said
+something in Navajo to the trader.
+
+"How," he said to Shefford, and extended his hand. He was stately, but
+there was no mistaking his friendliness. Then he sat down before the
+fire, doubled his legs under him after the Indian fashion, and with dark
+eyes on the blazing logs seemed to lose himself in meditation.
+
+
+"He likes the fire," explained Withers. "Whenever he comes to Kayenta he
+always visits me like this.... Don't mind him. Go on with your story."
+
+"My family were plain people, well-to-do, and very religious," went on
+Shefford. "When I was a boy we moved from the country to a town called
+Beaumont, Illinois. There was a college in Beaumont and eventually I was
+sent to it to study for the ministry. I wanted to be---- But never mind
+that.... By the time I was twenty-two I was ready for my career as a
+clergyman. I preached for a year around at different places and then got
+a church in my home town of Beaumont. I became exceedingly good friends
+with a man named Venters, who had recently come to Beaumont. He was a
+singular man. His wife was a strange, beautiful woman, very reserved,
+and she had wonderful dark eyes. They had money and were devoted to each
+other, and perfectly happy. They owned the finest horses ever seen in
+Illinois, and their particular enjoyment seemed to be riding. They were
+always taking long rides. It was something worth going far for to see
+Mrs. Venters on a horse.
+
+"It was through my own love of horses that I became friendly with
+Venters. He and his wife attended my church, and as I got to see more
+of them, gradually we grew intimate. And it was not until I did get
+intimate with them that I realized that both seemed to be haunted by the
+past. They were sometimes sad even in their happiness. They drifted
+off into dreams. They lived back in another world. They seemed to be
+listening. Indeed, they were a singularly interesting couple, and I grew
+genuinely fond of them. By and by they had a little girl whom they named
+Jane. The coming of the baby made a change in my friends. They were
+happier, and I observed that the haunting shadow did not so often
+return.
+
+"Venters had spoken of a journey west that he and his wife meant to
+take some time. But after the baby came he never mentioned his wife in
+connection with the trip. I gathered that he felt compelled to go to
+clear up a mystery or to find something--I did not make out just what.
+But eventually, and it was about a year ago, he told me his story--the
+strangest, wildest, and most tragic I ever heard. I can't tell it all
+now. It is enough to say that fifteen years before he had been a
+rider for a rich Mormon woman named Jane Withersteen, of this village
+Cottonwoods. She had adopted a beautiful Gentile child named Fay Larkin.
+Her interest in Gentiles earned the displeasure of her churchmen, and as
+she was proud there came a breach. Venters and a gunman named Lassiter
+became involved in her quarrel. Finally Venters took to the canyon. Here
+in the wilds he found the strange girl he eventually married. For a long
+time they lived in a wonderful hidden valley, the entrance to which was
+guarded by a huge balancing rock. Venters got away with the girl. But
+Lassiter and Jane Withersteen and the child Fay Larkin were driven into
+the canyon. They escaped to the valley where Venters had lived. Lassiter
+rolled the balancing rock, and, crashing down the narrow trail, it
+loosened the weathered walls and closed the narrow outlet for ever."
+
+
+
+
+IV. NEW FRIENDS
+
+
+Shefford ended his narrative out of breath, pale, and dripping with
+sweat. Withers sat leaning forward with an expression of intense
+interest. Nas Ta Bega's easy, graceful pose had succeeded to one
+of strained rigidity. He seemed a statue of bronze. Could a few
+intelligible words, Shefford wondered, have created that strange,
+listening posture?
+
+"Venters got out of Utah, of course, as you know," went on Shefford. "He
+got out, knowing--as I feel I would have known--that Jane, Lassiter, and
+little Fay Larkin were shut up, walled up in Surprise Valley. For years
+Venters considered it would not have been safe for him to venture
+to rescue them. He had no fears for their lives. They could live in
+Surprise Valley. But Venters always intended to come back with Bess and
+find the valley and his friends. No wonder he and Bess were haunted.
+However, when his wife had the baby that made a difference. It meant he
+had to go alone. And he was thinking seriously of starting when--when
+there were developments that made it desirable for me to leave Beaumont.
+Venters's story haunted me as he had been haunted. I dreamed of that
+wild valley--of little Fay Larkin grown to womanhood--such a woman
+as Bess Venters was. And the longing to come was great.... And,
+Withers--here I am."
+
+The trader reached out and gave Shefford the grip of a man in whom
+emotion was powerful, but deep and difficult to express.
+
+"Listen to this.... I wish I could help you. Life is a queer deal. ...
+Shefford, I've got to trust you. Over here in the wild canyon country
+there's a village of Mormons' sealed wives. It's in Arizona, perhaps
+twenty miles from here, and near the Utah line. When the United States
+government began to persecute, or prosecute, the Mormons for polygamy,
+the Mormons over here in Stonebridge took their sealed wives and moved
+them out of Utah, just across the line. They built houses, established
+a village there. I'm the only Gentile who knows about it. And I pack
+supplies every few weeks in to these women. There are perhaps fifty
+women, mostly young--second or third or fourth wives of Mormons--sealed
+wives. And I want you to understand that sealed means SEALED in all that
+religion or loyalty can get out of the word. There are also some old
+women and old men in the village, but they hardly count. And there's a
+flock of the finest children you ever saw in your life.
+
+"The idea of the Mormons must have been to escape prosecution. The
+law of the government is one wife for each man--no more. All over Utah
+polygamists have been arrested. The Mormons are deeply concerned. I
+believe they are a good, law-abiding people. But this law is a direct
+blow at their religion. In my opinion they can't obey both. And
+therefore they have not altogether given up plural wives. Perhaps they
+will some day. I have no proof, but I believe the Mormons of Stonebridge
+pay secret night visits to their sealed wives across the line in the
+lonely, hidden village.
+
+"Now once over in Stonebridge I overheard some Mormons talking about a
+girl who was named Fay Larkin. I never forgot the name. Later I heard
+the name in this sealed-wife village. But, as I told you, I never heard
+of Lassiter or Jane Withersteen. Still, if Mormons had found them I
+would never have heard of it. And Deception Pass--that might be the
+Sagi.... I'm not surprised at your rainbow-chasing adventure. It's
+a great story.... This Fay Larkin I've heard of MIGHT be your Fay
+Larkin--I almost believe so. Shefford, I'll help you find out."
+
+"Yes, yes--I must know," replied Shefford. "Oh, I hope, I pray we can
+find her! But--I'd rather she was dead--if she's not still hidden in the
+valley."
+
+"Naturally. You've dreamed yourself into rescuing this lost Fay
+Larkin.... But, Shefford, you're old enough to know life doesn't work
+out as you want it to. One way or another I fear you're in for a bitter
+disappointment."
+
+"Withers, take me to the village."
+
+"Shefford, you're liable to get in bad out here," said the trader,
+gravely.
+
+"I couldn't be any more ruined than I am now," replied Shefford,
+passionately.
+
+"But there's risk in this--risk such as you never had," persisted
+Withers.
+
+"I'll risk anything."
+
+"Reckon this is a funny deal for a sheep-trader to have on his hands,"
+continued Withers. "Shefford, I like you. I've a mind to see you through
+this. It's a damn strange story.... I'll tell you what--I will help you.
+I'll give you a job packing supplies in to the village. I meant to turn
+that over to a Mormon cowboy--Joe Lake. The job shall be yours, and I'll
+go with you first trip. Here's my hand on it.... Now, Shefford, I'm more
+curious about you than I was before you told your story. What ruined
+you? As we're to be partners, you can tell me now. I'll keep your
+secret. Maybe I can do you good."
+
+Shefford wanted to confess, yet it was hard. Perhaps, had he not been so
+agitated, he would not have answered to impulse. But this trader was a
+man--a man of the desert--he would understand.
+
+"I told you I was a clergyman," said Shefford in low voice. "I didn't
+want to be one, but they made me one. I did my best. I failed.... I had
+doubts of religion--of the Bible--of God, as my Church believed in them.
+As I grew older thought and study convinced me of the narrowness of
+religion as my congregation lived it. I preached what I believed. I
+alienated them. They put me out, took my calling from me, disgraced me,
+ruined me."
+
+"So that's all!" exclaimed Withers, slowly. "You didn't believe in the
+God of the Bible.... Well, I've been in the desert long enough to know
+there IS a God, but probably not the one your Church worships. ...
+Shefford, go to the Navajo for a faith!"
+
+Shefford had forgotten the presence of Nas Ta Bega, and perhaps Withers
+had likewise. At this juncture the Indian rose to his full height, and
+he folded his arms to stand with the somber pride of a chieftain while
+his dark, inscrutable eyes were riveted upon Shefford. At that moment
+he seemed magnificent. How infinitely more he seemed than just a common
+Indian who had chanced to befriend a white man! The difference was
+obscure to Shefford. But he felt that it was there in the Navajo's
+mind. Nas Ta Bega's strange look was not to be interpreted. Presently he
+turned and passed from the room.
+
+"By George!" cried Withers, suddenly, and he pounded his knee with his
+fist. "I'd forgotten."
+
+"What?" ejaculated Shefford.
+
+"Why, that Indian understood every word we said. He knows English. He's
+educated. Well, if this doesn't beat me.... Let me tell you about Nas Ta
+Bega."
+
+Withers appeared to be recalling something half forgotten.
+
+"Years ago, in fifty-seven, I think, Kit Carson with his soldiers chased
+the Navajo tribes and rounded them up to be put on reservations. But he
+failed to catch all the members of one tribe. They escaped up into wild
+canyon like the Sagi. The descendants of these fugitives live there now
+and are the finest Indians on earth--the finest because unspoiled by the
+white man. Well, as I got the story, years after Carson's round-up one
+of his soldiers guided some interested travelers in here. When they
+left they took an Indian boy with them to educate. From what I know of
+Navajos I'm inclined to think the boy was taken against his parents'
+wish. Anyway, he was taken. That boy was Nas Ta Bega. The story goes
+that he was educated somewhere. Years afterward, and perhaps not long
+before I came in here, he returned to his people. There have been
+missionaries and other interested fools who have given Indians a white
+man's education. In all the instances I know of, these educated Indians
+returned to their tribes, repudiating the white man's knowledge, habits,
+life, and religion. I have heard that Nas Ta Bega came back, laid down
+the white man's clothes along with the education, and never again showed
+that he had known either.
+
+"You have just seen how strangely he acted. It's almost certain he heard
+our conversation. Well, it doesn't matter. He won't tell. He can hardly
+be made to use an English word. Besides, he's a noble red man, if there
+ever was one. He has been a friend in need to me. If you stay long out
+here you'll learn something from the Indians. Nas Ta Bega has befriended
+you, too, it seems. I thought he showed unusual interest in you."
+
+"Perhaps that was because I saved his sister--well, to be charitable,
+from the rather rude advances of a white man," said Shefford, and he
+proceeded to tell of the incident that occurred at Red Lake.
+
+"Willetts!" exclaimed Withers, with much the same expression that
+Presbrey had used. "I never met him. But I know about him. He's--well,
+the Indians don't like him much. Most of the missionaries are good
+men--good for the Indians, in a way, but sometimes one drifts out here
+who is bad. A bad missionary teaching religion to savages! Queer, isn't
+it? The queerest part is the white people's blindness--the blindness of
+those who send the missionaries. Well, I dare say Willetts isn't very
+good. When Presbrey said that was Willetts's way of teaching religion he
+meant just what he said. If Willetts drifts over here he'll be risking
+much.... This you told me explains Nas Ta Bega's friendliness toward
+you, and also his bringing his sister Glen Naspa to live with relatives
+up in the pass. She had been living near Red Lake."
+
+"Do you mean Nas Ta Bega wants to keep his sister far removed from
+Willetts?" inquired Shefford.
+
+"I mean that," replied Withers, "and I hope he's not too late."
+
+Later Shefford went outdoors to walk and think. There was no moon, but
+the stars made light enough to cast his shadow on the ground. The dark,
+illimitable expanse of blue sky seemed to be glittering with numberless
+points of fire. The air was cold and still. A dreaming silence lay over
+the land. Shefford saw and felt all these things, and their effect was
+continuous and remained with him and helped calm him. He was conscious
+of a burden removed from his mind. Confession of his secret had been
+like tearing a thorn from his flesh, but, once done, it afforded him
+relief and a singular realization that out here it did not matter much.
+In a crowd of men all looking at him and judging him by their standards
+he had been made to suffer. Here, if he were judged at all, it would be
+by what he could do, how he sustained himself and helped others.
+
+He walked far across the valley toward the low bluffs, but they did
+not seem to get any closer. And, finally, he stopped beside a stone and
+looked around at the strange horizon and up at the heavens. He did not
+feel utterly aloof from them, nor alone in a waste, nor a useless atom
+amid incomprehensible forces. Something like a loosened mantle fell from
+about him, dropping down at his feet; and all at once he was conscious
+of freedom. He did not understand in the least why abasement left
+him, but it was so. He had come a long way, in bitterness, in despair,
+believing himself to be what men had called him. The desert and the
+stars and the wind, the silence of the night, the loneliness of this
+vast country where there was room for a thousand cities--these somehow
+vaguely, yet surely, bade him lift his head. They withheld their secret,
+but they made a promise. The thing which he had been feeling every day
+and every night was a strange enveloping comfort. And it was at this
+moment that Shefford, divining whence his help was to come, embraced
+all that wild and speaking nature around and above him and surrendered
+himself utterly.
+
+"I am young. I am free. I have my life to live," he said. "I'll be a
+man. I'll take what comes. Let me learn here!"
+
+When he had spoken out, settled once and for ever his attitude toward
+his future, he seemed to be born again, wonderfully alive to the
+influences around him, ready to trust what yet remained a mystery.
+
+Then his thoughts reverted to Fay Larkin. Could this girl be known to
+the Mormons? It was possible. Fay Larkin was an unusual name. Deep into
+Shefford's heart had sunk the story Venters had told. Shefford found
+that he had unconsciously created a like romance--he had been loving a
+wild and strange and lonely girl, like beautiful Bess Venters. It was
+a shock to learn the truth, but, as it had been only a dream, it could
+hardly be vital.
+
+Shefford retraced his steps toward the post. Halfway back he espied a
+tall, dark figure moving toward him, and presently the shape and the
+step seemed familiar. Then he recognized Nas Ta Bega. Soon they were
+face to face. Shefford felt that the Indian had been trailing him over
+the sand, and that this was to be a significant meeting. Remembering
+Withers's revelation about the Navajo, Shefford scarcely knew how to
+approach him now. There was no difference to be made out in Nas Ta
+Bega's dark face and inscrutable eyes, yet there was a difference to be
+felt in his presence. But the Indian did not speak, and turned to walk
+by Shefford's side. Shefford could not long be silent.
+
+"Nas Ta Bega, were you looking for me?" he asked.
+
+"You had no gun," replied the Indian.
+
+But for his very low voice, his slow speaking of the words, Shefford
+would have thought him a white man. For Shefford there was indeed an
+instinct in this meeting, and he turned to face the Navajo.
+
+"Withers told me you had been educated, that you came back to the
+desert, that you never showed your training.... Nas Ta Bega, did you
+understand all I told Withers?"
+
+"Yes," replied the Indian.
+
+"You won't betray me?"
+
+"I am a Navajo."
+
+"Nas Ta Bega, you trail me--you say I had no gun." Shefford wanted
+to ask this Indian if he cared to be the white man's friend, but the
+question was not easy to put, and, besides, seemed unnecessary. "I am
+alone and strange in this wild country. I must learn."
+
+"Nas Ta Bega will show you the trails and the water-holes and how to
+hide from Shadd."
+
+"For money--for silver you will do this?" inquired Shefford.
+
+Shefford felt that the Indian's silence was a rebuke. He remembered
+Withers's singular praise of this red man. He realized he must change
+his idea of Indians.
+
+"Nas Ta Bega, I know nothing. I feel like a child in the wilderness.
+When I speak it is out of the mouths of those who have taught me. I must
+find a new voice and a new life.... You heard my story to Withers. I am
+an outcast from my own people. If you will be my friend--be so."
+
+The Indian clasped Shefford's hand and held it in a response that
+was more beautiful for its silence. So they stood for a moment in the
+starlight.
+
+"Nas Ta Bega, what did Withers mean when he said go to the Navajo for a
+faith?" asked Shefford.
+
+"He meant the desert is my mother.... Will you go with Nas Ta Bega into
+the canyon and the mountains?"
+
+"Indeed I will."
+
+They unclasped hands and turned toward the trading-post.
+
+"Nas Ta Bega, have you spoken my tongue to any other white man since you
+returned to your home?" asked Shefford.
+
+"No."
+
+"Why do you--why are you different for me?"
+
+The Indian maintained silence.
+
+"Is it because of--of Glen Naspa?" inquired Shefford.
+
+Nas Ta Bega stalked on, still silent, but Shefford divined that,
+although his service to Glen Naspa would never be forgotten, still it
+was not wholly responsible for the Indian's subtle sympathy.
+
+"Bi Nai! The Navajo will call his white friend Bi Nai--brother," said
+Nas Ta Bega, and he spoke haltingly, not as if words were hard to find,
+but strange to speak. "I was stolen from my mother's hogan and taken to
+California. They kept me ten years in a mission at San Bernardino and
+four years in a school. They said my color and my hair were all that
+was left of the Indian in me. But they could not see my heart. They took
+fourteen years of my life. They wanted to make me a missionary among my
+own people. But the white man's ways and his life and his God are not
+the Indian's. They never can be."
+
+How strangely productive of thought for Shefford to hear the Indian
+talk! What fatality in this meeting and friendship! Upon Nas Ta Bega had
+been forced education, training, religion, that had made him something
+more and something less than an Indian. It was something assimilated
+from the white man which made the Indian unhappy and alien in his own
+home--something meant to be good for him and his kind that had ruined
+him. For Shefford felt the passion and the tragedy of this Navajo.
+
+"Bi Nai, the Indian is dying!" Nas Ta Bega's low voice was deep and
+wonderful with its intensity of feeling. "The white man robbed the
+Indian of lands and homes, drove him into the deserts, made him a gaunt
+and sleepless spiller of blood.... The blood is all spilled now, for
+the Indian is broken. But the white man sells him rum and seduces his
+daughters.... He will not leave the Indian in peace with his own God!...
+Bi Nai, the Indian is dying!"
+
+. . . . . . . . . . .
+
+That night Shefford lay in his blankets out under the open sky and the
+stars. The earth had never meant much to him, and now it was a bed. He
+had preached of the heavens, but until now had never studied them. An
+Indian slept beside him. And not until the gray of morning had blotted
+out the starlight did Shefford close his eyes.
+
+. . . . . . . . . . .
+
+With break of the next day came full, varied, and stirring incidents
+to Shefford. He was strong, though unskilled at most kinds of outdoor
+tasks. Withers had work for ten men, if they could have been found.
+Shefford dug and packed and lifted till he was so sore and tired that
+rest was a blessing.
+
+He never succeeded in getting on a friendly footing with the Mormon
+Whisner, though he kept up his agreeable and kindly advances. He
+listened to the trader's wife as she told him about the Indians, and
+what he learned he did not forget. And his wonder and respect increased
+in proportion to his knowledge.
+
+One day there rode into Kayenta the Mormon for whom Withers had been
+waiting. His name was Joe Lake. He appeared young, and slipped off his
+superb bay with a grace and activity that were astounding in one of his
+huge bulk. He had a still, smooth face, with the color of red bronze and
+the expression of a cherub; big, soft, dark eyes; and a winning smile.
+He was surprisingly different from Whisner or any Mormon character that
+Shefford had naturally conceived. His costume was that of the cowboy on
+active service; and he packed a gun at his hip. The hand-shake he gave
+Shefford was an ordeal for that young man and left him with his whole
+right side momentarily benumbed.
+
+"I sure am glad to meet you," he said in a lazy, mild voice. And he
+was taking friendly stock of Shefford when the bay mustang reached
+with vicious muzzle to bite at him. Lake gave a jerk on the bridle that
+almost brought the mustang to his knees. He reared then, snorted, and
+came down to plant his forefeet wide apart, and watched his master with
+defiant eyes. This mustang was the finest horse Shefford had ever seen.
+He appeared quite large for his species, was almost red in color, had a
+racy and powerful build, and a fine thoroughbred head with dark, fiery
+eyes. He did not look mean, but he had spirit.
+
+"Navvy, you've sure got bad manners," said Lake, shaking the mustang's
+bridle. He spoke as if he were chiding a refractory little boy. "Didn't
+I break you better'n that? What's this gentleman goin' to think of you?
+Tryin' to bite my ear off!"
+
+Lake had arrived about the middle of the forenoon, and Withers announced
+his intention of packing at once for the trip. Indians were sent out on
+the ranges to drive in burros and mustangs. Shefford had his thrilling
+expectancy somewhat chilled by what he considered must have been Lake's
+reception of the trader's plan. Lake seemed to oppose him, and evidently
+it took vehemence and argument on Withers's part to make the Mormon
+tractable. But Withers won him over, and then he called Shefford to his
+side.
+
+"You fellows got to be good friends," he said. "You'll have charge of my
+pack-trains. Nas Ta Bega wants to go with you. I'll feel safer about my
+supplies and stock than I've ever been.... Joe, I'll back this stranger
+for all I'm worth. He's square.... And, Shefford, Joe Lake is a Mormon
+of the younger generation. I want to start you right. You can trust
+him as you trust me. He's white clean through. And he's the best
+horse-wrangler in Utah."
+
+It was Lake who first offered his hand, and Shefford made haste to meet
+it with his own. Neither of them spoke. Shefford intuitively felt
+an alteration in Lake's regard, or at least a singular increase of
+interest. Lake had been told that Shefford had been a clergyman, was now
+a wanderer, without any religion. Again it seemed to Shefford that he
+owed a forming of friendship to this singular fact. And it hurt him. But
+strangely it came to him that he had taken a liking to a Mormon.
+
+About one o'clock the pack-train left Kayenta. Nas Ta Bega led the way
+up the slope. Following him climbed half a dozen patient, plodding,
+heavily laden burros. Withers came next, and he turned in his saddle
+to wave good-by to his wife. Joe Lake appeared to be busy keeping a
+red mule and a wild gray mustang and a couple of restive blacks in the
+trail. Shefford brought up in the rear.
+
+His mount was a beautiful black mustang with three white feet, a white
+spot on his nose, and a mane that swept to his knees. "His name's
+Nack-yal," Withers had said. "It means two bits, or twenty-five cents.
+He ain't worth more." To look at Nack-yal had pleased Shefford very
+much indeed, but, once upon his back, he grew dubious. The mustang
+acted queer. He actually looked back at Shefford, and it was a look of
+speculation and disdain. Shefford took exception to Nack-yal's manner
+and to his reluctance to go, and especially to a habit the mustang had
+of turning off the trail to the left. Shefford had managed some rather
+spirited horses back in Illinois; and though he was willing and eager to
+learn all over again, he did not enjoy the prospect of Lake and Withers
+seeing this black mustang make a novice of him. And he guessed that was
+just what Nack-yal intended to do. However, once up over the hill, with
+Kayenta out of sight, Nack-yal trotted along fairly well, needing only
+now and then to be pulled back from his strange swinging to the left off
+the trail.
+
+The pack-train traveled steadily and soon crossed the upland plain to
+descend into the valley again. Shefford saw the jagged red peaks with
+an emotion he could not name. The canyon between them were purple in the
+shadows, the great walls and slopes brightened to red, and the tips were
+gold in the sun. Shefford forgot all about his mustang and the trail.
+
+Suddenly with a pound of hoofs Nack-yal seemed to rise. He leaped
+sidewise out of the trail, came down stiff-legged. Then Shefford shot
+out of the saddle. He landed so hard that he was stunned for an instant.
+Sitting up, he saw the mustang bent down, eyes and ears showing fight,
+and his forefeet spread. He appeared to be looking at something in the
+trail. Shefford got up and soon saw what had been the trouble. A long,
+crooked stick, rather thick and black and yellow, lay in the trail, and
+any mustang looking for an excuse to jump might have mistaken it for
+a rattlesnake. Nack-yal appeared disposed to be satisfied, and gave
+Shefford no trouble in mounting. The incident increased Shefford's
+dubiousness. These Arizona mustangs were unknown quantities.
+
+Thereafter Shefford had an eye for the trail rather than the scenery,
+and this continued till the pack-train entered the mouth of the Sagi.
+Then those wonderful lofty cliffs, with their peaks and towers and
+spires, loomed so close and so beautiful that he did not care if
+Nack-yal did throw him. Along here, however, the mustang behaved well,
+and presently Shefford decided that if it had been otherwise he would
+have walked. The trail suddenly stood on end and led down into the deep
+wash, where some days before he had seen the stream of reddish water.
+This day there appeared to be less water and it was not so red. Nack-yal
+sank deep as he took short and careful steps down. The burros and other
+mustangs were drinking, and Nack-yal followed suit. The Indian, with a
+hand clutching his mustang's mane, rode up a steep, sandy slope on the
+other side that Shefford would not have believed any horse could climb.
+The burros plodded up and over the rim, with Withers calling to them.
+Joe Lake swung his rope and cracked the flanks of the gray mare and the
+red mule; and the way the two kicked was a revelation and a warning to
+Shefford. When his turn came to climb the trail he got off and walked,
+an action that Nack-yal appeared fully to appreciate.
+
+From the head of this wash the trail wound away up the widening canyon,
+through greasewood flats and over 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 canyon, choked with green of cedar and spruce
+and pinyon. These notches haunted Shefford, and he was ever on the
+lookout for more of them.
+
+Withers came back to ride just in advance and began to talk.
+
+"Reckon this Sagi canyon is your Deception Pass," he said. "It's sure
+a queer hole. I've been lost more than once, hunting mustangs in here.
+I've an idea Nas Ta Bega knows all this country. He just pointed out
+a cliff-dwelling to me. See it?... There 'way up in that cave of the
+wall."
+
+Shefford saw a steep, rough slope leading up to a bulge of the cliff,
+and finally he made out strange little houses with dark, eyelike
+windows. He wanted to climb up there. Withers called his attention to
+more caves with what he believed were the ruins of cliff-dwellings. And
+as they rode along the trader showed him remarkable formations of
+rock where the elements were slowly hollowing out a bridge. They came
+presently to a region of intersecting canyon, and here the breaking of
+the trail up and down the deep washes took Withers back to his task with
+the burros and gave Shefford more concern than he liked with Nack-yal.
+The mustang grew unruly and was continually turning to the left.
+Sometimes he tried to climb the steep slope. He had to be pulled hard
+away from the opening canyon on the left. It seemed strange to Shefford
+that the mustang never swerved to the right. This habit of Nack-yal's
+and the increasing caution needed on the trail took all of Shefford's
+attention. When he dismounted, however, he had a chance to look around,
+and more and more he was amazed at the increasing proportions and
+wildness of the Sagi.
+
+He came at length to a place where a fallen tree blocked the trail. All
+of the rest of the pack-train had jumped the log. But Nack-yal balked.
+Shefford dismounted, pulled the bridle over the mustang's head, and
+tried to lead him. Nack-yal, however, refused to budge. Whereupon
+Shefford got a stick and, remounting, he gave the balky mustang a cut
+across the flank. Then something violent happened. Shefford received a
+sudden propelling jolt, and then he was rising into the air, and then
+falling. Before he alighted he had a clear image of Nack-yal in the air
+above him, bent double, and seemingly possessed of devils. Then Shefford
+hit the ground with no light thud. He was thoroughly angry when he got
+dizzily upon his feet, but he was not quick enough to catch the mustang.
+Nack-yal leaped easily over the log and went on ahead, dragging his
+bridle. Shefford hurried after him, and the faster he went just by so
+much the cunning Nack-yal accelerated his gait. As the pack-train was
+out of sight somewhere ahead, Shefford could not call to his companions
+to halt his mount, so he gave up trying, and walked on now with free and
+growing appreciation of his surroundings.
+
+The afternoon had waned. The sun blazed low in the west in a notch of
+the canyon ramparts, and one wall was darkening into purple shadow while
+the other shone through a golden haze. It was a weird, wild world
+to Shefford, and every few strides he caught his breath and tried to
+realize actuality was not a dream.
+
+Nack-yal kept about a hundred paces to the fore and ever and anon he
+looked back to see how his new master was progressing. He varied these
+occasions by reaching down and nipping a tuft of grass. Evidently he was
+too intelligent to go on fast enough to be caught by Withers. Also he
+kept continually looking up the slope to the left as if seeking a way to
+climb out of the valley in that direction. Shefford thought it was
+well the trail lay at the foot of a steep slope that ran up to unbroken
+bluffs.
+
+The sun set and the canyon lost its red and its gold and deepened its
+purple. Shefford calculated he had walked five miles, and though he did
+not mind the effort, he would rather have ridden Nack-yal into camp.
+He mounted a cedar ridge, crossed some sandy washes, turned a corner of
+bold wall to enter a wide, green level. The mustangs were rolling and
+snorting. He heard the bray of a burro. A bright blaze of camp-fire
+greeted him, and the dark figure of the Indian approached to intercept
+and catch Nack-yal. When he stalked into camp Withers wore a beaming
+smile, and Joe Lake, who was on his knees making biscuit dough in a pan,
+stopped proceedings and drawled:
+
+"Reckon Nack-yal bucked you off."
+
+"Bucked! Was that it? Well, he separated himself from me in a new and
+somewhat painful manner--to me."
+
+"Sure, I saw that in his eye," replied Lake; and Withers laughed with
+him.
+
+"Nack-yal never was well broke," he said. "But he's a good mustang,
+nothing like Joe's Navvy or that gray mare Dynamite. All this Indian
+stock will buck on a man once in a while."
+
+"I'll take the bucking along with the rest," said Shefford. Both men
+liked his reply, and the Indian smiled for the first time.
+
+Soon they all sat round a spread tarpaulin and ate like wolves. After
+supper came the rest and talk before the camp-fire. Joe Lake was droll;
+he said the most serious things in a way to make Shefford wonder if
+he was not joking. Withers talked about the canyon, the Indians, the
+mustangs, the scorpions running out of the heated sand; and to Shefford
+it was all like a fascinating book. Nas Ta Bega smoked in silence, his
+brooding eyes upon the fire.
+
+
+
+
+V. ON THE TRAIL
+
+
+Shefford was awakened next morning by a sound he had never heard
+before--the plunging of hobbled horses on soft turf. It was clear
+daylight, with a ruddy color in the sky and a tinge of red along the
+canyon rim. He saw Withers, Lake, and the Indian driving the mustangs
+toward camp.
+
+The burros appeared lazy, yet willing. But the mustangs and the mule
+Withers called Red and the gray mare Dynamite were determined not to be
+driven into camp. It was astonishing how much action they had, how much
+ground they could cover with their forefeet hobbled together. They
+were exceedingly skilful; they lifted both forefeet at once, and then
+plunged. And they all went in different directions. Nas Ta Bega darted
+in here and there to head off escape.
+
+Shefford pulled on his boots and went out to help. He got too close to
+the gray mare and, warned by a yell from Withers, he jumped back just in
+time to avoid her vicious heels. Then Shefford turned his attention to
+Nack-yal and chased him all over the flat in a futile effort to catch
+him. Nas Ta Bega came to Shefford's assistance and put a rope over
+Nack-yal's head.
+
+"Don't ever get behind one of these mustangs," said Withers, warningly,
+as Shefford came up. "You might be killed.... Eat your bite now. We'll
+soon be out of here."
+
+Shefford had been late in awakening. The others had breakfasted. He
+found eating somewhat difficult in the excitement that ensued. Nas Ta
+Bega held ropes which were round the necks of Red and Dynamite. The mule
+showed his cunning and always appeared to present his heels to Withers,
+who tried to approach him with a pack-saddle. The patience of the trader
+was a revelation to Shefford. And at length Red was cornered by the
+three men, the pack-saddle was strapped on, and then the packs. Red
+promptly bucked the packs off, and the work had to be done over again.
+Then Red dropped his long ears and seemed ready to be tractable.
+
+When Shefford turned his attention to Dynamite he decided that this
+was his first sight of a wild horse. The gray mare had fiery eyes that
+rolled and showed the white. She jumped straight up, screamed, pawed,
+bit, and then plunged down to shoot her hind hoofs into the air as high
+as her head had been. She was amazingly agile and she seemed mad to kill
+something. She dragged the Indian about, and when Joe Lake got a rope
+on her hind foot she dragged them both. They lashed her with the ends
+of the lassoes, which action only made her kick harder. She plunged
+into camp, drove Shefford flying for his life, knocked down two of the
+burros, and played havoc with the unstrapped packs. Withers ran to
+the assistance of Lake, and the two of them hauled back with all their
+strength and weight. They were both powerful and heavy men. Dynamite
+circled round and finally, after kicking the camp-fire to bits, fell
+down on her haunches in the hot embers. "Let--her--set--there!" panted
+Withers. And Joe Lake shouted, "Burn up, you durn coyote!" Both men
+appeared delighted that she had brought upon herself just punishment.
+Dynamite sat in the remains of the fire long enough to get burnt, and
+then she got up and meekly allowed Withers to throw a tarpaulin and a
+roll of blankets over her and tie them fast.
+
+Lake and Withers were sweating freely when this job was finished.
+
+"Say, is that a usual morning's task with the pack-animals?" asked
+Shefford.
+
+"They're all pretty decent to-day, except Dynamite," replied Withers.
+"She's got to be worked out."
+
+Shefford felt both amusement and consternation. The sun was just rising
+over the ramparts of the canyon, and he had already seen more difficult
+and dangerous work accomplished than half a dozen men of his type could
+do in a whole day. He liked the outlook of his new duty as Withers's
+assistant, but he felt helplessly inefficient. Still, all he needed
+was experience. He passed over what he anticipated would be pain and
+peril--the cost was of no moment.
+
+Soon the pack-train was on the move, with the Indian leading. This
+morning Nack-yal began his strange swinging off to the left, precisely
+as he had done the day before. It got to be annoying to Shefford, and
+he lost patience with the mustang and jerked him sharply round. This,
+however, had no great effect upon Nack-yal.
+
+As the train headed straight up the canyon Joe Lake dropped back to ride
+beside Shefford. The Mormon had been amiable and friendly.
+
+"Flock of deer up that draw," he said, pointing up a narrow side canyon.
+
+Shefford gazed to see a half-dozen small, brown, long-eared objects,
+very like burros, watching the pack-train pass.
+
+"Are they deer?" he asked, delightedly.
+
+"Sure are," replied Joe, sincerely. "Get down and shoot one. There's a
+rifle in your saddle-sheath."
+
+Shefford had already discovered that he had been armed this morning, a
+matter which had caused him reflection. These animals certainly looked
+like deer; he had seen a few deer, though not in their native wild
+haunts; and he experienced the thrill of the hunter. Dismounting, he
+drew the rifle out of the sheath and started toward the little canyon.
+
+"Hyar! Where you going with that gun?" yelled Withers. "That's a bunch
+of burros.... Joe's up to his old tricks. Shefford, look out for Joe!"
+
+Rather sheepishly Shefford returned to his mustang and sheathed the
+rifle, and then took a long look at the animals up the draw. They,
+resembled deer, but upon second glance they surely were burros.
+
+"Durn me! Now if I didn't think they sure were deer!" exclaimed Joe. He
+appeared absolutely sincere and innocent. Shefford hardly knew how to
+take this likable Mormon, but vowed he would be on his guard in the
+future.
+
+Nas Ta Bega soon led the pack-train toward the left wall of the canyon,
+and evidently intended to scale it. Shefford could not see any trail,
+and the wall appeared steep and insurmountable. But upon nearing the
+cliff he saw a narrow broken trail leading zigzag up over smooth rock,
+weathered slope, and through cracks.
+
+"Spread out, and careful now!" yelled Withers.
+
+The need of both advices soon became manifest to Shefford. The burros
+started stones rolling, making danger for those below. Shefford
+dismounted and led Nack-yal and turned aside many a rolling rock. The
+Indian and the burros, with the red mule leading, climbed steadily. But
+the mustangs had trouble. Joe's spirited bay had to be coaxed to face
+the ascent; Nack-yal balked at every difficult step; and Dynamite
+slipped on a flat slant of rock and slid down forty feet. Withers and
+Lake with ropes hauled the mare out of the dangerous position. Shefford,
+who brought up the rear, saw all the action, and it was exciting, but
+his pleasure in the climb was spoiled by sight of blood and hair on
+the stones. The ascent was crooked, steep, and long, and when Shefford
+reached the top of the wall he was glad to rest. It made him gasp to
+look down and see what he had surmounted. The canyon floor, green and
+level, lay a thousand feet below; and the wild burros which had followed
+on the trail looked like rabbits.
+
+Shefford mounted presently, and rode out upon a wide, smooth trail
+leading into a cedar forest. There were bunches of gray sage in the open
+places. The air was cool and crisp, laden with a sweet fragrance. He saw
+Lake and Withers bobbing along, now on one side of the trail, now on the
+other, and they kept to a steady trot. Occasionally the Indian and his
+bright-red saddle-blanket showed in an opening of the cedars.
+
+It was level country, and there was nothing for Shefford to see except
+cedar and sage, an outcropping of red rock in places, and the winding
+trail. Mocking-birds made melody everywhere. Shefford seemed full of
+a strange pleasure, and the hours flew by. Nack-yal still wanted to be
+everlastingly turning off the trail, and, moreover, now he wanted to go
+faster. He was eager, restless, dissatisfied.
+
+At noon the pack-train descended into a deep draw, well covered with
+cedar and sage. There was plenty of grass and shade, but no water.
+Shefford was surprised to see that every pack was removed; however, the
+roll of blankets was left on Dynamite.
+
+The men made a fire and began to cook a noonday meal. Shefford, tired
+and warm, sat in a shady spot and watched. He had become all eyes. He
+had almost forgotten Fay Larkin; he had forgotten his trouble; and
+the present seemed sweet and full. Presently his ears were filled by a
+pattering roar and, looking up the draw, he saw two streams of sheep
+and goats coming down. Soon an Indian shepherd appeared, riding a fine
+mustang. A cream-colored colt bounded along behind, and presently a
+shaggy dog came in sight. The Indian dismounted at the camp, and his
+flock spread by in two white and black streams. The dog went with them.
+Withers and Joe shook hands with the Indian, whom Joe called "Navvy,"
+and Shefford lost no time in doing likewise. Then Nas Ta Bega came in,
+and he and the Navajo talked. When the meal was ready all of them sat
+down round the canvas. The shepherd did not tie his horse.
+
+Presently Shefford noticed that Nack-yal had returned to camp and was
+acting strangely. Evidently he was attracted by the Indian's mustang or
+the cream-colored colt. At any rate, Nack-yal hung around, tossed his
+head, whinnied in a low, nervous manner, and looked strangely eager and
+wild. Shefford was at first amused, then curious. Nack-yal approached
+too close to the mother of the colt, and she gave him a sounding kick in
+the ribs. Nack-yal uttered a plaintive snort and backed away, to stand,
+crestfallen, with all his eagerness and fire vanished.
+
+Nas Ta Bega pointed to the mustang and said something in his own tongue.
+Then Withers addressed the visiting Indian, and they exchanged some
+words, whereupon the trader turned to Shefford:
+
+"I bought Nack-yal from this Indian three years ago. This mare is
+Nack-yal's mother. He was born over here to the south. That's why he
+always swung left off the trail. He wanted to go home. Just now he
+recognized his mother and she whaled away and gave him a whack for his
+pains. She's got a colt now and probably didn't recognize Nack-yal. But
+he's broken-hearted."
+
+The trader laughed, and Joe said, "You can't tell what these durn
+mustangs will do." Shefford felt sorry for Nack-yal, and when it came
+time to saddle him again found him easier to handle than ever before.
+Nack-yal stood with head down, broken-spirited.
+
+Shefford was the first to ride up out of the draw, and once upon the
+top of the ridge he halted to gaze, wide-eyed and entranced. A rolling,
+endless plain sloped down beneath him, and led him on to a distant
+round-topped mountain. To the right a red canyon opened its jagged jaws,
+and away to the north rose a whorled and strange sea of curved ridges,
+crags, and domes.
+
+Nas Ta Bega rode up then, leading the pack-train.
+
+"Bi Nai, that is Na-tsis-an," he said, pointing to the mountain. "Navajo
+Mountain. And there in the north are the canyon."
+
+Shefford followed the Indian down the trail and soon lost sight of that
+wide green-and-red wilderness. Nas Ta Bega turned at an intersecting
+trail, rode down into the canyon, and climbed out on the other side.
+Shefford got a glimpse now and then of the black dome of the mountain,
+but for the most part the distant points of the country were hidden.
+They crossed many trails, and went up and down the sides of many shallow
+canyon. Troops of wild mustangs whistled at them, stood on ridge-tops to
+watch, and then dashed away with manes and tails flying.
+
+Withers rode forward presently and halted the pack-train. He had some
+conversation with Nas Ta Bega, whereupon the Indian turned his horse and
+trotted back, to disappear in the cedars.
+
+"I'm some worried," explained Withers. "Joe thinks he saw a bunch of
+horsemen trailing us. My eyes are bad and I can't see far. The Indian
+will find out. I took a roundabout way to reach the village because I'm
+always dodging Shadd."
+
+This communication lent an added zest to the journey. Shefford could
+hardly believe the truth that his eyes and his ears brought to his
+consciousness. He turned in behind Withers and rode down the rough
+trail, helping the mustang all in his power. It occurred to him that
+Nack-yal had been entirely different since that meeting with his mother
+in the draw. He turned no more off the trail; he answered readily to the
+rein; he did not look afar from every ridge. Shefford conceived a liking
+for the mustang.
+
+Withers turned sidewise in his saddle and let his mustang pick the way.
+
+"Another time we'll go up round the base of the mountain, where you can
+look down on the grandest scene in the world," said he. "Two hundred
+miles of wind-worn rock, all smooth and bare, without a single straight
+line--canyon, caves, bridges--the most wonderful country in the world!
+Even the Indians haven't explored it. It's haunted, for them, and they
+have strange gods. The Navajos will hunt on this side of the mountain,
+but not on the other. That north side is consecrated ground. My wife
+has long been trying to get the Navajos to tell her the secret of
+Nonnezoshe. Nonnezoshe means Rainbow Bridge. The Indians worship it, but
+as far as she can find out only a few have ever seen it. I imagine it'd
+be worth some trouble."
+
+"Maybe that's the bridge Venters talked about--the one overarching the
+entrance to Surprise Valley," Said Shefford.
+
+"It might be," replied the trader. "You've got a good chance of finding
+out. Nas Ta Bega is the man. You stick to that Indian. ... Well, we
+start down here into this canyon, and we go down some, I reckon. In
+half an hour you'll see sago-lilies and Indian paint-brush and vermilion
+cactus."
+
+. . . . . . . . . . .
+
+About the middle of the afternoon the pack-train and its drivers arrived
+at the hidden Mormon village. Nas Ta Bega had not returned from his
+scout back along the trail.
+
+Shefford's sensibilities had all been overstrained, but he had left in
+him enthusiasm and appreciation that made the situation of this village
+a fairyland. It was a valley, a canyon floor, so long that he could
+not see the end, and perhaps a quarter of a mile wide. The air was hot,
+still, and sweetly odorous of unfamiliar flowers. Pinyon and cedar trees
+surrounded the little log and stone houses, and along the walls of the
+canyon stood sharp-pointed, dark-green spruce-trees. These walls were
+singular of shape and color. They were not imposing in height, but they
+waved like the long, undulating swell of a sea. Every foot of surface
+was perfectly smooth, and the long curved lines of darker tinge that
+streaked the red followed the rounded line of the slope at the top. Far
+above, yet overhanging, were great yellow crags and peaks, and between
+these, still higher, showed the pine-fringed slope of Navajo Mountain
+with snow in the sheltered places, and glistening streams, like silver
+threads, running down.
+
+All this Shefford noticed as he entered the valley from round a corner
+of wall. Upon nearer view he saw and heard a host of children, who,
+looking up to see the intruders, scattered like frightened quail. Long
+gray grass covered the ground, and here and there wide, smooth paths
+had been worn. A swift and murmuring brook ran through the middle of the
+valley, and its banks were bordered with flowers.
+
+Withers led the way to one side near the wall, where a clump of
+cedar-trees and a dark, swift spring boiling out of the rocks and banks
+of amber moss with purple blossoms made a beautiful camp site. Here
+the mustangs were unsaddled and turned loose without hobbles. It was
+certainly unlikely that they would leave such a spot. Some of the burros
+were unpacked, and the others Withers drove off into the village.
+
+"Sure's pretty nice," said Joe, wiping his sweaty face. "I'll never
+want to leave. It suits me to lie on this moss.... Take a drink of that
+spring."
+
+Shefford complied with alacrity and found the water cool and sweet,
+and he seemed to feel it all through him. Then he returned to the mossy
+bank. He did not reply to Joe. In fact, all his faculties were absorbed
+in watching and feeling, and he lay there long after Joe went off to
+the village. The murmur of water, the hum of bees, the songs of
+strange birds, the sweet, warm air, the dreamy summer somnolence of the
+valley--all these added drowsiness to Shefford's weary lassitude, and he
+fell asleep. When he awoke Nas Ta Bega was sitting near him and Joe was
+busy near a camp-fire.
+
+"Hello, Nas Ta Bega!" said Shefford. "Was there any one trailing us?"
+
+The Navajo nodded.
+
+Joe raised his head and with forceful brevity said, "Shadd."
+
+"Shadd!" echoed Shefford, remembering the dark, sinister face of his
+visitor that night in the Sagi. "Joe, is it serious--his trailing us?"
+
+"Well, I don't know how durn serious it is, but I'm scared to death,"
+replied Lake. "He and his gang will hold us up somewhere on the way
+home."
+
+Shefford regarded Joe with both concern and doubt. Joe's words were at
+variance with his looks.
+
+"Say, pard, can you shoot a rifle?" queried Joe.
+
+"Yes. I'm a fair shot at targets."
+
+The Mormon nodded his head as if pleased. "That's good. These
+outlaws are all poor shots with a rifle. So 'm I. But I can handle a
+six-shooter. I reckon we'll make Shadd sweat if he pushes us."
+
+Withers returned, driving the burros, all of which had been unpacked
+down to the saddles. Two gray-bearded men accompanied him. One of them
+appeared to be very old and venerable, and walked with a stick. The
+other had a sad-lined face and kind, mild blue eyes. Shefford observed
+that Lake seemed unusually respectful. Withers introduced these Mormons
+merely as Smith and Henninger. They were very cordial and pleasant in
+their greetings to Shefford. Presently another, somewhat younger, man
+joined the group, a stalwart, jovial fellow with ruddy face. There was
+certainly no mistaking his kindly welcome as he shook Shefford's hand.
+His name was Beal. The three stood round the camp-fire for a while,
+evidently glad of the presence of fellow-men and to hear news from the
+outside. Finally they went away, taking Joe with them. Withers took up
+the task of getting supper where Joe had been made to leave it.
+
+"Shefford, listen," he said, presently, as he knelt before the fire. "I
+told them right out that you'd been a Gentile clergyman--that you'd gone
+back on your religion. It impressed them and you've been well received.
+I'll tell the same thing over at Stonebridge. You'll get in right. Of
+course I don't expect they'll make a Mormon of you. But they'll try to.
+Meanwhile you can be square and friendly all the time you're trying to
+find your Fay Larkin. To-morrow you'll meet some of the women. They're
+good souls, but, like any women, crazy for news. Think what it is to be
+shut up in here between these walls!"
+
+"Withers, I'm intensely interested," replied Shefford, "and excited,
+too. Shall we stay here long?"
+
+"I'll stay a couple of days, then go to Stonebridge with Joe. He'll
+come back here, and when you both feel like leaving, and if Nas Ta Bega
+thinks it safe, you'll take a trail over to some Indian hogans and pack
+me out a load of skins and blankets.... My boy, you've all the time
+there is, and I wish you luck. This isn't a bad place to loaf. I always
+get sentimental over here. Maybe it's the women. Some of them are
+pretty, and one of them--Shefford, they call her the Sago Lily. Her
+first name is Mary, I'm told. Don't know her last name. She's lovely.
+And I'll bet you forget Fay Larkin in a flash. Only--be careful. You
+drop in here with rather peculiar credentials, so to speak--as my helper
+and as a man with no religion! You'll not only be fully trusted, but
+you'll be welcome to these lonely women. So be careful. Remember it's
+my secret belief they are sealed wives and are visited occasionally at
+night by their husbands. I don't know this, but I believe it. And you're
+not supposed to dream of that."
+
+"How many men in the village?" asked Shefford.
+
+"Three. You met them."
+
+"Have they wives?" asked Shefford, curiously.
+
+"Wives! Well, I guess. But only one each that I know of. Joe Lake is the
+only unmarried Mormon I've met."
+
+"And no men--strangers, cowboys, outlaws--ever come to this village?"
+
+"Except to Indians, it seems to be a secret so far," replied the trader,
+earnestly. "But it can't be kept secret. I've said that time after time
+over in Stonebridge. With Mormons it's 'sufficient unto the day is the
+evil thereof.'"
+
+"What'll happen when outsiders do learn and ride in here?"
+
+"There'll be trouble--maybe bloodshed. Mormon women are absolutely good,
+but they're human, and want and need a little life. And, strange to say,
+Mormon men are pig-headedly jealous.... Why, if some of the cowboys I
+knew in Durango would ride over here there'd simply be hell. But that's
+a long way, and probably this village will be deserted before news of it
+ever reaches Colorado. There's more danger of Shadd and his gang coming
+in. Shadd's half Piute. He must know of this place. And he's got some
+white outlaws in his gang.... Come on. Grub's ready, and I'm too hungry
+to talk."
+
+Later, when shadows began to gather in the valley and the lofty peaks
+above were gold in the sunset glow, Withers left camp to look after the
+straying mustangs, and Shefford strolled to and fro under the cedars.
+The lights and shades in the Sagi that first night had moved him to
+enthusiastic watchfulness, but here they were so weird and beautiful
+that he was enraptured. He actually saw great shafts of gold and shadows
+of purple streaming from the peaks down into the valley. It was day on
+the heights and twilight in the valley. The swiftly changing colors were
+like rainbows.
+
+While he strolled up and down several women came to the spring and
+filled their buckets. They wore shawls or hoods and their garments were
+somber, but, nevertheless, they appeared to have youth and comeliness.
+They saw him, looked at him curiously, and then, without speaking,
+went back on the well-trodden path. Presently down the path appeared a
+woman--a girl in lighter garb. It was almost white. She was shapely and
+walked with free, graceful step, reminding him of the Indian girl,
+Glen Naspa. This one wore a hood shaped like a huge sunbonnet and it
+concealed her face. She carried a bucket. When she reached the spring
+and went down the few stone steps Shefford saw that she did not have on
+shoes. As she braced herself to lift the bucket her bare foot clung to
+the mossy stone. It was a strong, sinewy, beautiful foot, instinct with
+youth. He was curious enough, he thought, but the awakening artist in
+him made him more so. She dragged at the full bucket and had difficulty
+in lifting it out of the hole. Shefford strode forward and took the
+bucket-handle from her.
+
+"Won't you let me help you?" he said, lifting the bucket. "Indeed--it's
+very heavy."
+
+"Oh--thank you," she said, without raising her head. Her voice seemed
+singularly young and sweet. He had not heard a voice like it. She moved
+down the path and he walked beside her. He felt embarrassed, yet more
+curious than ever; he wanted to say something, to turn and look at her,
+but he kept on for a dozen paces without making up his mind.
+
+Finally he said: "Do you really carry this heavy bucket? Why, it makes
+my arm ache."
+
+"Twice every day--morning and evening," she replied. "I'm very strong."
+
+Then he stole a look out of the corner of his eye, and, seeing that her
+face was hidden from him by the hood, he turned to observe her at better
+advantage. A long braid of hair hung down her back. In the twilight it
+gleamed dull gold. She came up to his shoulder. The sleeve nearest him
+was rolled up to her elbow, revealing a fine round arm. Her hand, like
+her foot, was brown, strong, and well shaped. It was a hand that had
+been developed by labor. She was full-bosomed, yet slender, and she
+walked with a free stride that made Shefford admire and wonder.
+
+They passed several of the little stone and log houses, and women
+greeted them as they went by and children peered shyly from the doors.
+He kept trying to think of something to say, and, failing in that,
+determined to have one good look under the hood before he left her.
+
+"You walk lame," she said, solicitously. "Let me carry the bucket
+now--please. My house is near."
+
+"Am I lame?... Guess so, a little," he replied. "It was a hard ride for
+me. But I'll carry the bucket just the same."
+
+They went on under some pinyon-trees, down a path to a little house
+identical with the others, except that it had a stone porch. Shefford
+smelled fragrant wood-smoke and saw a column curling from the low, flat,
+stone chimney. Then he set the bucket down on the porch. "Thank you,
+Mr. Shefford," she said. "You know my name?" he asked. "Yes. Mr. Withers
+spoke to my nearest neighbor and she told me."
+
+"Oh, I see. And you--"
+
+He did not go on and she did not reply. When she stepped upon the porch
+and turned he was able to see under the hood. The face there was in
+shadow, and for that very reason he answered to ungovernable impulse and
+took a step closer to her. Dark, grave, sad eyes looked down at him, and
+he felt as if he could never draw his own glance away. He seemed not
+to see the rest of her face, and yet felt that it was lovely. Then a
+downward movement of the hood hid from him the strange eyes and the
+shadowy loveliness.
+
+"I--I beg your pardon," he said, quickly, drawing back. "I'm rude. ...
+Withers told me about a girl he called--he said looked like a sago-lily.
+That's no excuse to stare under your hood. But I--I was curious. I
+wondered if--"
+
+He hesitated, realizing how foolish his talk was. She stood a moment,
+probably watching him, but he could not be sure, for her face was
+hidden.
+
+"They call me that," she said. "But my name is Mary."
+
+"Mary--what?" he asked.
+
+"Just Mary," she said, simply. "Good night."
+
+He did not say good night and could not have told why. She took up the
+bucket and went into the dark house. Shefford hurried away into the
+gathering darkness.
+
+
+
+
+VI. IN THE HIDDEN VALLEY
+
+
+Shefford had hardly seen her face, yet he was more interested in a woman
+than he had ever been before. Still, he reflected, as he returned to
+camp, he had been under a long strain, he was unduly excited by this new
+and adventurous life, and these, with the mystery of this village, were
+perhaps accountable for a state of mind that could not last.
+
+He rolled in his blankets on the soft bed of moss and he saw the stars
+through the needle-like fringe of the pinyons. It seemed impossible
+to fall asleep. The two domed peaks split the sky, and back of them,
+looming dark and shadowy, rose the mountain. There was something cold,
+austere, and majestic in their lofty presence, and they made him feel
+alone, yet not alone. He raised himself to see the quiet forms of
+Withers and Nas Ta Bega prone in the starlight, and their slow, deep
+breathing was that of tired men. A bell on a mustang rang somewhere off
+in the valley and gave out a low, strange, reverberating echo from
+wall to wall. When it ceased a silence set in that was deader than
+any silence he had ever felt, but gradually he became aware of the low
+murmur of the brook. For the rest there was no sound of wind, no bark of
+dog or yelp of coyote, no sound of voice in the village.
+
+He tried to sleep, but instead thought of this girl who was called the
+Sago Lily. He recalled everything incident to their meeting and the
+walk to her home. Her swift, free step, her graceful poise, her shapely
+form--the long braid of hair, dull gold in the twilight, the beautiful
+bare foot and the strong round arm--these he thought of and recalled
+vividly. But of her face he had no idea except the shadowy, haunting
+loveliness, and that grew more and more difficult to remember. The tone
+of her voice and what she had said--how the one had thrilled him and the
+other mystified! It was her voice that had most attracted him. There was
+something in it besides music--what, he could not tell--sadness, depth,
+something like that in Nas Ta Bega's beauty springing from disuse. But
+this seemed absurd. Why should he imagine her voice one that had not
+been used as freely as any other woman's? She was a Mormon; very likely,
+almost surely, she was a sealed wife. His interest, too, was absurd, and
+he tried to throw it off, or imagine it one he might have felt in any
+other of these strange women of the hidden village.
+
+But Shefford's intelligence and his good sense, which became operative
+when he was fully roused and set the situation clearly before his eyes,
+had no effect upon his deeper, mystic, and primitive feelings. He saw
+the truth and he felt something that he could not name. He would not be
+a fool, but there was no harm in dreaming. And unquestionably,
+beyond all doubt, the dream and the romance that had lured him to the
+wilderness were here; hanging over him like the shadows of the great
+peaks. His heart swelled with emotion when he thought of how the
+black and incessant despair of the past was gone. So he embraced any
+attraction that made him forget and think and feel; some instinct
+stronger than intelligence bade him drift.
+
+. . . . . . . . . . .
+
+Joe's rolling voice awoke him next morning and he rose with a singular
+zest. When or where in his life had he awakened in such a beautiful
+place? Almost he understood why Venters and Bess had been haunted by
+memories of Surprise Valley. The morning was clear, cool, sweet; the
+peaks were dim and soft in rosy cloud; shafts of golden sunlight shot
+down into the purple shadows. Mocking-birds were singing. His body was
+sore and tired from the unaccustomed travel, but his heart was full,
+happy. His spirit wanted to run, and he knew there was something out
+there waiting to meet it. The Indian and the trader and the Mormon all
+meant more to him this morning. He had grown a little overnight. Nas Ta
+Bega's deep "Bi Nai" rang in his ears, and the smiles of Withers and
+Joe were greetings. He had friends; he had work; and there was rich,
+strange, and helpful life to live. There was even a difference in
+the mustang Nack-yal. He came readily; he did not look wild; he had a
+friendly eye; and Shefford liked him more.
+
+"What is there to do?" asked Shefford, feeling equal to a hundred tasks.
+
+"No work," replied the trader, with a laugh, and he drew Shefford aside,
+"I'm in no hurry. I like it here. And Joe never wants to leave. To-day
+you can meet the women. Make yourself popular. I've already made you
+that. These women are most all young and lonesome. Talk to them. Make
+them like you. Then some day you may be safe to ask questions. Last
+night I wanted to ask old Mother Smith if she ever heard the name
+Fay Larkin. But I thought better of it. If there's a girl here or at
+Stonebridge of that name we'll learn it. If there's mystery we'd better
+go slow. Mormons are hell on secret and mystery, and to pry into their
+affairs is to queer yourself. My advice is--just be as nice as you can
+be, and let things happen."
+
+Fay Larkin! All in a night Shefford had forgotten her. Why? He pondered
+over the matter, and then the old thrill, the old desire, came back.
+
+"Shefford, what do you think Nas Ta Bega said to me last night?" asked
+Withers in lower voice.
+
+"Haven't any idea," replied Shefford, curiously.
+
+"We were sitting beside the fire. I saw you walking under the cedars.
+You seemed thoughtful. That keen Indian watched you, and he said to me
+in Navajo, 'Bi Nai has lost his God. He has come far to find a wife. Nas
+Ta Bega is his brother.'... He meant he'll find both God and wife for
+you. I don't know about that, but I say take the Indian as he thinks he
+is--your brother. Long before I knew Nas Ta Bega well my wife used
+to tell me about him. He's a sage and a poet--the very spirit of this
+desert. He's worth cultivating for his own sake. But more--remember,
+if Fay Larkin is still shut in that valley the Navajo will find her for
+you."
+
+"I shall take Nas Ta Bega as my brother--and be proud," replied
+Shefford.
+
+"There's another thing. Do you intend to confide in Joe?"
+
+"I hadn't thought of that."
+
+"Well, it might be a good plan. But wait until you know him better and
+he knows you. He's ready to fight for you now. He's taken your trouble
+to heart. You wouldn't think Joe is deeply religious. Yet he is. He may
+never breathe a word about religion to you.... Now, Shefford, go ahead.
+You've struck a trail. It's rough, but it'll make a man of you. It'll
+lead somewhere."
+
+"I'm singularly fortunate--I--who had lost all friends. Withers, I am
+grateful. I'll prove it. I'll show--"
+
+Withers's upheld hand checked further speech, and Shefford realized that
+beneath the rough exterior of this desert trader there was fine feeling.
+These men of crude toil and wild surroundings were beginning to loom up
+large in Shefford's mind.
+
+The day began leisurely. The men were yet at breakfast when the women
+of the village began to come one by one to the spring. Joe Lake made
+friendly and joking remarks to each. And as each one passed on down the
+path he poised a biscuit in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other,
+and with his head cocked sidewise like an owl he said, "Reckon I've got
+to get me a woman like her."
+
+Shefford saw and heard, yet he was all the time half unconsciously
+watching with strange eagerness for a white figure to appear. At last
+he saw her--the same girl with the hood, the same swift step. A
+little shock or quiver passed over him, and at the moment all that was
+explicable about it was something associated with regret.
+
+Joe Lake whistled and stared.
+
+"I haven't met her," he muttered.
+
+"That's the Sago Lily," said Withers.
+
+"Reckon I'm going to carry that bucket," went on Joe.
+
+"And queer yourself with all the other women who've been to the spring?
+Don't do it, Joe," advised the trader.
+
+"But her bucket's bigger," protested Joe, weakly.
+
+"That's true. But you ought to know Mormons. If she'd come first, all
+right. As she didn't--why, don't single her out."
+
+Joe kept his seat. The girl came to the spring. A low "good morning"
+came from under the hood. Then she filled her bucket and started home.
+Shefford observed that this time she wore moccasins and she carried the
+heavy bucket with ease. When she disappeared he had again the vague,
+inexplicable sensation of regret.
+
+Joe Lake breathed heavily. "Reckon I've got to get me a woman like
+her," he said. But the former jocose tone was lacking and he appeared
+thoughtful.
+
+. . . . . . . . . . .
+
+Withers first took Shefford to the building used for a school. It was
+somewhat larger than the other houses, had only one room with two doors
+and several windows. It was full of children, of all sizes and ages,
+sitting on rude board benches.
+
+There were half a hundred of them, sturdy, healthy, rosy boys and girls,
+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 canyon. She was only a
+girl. She sat very still, looking straight before her, and seemed to be
+waiting, listening. Shefford saw the quick rise and fall of her bosom.
+
+"I want to talk," he began, swiftly, hoping to put her at her ease.
+"Every one here has been good to me and I've talked--oh, for hours and
+hours. But the thing in my mind I haven't spoken of. I've never asked
+any questions. That makes my part so strange. I want to tell why I came
+out here. I need some one who will keep my secret, and perhaps help
+me.... Would you?"
+
+"Yes, if I could," she replied.
+
+"You see I've got to trust you, or one of these other women. You're all
+Mormons. I don't mean that's anything against you. I believe you're
+all good and noble. But the fact makes--well, makes a liberty of speech
+impossible. What can I do?"
+
+Her silence probably meant that she did not know. Shefford sensed less
+strain in her and more excitement. He believed he was on the right track
+and did not regret his impulse. Even had he regretted it he would have
+gone on, for opposed to caution and intelligence was his driving mystic
+force.
+
+Then he told her the truth about his boyhood, his ambition to be
+an artist, his renunciation to his father's hope, his career as a
+clergyman, his failure in religion, and the disgrace that had made him a
+wanderer.
+
+"Oh--I'm sorry!" she said. The faint starlight shone on her face, in her
+eyes, and if he ever saw beauty and soul he saw them then. She seemed
+deeply moved. She had forgotten herself. She betrayed girlhood then--all
+the quick sympathy, the wonder, the sweetness of a heart innocent and
+untutored. She looked at him with great, starry, questioning eyes, as if
+they had just become aware of his presence, as if a man had been strange
+to her.
+
+"Thank you. It's good of you to be sorry," he said. "My instinct guided
+me right. Perhaps you'll be my friend."
+
+"I will be--if I can," she said.
+
+"But CAN you be?"
+
+"I don't know. I never had a friend. I... But, sir, I mustn't talk of
+myself.... Oh, I'm afraid I can't help you."
+
+How strange the pathos of her voice! Almost he believed she was in need
+of help or sympathy or love. But he could not wholly trust a judgment
+formed from observation of a class different from hers.
+
+"Maybe you CAN help me. Let's see," he said. "I don't seek to make you
+talk of yourself. But--you're a human being--a girl--almost a woman.
+You're not dumb. But even a nun can talk."
+
+"A nun? What is that?"
+
+"Well--a nun is a sister of mercy--a woman consecrated to God--who has
+renounced the world. In some ways you Mormon women here resemble nuns.
+It is sacrifice that nails you in this lonely valley.... You see--how
+I talk! One word, one thought brings another, and I speak what perhaps
+should be unsaid. And it's hard, because I feel I could unburden myself
+to you."
+
+"Tell me what you want," she said.
+
+Shefford hesitated, and became aware of the rapid pound of his heart.
+More than anything he wanted to be fair to this girl. He saw that she
+was warming to his influence. Her shadowy eyes were fixed upon him. The
+starlight, growing brighter, shone on her golden hair and white face.
+
+"I'll tell you presently," he said. "I've trusted you. I'll trust you
+with all.... But let me have my own time. This is so strange a thing,
+my wanting to confide in you. It's selfish, perhaps. I have my own ax
+to grind. I hope I won't wrong you. That's why I'm going to be perfectly
+frank. I might wait for days to get better acquainted. But the impulse
+is on me. I've been so interested in all you Mormon women. The fact--the
+meaning of this hidden village is so--so terrible to me. But that's none
+of my business. I have spent my afternoons and evenings with these women
+at the different cottages. You do not mingle with them. They are lonely,
+but have not such loneliness as yours. I have passed here every night.
+No light--no sound. I can't help thinking. Don't censure me or be afraid
+or draw within yourself just because I must think. I may be all wrong.
+But I'm curious. I wonder about you. Who are you? Mary--Mary what? Maybe
+I really don't want to know. I came with selfish motive and now I'd like
+to--to--what shall I say? Make your life a little less lonely for the
+while I'm here. That's all. It needn't offend. And if you accept it, how
+much easier I can tell you my secret. You are a Mormon and I--well, I am
+only a wanderer in these wilds. But--we might help each other.... Have I
+made a mistake?"
+
+"No--no," she cried, almost wildly.
+
+"We can be friends then. You will trust me, help me?"
+
+"Yes, if I dare."
+
+"Surely you may dare what the other women would?"
+
+She was silent.
+
+And the wistfulness of her silence touched him. He felt contrition. He
+did not stop to analyze his own emotions, but he had an inkling that
+once this strange situation was ended he would have food for reflection.
+What struck him most now was the girl's blanched face, the strong,
+nervous clasp of her hands, the visible tumult of her bosom. Excitement
+alone could not be accountable for this. He had not divined the cause
+for such agitation. He was puzzled, troubled, and drawn irresistibly. He
+had not said what he had planned to say. The moment had given birth to
+his speech, and it had flowed. What was guiding him?
+
+"Mary," he said, earnestly, "tell me--have you mother, father, sister,
+brother? Something prompts me to ask that."
+
+"All dead--gone--years ago," she answered.
+
+"How old are you?"
+
+"Eighteen, I think. I'm not sure."
+
+"You ARE lonely."
+
+His words were gentle and divining.
+
+"O God!" she cried. "Lonely!"
+
+Then as a man in a dream he beheld her weeping. There was in her the
+unconsciousness of a child and the passion of a woman. He gazed out into
+the dark shadows and up at the white stars, and then at the bowed head
+with its mass of glinting hair. But her agitation was no longer strange
+to him. A few gentle and kind words had proved her undoing. He knew
+then that whatever her life was, no kindness or sympathy entered it.
+Presently she recovered, and sat as before, only whiter of face it
+seemed, and with something tragic in her dark eyes. She was growing cold
+and still again, aloof, more like those other Mormon women.
+
+"I understand," he said. "I'm not sorry I spoke. I felt your trouble,
+whatever it is.... Do not retreat into your cold shell, I beg of you....
+Let me trust you with my secret."
+
+He saw her shake out of the cold apathy. She wavered. He felt an
+inexplicable sweetness in the power his voice seemed to have upon her.
+She bowed her head in acquiescence. And Shefford began his story. Did
+she grow still, like stone, or was that only his vivid imagination?
+He told her of Venters and Bess--of Lassiter and Jane--of little Fay
+Larkin--of the romance, and then the tragedy of Surprise Valley.
+
+"So, when my Church disowned me," he concluded, "I conceived the idea
+of wandering into the wilds of Utah to save Fay Larkin from that canyon
+prison. It grew to be the best and strongest desire of my life. I think
+if I could save her that it would save me. I never loved any girl.
+I can't say that I love Fay Larkin. How could I when I've never seen
+her--when she's only a dream girl? But I believe if she were to become a
+reality--a flesh-and-blood girl--that I would love her."
+
+That was more than Shefford had ever confessed to any one, and it
+stirred him to his depths. Mary bent her head on her hands in strange,
+stonelike rigidity.
+
+"So here I am in the canyon country," he continued. "Withers tells me
+it is a country of rainbows, both in the evanescent air and in the
+changeless stone. Always as a boy there had been for me some haunting
+promise, some treasure at the foot of the rainbow. I shall expect the
+curve of a rainbow to lead me down into Surprise Valley. A dreamer, you
+will call me. But I have had strange dreams come true.... Mary, do you
+think THIS dream will come true?"
+
+She was silent so long that he repeated his question.
+
+"Only--in heaven," she whispered.
+
+He took her reply strangely and a chill crept over him.
+
+"You think my plan to seek to strive, to find--you think that idle,
+vain?"
+
+"I think it noble.... Thank God I've met a man like you!"
+
+"Don't praise me!" he exclaimed, hastily. "Only help me.... Mary, will
+you answer a few little questions, if I swear by my honor I'll never
+reveal what you tell me?"
+
+"I'll try."
+
+He moistened his lips. Why did she seem so strange, so far away? The
+hovering shadows made him nervous. Always he had been afraid of the
+dark. His mood now admitted of unreal fancies.
+
+"Have you ever heard of Fay Larkin?" he asked, very low.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Was there only one Fay Larkin?"
+
+"Only one."
+
+"Did you--ever see her?"
+
+"Yes," came the faint reply.
+
+He was grateful. How she might be breaking faith with creed or duty!
+He had not dared to hope so much. All his inner being trembled at the
+portent of his next query. He had not dreamed it would be so hard to
+put, or would affect him so powerfully. A warmth, a glow, a happiness
+pervaded his spirit; and the chill, the gloom were as if they had never
+been.
+
+"Where is Fay Larkin now?" he asked, huskily.
+
+He bent over her, touched her, leaned close to catch her whisper.
+
+"She is--dead!"
+
+Slowly Shefford rose, with a sickening shock, and then in bitter pain he
+strode away into the starlight.
+
+
+
+
+VII. SAGO-LILIES
+
+
+The Indian returned to camp that night, and early the next day, which
+was Sunday, Withers rode in, accompanied by a stout, gray-bearded
+personage wearing a long black coat.
+
+"Bishop Kane, this is my new man, John Shefford," said the trader.
+
+Shefford acknowledged the introduction with the respectful courtesy
+evidently in order, and found himself being studied intently by clear
+blue eyes. The bishop appeared old, dry, and absorbed in thought; he
+spoke quaintly, using in every speech some Biblical word or phrase; and
+he had an air of authority. He asked Shefford to hear him preach at the
+morning service, and then he went off into the village.
+
+"Guess he liked your looks," remarked Withers.
+
+"He certainly sized me up," replied Shefford.
+
+"Well, what could you expect? Sure I never heard of a deal like this--a
+handsome young fellow left alone with a lot of pretty Mormon women!
+You'll understand when you learn to know Mormons. Bishop Kane's a square
+old chap. Crazy on religion, maybe, but otherwise he's a good fellow.
+I made the best stand I could for you. The Mormons over at Stonebridge
+were huffy because I hadn't consulted them before fetching you over
+here. If I had, of course you'd never have gotten here. It was Joe Lake
+who made it all right with them. Joe's well thought of, and he certainly
+stood up for you."
+
+"I owe him something, then," replied Shefford. "Hope my obligations
+don't grow beyond me. Did you leave Joe at Stonebridge?"
+
+"Yes. He wanted to stay, and I had work there that'll keep him awhile.
+Shefford, we got news of Shadd--bad news. The half-breed's cutting up
+rough. His gang shot up some Piutes over here across the line. Then he
+got run out of Durango a few weeks ago for murder. A posse of cowboys
+trailed him. But he slipped them. He's a fox. You know he was trailing
+us here. He left the trail, Nas Ta Bega said. I learned at Stonebridge
+that Shadd is well disposed toward Mormons. It takes the Mormons to
+handle Indians. Shadd knows of this village and that's why he shunted
+off our trail. But he might hang down in the pass and wait for us. I
+think I'd better go back to Kayenta alone, across country. You stay here
+till Joe and the Indian think it safe to leave. You'll be going up on
+the slope of Navajo to load a pack-train, and from there it may be well
+to go down West Canyon to Red Lake, and home over the divide, the way
+you came. Joe'll decide what's best. And you might as well buckle on a
+gun and get used to it. Sooner or later you'll have to shoot your way
+through."
+
+Shefford did not respond with his usual enthusiasm, and the omission
+caused the trader to scrutinize him closely.
+
+"What's the matter?" he queried. "There's no light in your eye to-day.
+You look a little shady."
+
+"I didn't rest well last night," replied Shefford. "I'm depressed this
+morning. But I'll cheer up directly."
+
+"Did you get along with the women?"
+
+"Very well indeed. And I've enjoyed myself. It's a strange, beautiful
+place."
+
+"Do you like the women?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Have you seen much of the Sago Lily?"
+
+"No. I carried her bucket one night--and saw her only once again. I've
+been with the other women most of the time."
+
+"It's just as well you didn't run often into Mary. Joe's sick over her.
+I never saw a girl with a face and form to equal hers. There's danger
+here for any man, Shefford. Even for you who think you've turned your
+back on the world! Any of these Mormon women may fall in love with you.
+They CAN'T love their husbands. That's how I figure it. Religion holds
+them, not love. And the peculiar thing is this: they're second, third,
+or fourth wives, all sealed. That means their husbands are old, have
+picked them out for youth and physical charms, have chosen the very
+opposite to their first wives, and then have hidden them here in this
+lonely hole.... Did you ever imagine so terrible a thing?"
+
+"No, Withers, I did not."
+
+"Maybe that's what depressed you. Anyway, my hunch is worth taking. Be
+as nice as you can, Shefford. Lord knows it would be good for these poor
+women if every last one of them fell in love with you. That won't hurt
+them so long as you keep your head. Savvy? Perhaps I seem rough and
+coarse to a man of your class. Well, that may be. But human nature is
+human nature. And in this strange and beautiful place you might love
+an Indian girl, let alone the Sago Lily. That's all. I sure feel better
+with that load off my conscience. Hope I don't offend."
+
+"No indeed. I thank you, Withers," replied Shefford, with his hand
+on the trader's shoulder. "You are right to caution me. I seem to be
+wild--thirsting for adventure--chasing a gleam. In these unstable days
+I can't answer for my heart. But I can for my honor. These unfortunate
+women are as safe with me as--as they are with you and Joe."
+
+Withers uttered a blunt laugh.
+
+"See here, son, look things square in the eye. Men of violent, lonely,
+toilsome lives store up hunger for the love of woman. Love of a STRANGE
+woman, if you want to put it that way. It's nature. It seems all the
+beautiful young women in Utah are corralled in this valley. When I
+come over here I feel natural, but I'm not happy. I'd like to make love
+to--to that flower-faced girl. And I'm not ashamed to own it. I've told
+Molly, my wife, and she understands. As for Joe, it's much harder for
+him. Joe never has had a wife or sweetheart. I tell you he's sick, and
+if I'd stay here a month I'd be sick."
+
+Withers had spoken with fire in his eyes, with grim humor on his lips,
+with uncompromising brutal truth. What he admitted was astounding to
+Shefford, but, once spoken, not at all strange. The trader was a man who
+spoke his inmost thought. And what he said suddenly focused Shefford's
+mental vision clear and whole upon the appalling significance of the
+tragedy of those women, especially of the girl whose life was lonelier,
+sadder, darker than that of the others.
+
+"Withers, trust me," replied Shefford.
+
+"All right. Make the best of a bad job," said the trader, and went off
+about his tasks.
+
+Shefford and Withers attended the morning service, which was held in the
+school-house. Exclusive of the children every inhabitant of the village
+was there. The women, except the few eldest, were dressed in white and
+looked exceedingly well. Manifestly they had bestowed care upon this
+Sabbath morning's toilet. One thing surely this dress occasion brought
+out, and it was evidence that the Mormon women were not poor, whatever
+their misfortunes might be. Jewelry was not wanting, nor fine lace. And
+they all wore beautiful wild flowers of a kind unknown to Shefford. He
+received many a bright smile. He looked for Mary, hoping to see her face
+for the first time in the daylight, but she sat far forward and did not
+turn. He saw her graceful white neck, the fine lines of her throat, and
+her colorless cheek. He recognized her, yet in the light she seemed a
+stranger.
+
+The service began with a short prayer and was followed by the singing of
+a hymn. Nowhere had Shefford heard better music or sweeter voices.
+How deeply they affected him! Had any man ever fallen into a stranger
+adventure than this? He had only to shut his eyes to believe it all a
+creation of his fancy--the square log cabin with its red mud between
+the chinks and a roof like an Indian hogan--the old bishop in his black
+coat, standing solemnly, his hand beating time to the tune--the few old
+women, dignified and stately--the many young women, fresh and handsome,
+lifting their voices.
+
+Shefford listened intently to the bishop's sermon. In some respects
+it was the best he had ever heard. In others it was impossible for an
+intelligent man to regard seriously. It was very long, lasting an hour
+and a half, and the parts that were helpful to Shefford came from the
+experience and wisdom of a man who had grown old in the desert. The
+physical things that had molded characters of iron, the obstacles that
+only strong, patient men could have overcome, the making of homes in a
+wilderness, showed the greatness of this alien band of Mormons. Shefford
+conceded greatness to them. But the strange religion--the narrowing down
+of the world to the soil of Utah, the intimations of prophets on earth
+who had direct converse with God, the austere self-conscious omnipotence
+of this old bishop--these were matters that Shefford felt he must
+understand better, and see more favorably, if he were not to consider
+them impossible.
+
+Immediately after the service, forgetting that his intention had been to
+get the long-waited-for look at Mary in the light of the sun, Shefford
+hurried back to camp and to a secluded spot among the cedars. Strikingly
+it had come to him that the fault he had found in Gentile religion he
+now found in the Mormon religion. An old question returned to haunt
+him--were all religions the same in blindness? As far as he could see,
+religion existed to uphold the founders of a Church, a creed. The Church
+of his own kind was a place where narrow men and women went to think of
+their own salvation. They did not go there to think of others. And now
+Shefford's keen mind saw something of Mormonism and found it wanting.
+Bishop Kane was a sincere, good, mistaken man. He believed what he
+preached, but that would not stand logic. He taught blindness and mostly
+it appeared to be directed at the women. Was there no religion divorced
+from power, no religion as good for one man as another, no religion in
+the spirit of brotherly love? Nas Ta Bega's "Bi Nai" (brother)--that was
+love, if not religion, and perhaps the one and the other were the same.
+Shefford kept in mind an intention to ask Nas Ta Bega what he thought of
+the Mormons.
+
+Later, when opportunity afforded, he did speak to the Indian. Nas
+Ta Bega threw away his cigarette and made an impressive gesture that
+conveyed as much sorrow as scorn.
+
+"The first Mormon said God spoke to him and told him to go to a certain
+place and dig. He went there and found the Book of Mormon. It said
+follow me, marry many wives, go into the desert and multiply, send your
+sons out into the world and bring us young women, many young women. And
+when the first Mormon became strong with many followers he said again:
+Give to me part of your labor--of your cattle and sheep--of your
+silver--that I may build me great cathedrals for you to worship in. And
+I will commune with God and make it right and good that you have more
+wives. That is Mormonism."
+
+"Nas Ta Bega, you mean the Mormons are a great and good people blindly
+following a leader?"
+
+"Yes. And the leader builds for himself--not for them."
+
+"That is not religion. He has no God but himself."
+
+"They have no God. They are blind like the Mokis who have the creeping
+growths on their eyes. They have no God they can see and hear and feel,
+who is with them day and night."
+
+It was late in the afternoon when Bishop Kane rode through the camp and
+halted on his way to speak to Shefford. He was kind and fatherly. "Young
+man, are you open to faith?" he questioned gravely.
+
+"I think I am," replied Shefford, thankful he could answer readily.
+
+"Then come into the fold. You are a lost sheep. 'Away on the desert
+I heard its cry.'... God bless you. Visit me when you ride to
+Stonebridge."
+
+He flicked his horse with a cedar branch and trotted away beside the
+trader, and presently the green-choked neck of the valley hid them from
+view. Shefford could not have said that he was glad to be left behind,
+and yet neither was he sorry.
+
+That Sabbath evening as he sat quietly with Nas Ta Bega, watching the
+sunset gilding the peaks, he was visited by three of the young Mormon
+women--Ruth, Joan, and Hester. They deliberately sought him and merrily
+led him off to the village and to the evening service of singing and
+prayer. Afterward he was surrounded and made much of. He had been
+popular before, but this was different. When he thoughtfully wended his
+way campward under the quiet stars he realized that the coming of Bishop
+Kane had made a subtle change in the women. That change was at first
+hard to define, but from every point by which he approached it he came
+to the same conclusion--the bishop had not objected to his presence in
+the village. The women became natural, free, and unrestrained. A dozen
+or twenty young and attractive women thrown much into companionship with
+one man. He might become a Mormon. The idea made him laugh. But upon
+reflection it was not funny; it sobered him. What a situation! He felt
+instinctively that he ought to fly from this hidden valley. But he could
+not have done it, even had he not been in the trader's employ. The thing
+was provokingly seductive. It was like an Arabian Nights' tale. What
+could these strange, fatally bound women do? Would any one of them
+become involved in sweet toils such as were possible to him? He was no
+fool. Already eyes had flashed and lips had smiled.
+
+A thousand like thoughts whirled through his mind. And when he had
+calmed down somewhat two things were not lost upon him--an intricate and
+fascinating situation, with no end to its possibilities, threatened and
+attracted him--and the certainty that, whatever change the bishop had
+inaugurated, it had made these poor women happier. The latter fact
+weighed more with Shefford than fears for himself. His word was given to
+Withers. He would have felt just the same without having bound himself.
+Still, in the light of the trader's blunt philosophy, and of his own
+assurance that he was no fool, Shefford felt it incumbent upon him to
+accept a belief that there were situations no man could resist without
+an anchor. The ingenuity of man could not have devised a stranger, a
+more enticing, a more overpoweringly fatal situation. Fatal in that it
+could not be left untried! Shefford gave in and clicked his teeth as he
+let himself go. And suddenly he thought of her whom these bitter women
+called the Sago Lily.
+
+The regret that had been his returned with thought of her. The saddest
+disillusion of his life, the keenest disappointment, the strangest pain,
+would always be associated with her. He had meant to see her face once,
+clear in the sunlight, so that he could always remember it, and then
+never go near her again. And now it came to him that if he did see
+much of her these other women would find him like the stone wall in the
+valley. Folly! Perhaps it was, but she would be safe, maybe happier.
+When he decided, it was certain that he trembled.
+
+Then he buried the memory of Fay Larkin.
+
+Next day Shefford threw himself with all the boy left in him into the
+work and play of the village. He helped the women and made games for the
+children. And he talked or listened. In the early evening he called on
+Ruth, chatted awhile, and went on to see Joan, and from her to another.
+When the valley became shrouded in darkness he went unseen down the path
+to Mary's lonely home.
+
+She was there, a white shadow against the black.
+
+When she replied to his greeting her voice seemed full, broken, eager to
+express something that would not come. She was happier to see him than
+she should have been, Shefford thought. He talked, swiftly, eloquently,
+about whatever he believed would interest her. He stayed long, and
+finally left, not having seen her face except in pale starlight and
+shadow; and the strong clasp of her hand remained with him as he went
+away under the pinyons.
+
+Days passed swiftly. Joe Lake did not return. The Indian rode in and out
+of camp, watered and guarded the pack-burros and the mustangs. Shefford
+grew strong and active. He made gardens for the women; he cut cords of
+fire-wood; he dammed the brook and made an irrigation ditch; he learned
+to love these fatherless children, and they loved him.
+
+In the afternoons there was leisure for him and for the women. He had no
+favorites, and let the occasion decide what he should do and with whom
+he should be. They had little parties at the cottages and picnics under
+the cedars. He rode up and down the valley with Ruth, who could ride
+a horse as no other girl he had ever seen. He climbed with Hester. He
+walked with Joan. Mostly he contrived to include several at once in the
+little excursions, though it was not rare for him to be out alone with
+one.
+
+It was not a game he was playing. More and more, as he learned to know
+these young women, he liked them better, he pitied them, he was good for
+them. It shamed him, hurt him, somehow, to see how they tried to forget
+something when they were with him. Not improbably a little of it was
+coquetry, as natural as a laugh to any pretty woman. But that was not
+what hurt him. It was to see Ruth or Rebecca, as the case might be, full
+of life and fun, thoroughly enjoying some jest or play, all of a sudden
+be strangely recalled from the wholesome pleasure of a girl to become
+a deep and somber woman. The crimes in the name of religion! How he
+thought of the blood and the ruin laid at the door of religion! He
+wondered if that were so with Nas Ta Bega's religion, and he meant
+to find out some day. The women he liked best he imagined the least
+religious, and they made less effort to attract him.
+
+Every night in the dark he went to Mary's home and sat with her on the
+porch. He never went inside. For all he knew, his visits were unknown to
+her neighbors. Still, it did not matter to him if they found out. To her
+he could talk as he had never talked to any one. She liberated all his
+thought and fancy. He filled her mind.
+
+As there had been a change in the other women, so was there in Mary;
+however, it had no relation to the bishop's visit. The time came when
+Shefford could not but see that she lived and dragged through the long
+day for the sake of those few hours in the shadow of the stars with
+him. She seldom spoke. She listened. Wonderful to him--sometimes she
+laughed--and it seemed the sound was a ghost of childhood pleasure. When
+he stopped to consider that she might fall in love with him he drove the
+thought from him. When he realized that his folly had become sweet
+and that the sweetness imperiously drew him, he likewise cast off that
+thought. The present was enough. And if he had any treasures of mind and
+heart he gave them to her.
+
+She never asked him to stay, but she showed that she wanted him to. That
+made it hard to go. Still, he never stayed late. The moment of parting
+was like a break. Her good-by was sweet, low music; it lingered on his
+ear; it bade him come to-morrow night; and it sent him away into the
+valley to walk under the stars, a man fighting against himself.
+
+One night at parting, as he tried to see her face in the wan glow of a
+clouded moon, he said:
+
+"I've been trying to find a sago-lily."
+
+"Have you never seen one?" she asked.
+
+"No." He meant to say something with a double meaning, in reference to
+her face and the name of the flower, but her unconsciousness made him
+hold his tongue. She was wholly unlike the other women.
+
+"I'll show you where the lilies grow," she said.
+
+"When?"
+
+"To-morrow. Early in the afternoon I'll come to the spring. Then I'll
+take you."
+
+. . . . . . . . . . .
+
+Next morning Joe Lake returned and imparted news that was perturbing
+to Shefford. Reports of Shadd had come in to Stonebridge from different
+Indian villages; Joe was not inclined to linger long at the camp, and
+favored taking the trail with the pack-train.
+
+Shefford discovered that he did not want to leave the valley, and the
+knowledge made him reflective. That morning he did not go into the
+village, and stayed in camp alone. A depression weighed upon him. It
+was dispelled, however, early in the afternoon by the sight of a slender
+figure in white swiftly coming down the path to the spring. He had an
+appointment with Mary to go to see the sago lilies; everything else
+slipped his mind.
+
+Mary wore the long black hood that effectually concealed her face. It
+made of her a woman, a Mormon woman, and strangely belied the lithe form
+and the braid of gold hair.
+
+"Good day," she said, putting down her bucket. "Do you still want to
+go--to see the lilies?"
+
+"Yes," replied Shefford, with a short laugh.
+
+"Can you climb?"
+
+"I'll go where you go."
+
+Then she set off under the cedars and Shefford stalked at her side. He
+was aware that Nas Ta Bega watched them walk away. This day, so far, at
+least, Shefford did not feel talkative; and Mary had always been one who
+mostly listened. They came at length to a place where the wall rose in
+low, smooth swells, not steep, but certainly at an angle Shefford would
+not of his own accord have attempted to scale.
+
+Light, quick, and sure as a mountain-sheep Mary went up the first swell
+to an offset above. Shefford, in amaze and admiration, watched the
+little moccasins as they flashed and held on to the smooth rock.
+
+When he essayed to follow her he slipped and came to grief. A second
+attempt resulted in like failure. Then he backed away from the wall, to
+run forward fast and up the slope, only to slip, halfway up, and fall
+again.
+
+He made light of the incident, but she was solicitous. When he assured
+her he was unhurt she said he had agreed to go where she went.
+
+"But I'm not a--a bird," he protested.
+
+"Take off your boots. Then you can climb. When we get over the wall
+it'll be easy," she said.
+
+In his stocking-feet he had no great difficulty walking up the first
+bulge of the walls. And from there she led him up the strange waves of
+wind-worn rock. He could not attend to anything save the red, polished
+rock under him, and so saw little. The ascent was longer than he would
+have imagined, and steep enough to make him pant, but at last a huge
+round summit was reached.
+
+From here he saw down into the valley where the village lay. But for the
+lazy columns of blue smoke curling up from the pinyons the place would
+have seemed uninhabited. The wall on the other side was about level with
+the one upon which he stood. Beyond rose other walls and cliffs, up
+and up to the great towering peaks between which the green-and-black
+mountain loomed. Facing the other way, Shefford had only a restricted
+view. There were low crags and smooth stone ridges, between which were
+aisles green with cedar and pinyon. Shefford's companion headed toward
+one of these, and when he had followed her a few steps he could no
+longer see down into the valley. The Mormon village where she lived was
+as if it were lost, and when it vanished Shefford felt a difference.
+Scarcely had the thought passed when Mary removed the dark hood. Her
+small head glistened like gold in the sunlight.
+
+Shefford caught up with her and walked at her side, but could not bring
+himself at once deliberately to look at her. They entered a narrow,
+low-walled lane where cedars and pinyons grew thickly, their fragrance
+heavy in the warm air, and flowers began to show in the grassy patches.
+
+"This is Indian paint-brush," she said, pointing to little, low, scarlet
+flowers. A gray sage-bush with beautiful purple blossoms she called
+purple sage; another bush with yellow flowers she named buck-brush,
+and there were vermilion cacti and low, flat mounds of lavender daisies
+which she said had no name. A whole mossy bank was covered with lace
+like green leaves and tiny blossoms the color of violets, which she
+called loco.
+
+"Loco? Is this what makes the horses go crazy when they eat it?" he
+asked.
+
+"It is, indeed," she said, laughing.
+
+When she laughed it was impossible not to look at her. She walked a
+little in advance. Her white cheek and temple seemed framed in the gold
+of her hair. How white her skin! But it was like pearl, faintly veined
+and flushed. The profile, clear-cut and pure, appeared cold, almost
+stern. He knew now that she was singularly beautiful, though he had yet
+to see her full face.
+
+They walked on. Quite suddenly the lane opened out between two rounded
+bluffs, and Shefford looked down upon a grander and more awe-inspiring
+scene than ever he had viewed in his dreams.
+
+What appeared to be a green mountainside sloped endlessly down to
+a plain, and that rolled and billowed away to a boundless region of
+strangely carved rock. The greatness of the scene could not be grasped
+in a glance. The slope was long; the plain not as level as it seemed
+to be on first sight; here and there round, red rocks, isolated and
+strange, like lonely castles, rose out of the green. Beyond the green
+all the earth seemed naked, showing smooth, glistening bones. It was
+a formidable wall of rock that flung itself up in the distance, carved
+into a thousand canyon and walls and domes and peaks, and there was
+not a straight nor a broken nor a jagged line in all that wildness. The
+color low down was red, dark blue, and purple in the clefts, yellow
+upon the heights, and in the distance rainbow-hued. A land of curves and
+color!
+
+Shefford uttered an exclamation.
+
+"That's Utah," said Mary. "I come often to sit here. You see that
+winding blue line. There.... That's San Juan Canyon. And the other dark
+line, that's Escalante Canyon. They wind down into this great purple
+chasm--'way over here to the left--and that's the Grand Canyon. They say
+not even the Indians have been in there."
+
+Shefford had nothing to say. The moment was one of subtle and vital
+assimilation. Such places as this to be unknown to men! What strength,
+what wonder, what help, what glory, just to sit there an hour, slowly
+and appallingly to realize! Something came to Shefford from the
+distance, out of the purple canyon and from those dim, wind-worn peaks.
+He resolved to come here to this promontory again and again, alone and
+in humble spirit, and learn to know why he had been silenced, why peace
+pervaded his soul.
+
+It was with this emotion upon him that he turned to find his companion
+watching him. Then for the first time he saw her face fully, and was
+thrilled that chance had reserved the privilege for this moment. It was
+a girl's face he saw, flower-like, lovely and pure as a Madonna's, and
+strangely, tragically sad. The eyes were large, dark gray, the color of
+the sage. They were as clear as the air which made distant things close,
+and yet they seemed full of shadows, like a ruffled pool under midnight
+stars. They disturbed him. Her mouth had the sweet curves and redness of
+youth, but it showed bitterness, pain, and repression.
+
+"Where are the sago-lilies?" he asked, suddenly.
+
+"Farther down. It's too cold up here for them. Come," she said.
+
+He followed her down a winding trail--down and down till the green plain
+rose to blot out the scrawled wall of rock, down into a verdant canyon
+where a brook made swift music over stones, where the air was sultry
+and hot, laden with the fragrant breath of flower and leaf. This was a
+canyon of summer, and it bloomed.
+
+The girl bent and plucked something from the grass.
+
+"Here's a white lily," she said. "There are three colors. The yellow and
+pink ones are deeper down in the canyon."
+
+Shefford took the flower and regarded it with great interest. He had
+never seen such an exquisite thing. It had three large petals, curving
+cuplike, of a whiteness purer than new-fallen snow, and a heart of rich,
+warm gold. Its fragrance was so faint as to be almost indistinguishable,
+yet of a haunting, unforgettable sweetness. And even while he looked at
+it the petals drooped and their whiteness shaded and the gold paled. In
+a moment the flower was wilted.
+
+"I don't like to pluck the lilies," said Mary. "They die so swiftly."
+
+Shefford saw the white flowers everywhere in the open, sunny places
+along the brook. They swayed with stately grace in the slow, warm wind.
+They seemed like three-pointed stars shining out of the green. He bent
+over one with a particularly lofty stem, and after a close survey of it
+he rose to look at her face. His action was plainly one of comparison.
+She laughed and said it was foolish for the women to call her the Sago
+Lily. She had no coquetry; she spoke as she would have spoken of the
+stones at her feet; she did not know that she was beautiful. Shefford
+imagined there was some resemblance in her to the lily--the same
+whiteness, the same rich gold, and, more striking than either, a
+strange, rare quality of beauty, of life, intangible as something
+fleeting, the spirit that had swiftly faded from the plucked flower.
+Where had the girl been born--what had her life been? Shefford was
+intensely curious about her. She seemed as different from any other
+women he had known as this rare canyon lily was different from the tame
+flowers at home.
+
+On the return up the slope she outstripped him. She climbed lightly and
+tirelessly. When he reached her upon the promontory there was a stain of
+red in her cheeks and her expression had changed.
+
+"Let's go back up over the rocks," she said. "I've not climbed for--for
+so long."
+
+"I'll go where you go," he replied.
+
+Then she was off, and he followed. She took to the curves of the
+bare rocks and climbed. He sensed a spirit released in her. It was so
+strange, so keen, so wonderful to be with her, and when he did catch
+her he feared to speak lest he break this mood. Her eyes grew dark and
+daring, and often she stopped to look away across the wavy sea of stones
+to something beyond the great walls. When they got high the wind blew
+her hair loose and it flew out, a golden stream, with the sun bright
+upon it. He saw that she changed her direction, which had been in line
+with the two peaks, and now she climbed toward the heights. They came
+to a more difficult ascent, where the stone still held to the smooth
+curves, yet was marked by steep bulges and slants and crevices. Here she
+became a wild thing. She ran, she leaped, she would have left him far
+behind had he not called. Then she appeared to remember him and waited.
+
+Her face had now lost its whiteness; it was flushed, rosy, warm.
+
+"Where--did you--ever learn--to run over rocks--this way?" he panted.
+
+"All my life I've climbed," she said. "Ah! it's so good to be up on the
+walls again--to feel the wind--to see!"
+
+Thereafter he kept close to her, no matter what the effort. He would
+not miss a moment of her, if he could help it. She was wonderful. He
+imagined she must be like an Indian girl, or a savage who loved the
+lofty places and the silence. When she leaped she uttered a strange,
+low, sweet cry of wildness and exultation. Shefford guessed she was a
+girl freed from her prison, forgetting herself, living again youthful
+hours. Still she did not forget him. She waited for him at the bad
+places, lent him a strong hand, and sometimes let it stay long in his
+clasp. Tireless and agile, sure-footed as a goat, fleet and wild
+she leaped and climbed and ran until Shefford marveled at her. This
+adventure was indeed fulfilment of a dream. Perhaps she might lead him
+to the treasure at the foot of the rainbow. But that thought, sad with
+memory daring forth from its grave, was irrevocably linked with a
+girl who was dead. He could not remember her, in the presence of
+this wonderful creature who was as strange as she was beautiful. When
+Shefford reached for the brown hand stretched forth to help him in a
+leap, when he felt its strong clasp, the youth and vitality and life of
+it, he had the fear of a man who was running towards a precipice and who
+could not draw back. This was a climb, a lark, a wild race to the
+Mormon girl, bound now in the village, and by the very freedom of it she
+betrayed her bonds. To Shefford it was also a wild race, but toward one
+sure goal he dared not name.
+
+They went on, and at length, hand in hand, even where no steep step or
+wide fissure gave reason for the clasp. But she seemed unconscious. They
+were nearing the last height, a bare eminence, when she broke from him
+and ran up the smooth stone. When he surmounted it she was standing on
+the very summit, her arms wide, her full breast heaving, her slender
+body straight as an Indian's, her hair flying in the wind and blazing in
+the sun. She seemed to embrace the west, to reach for something afar,
+to offer herself to the wind and distance. Her face was scarlet from the
+exertion of the climb, and her broad brow was moist. Her eyes had
+the piercing light of an eagle's, though now they were dark. Shefford
+instinctively grasped the essence of this strange spirit, primitive
+and wild. She was not the woman who had met him at the spring. She
+had dropped some side of her with that Mormon hood, and now she stood
+totally strange.
+
+She belonged up here, he divined. She was a part of that wildness. She
+must have been born and brought up in loneliness, where the wind blew
+and the peaks loomed and silence held dominion. The sinking sun touched
+the rim of the distant wall, and as if in parting regret shone with
+renewed golden fire. And the girl was crowned as with a glory.
+
+Shefford loved her then. Realizing it, he thought he might have loved
+her before, but that did not matter when he was certain of it now.
+He trembled a little, fearfully, though without regret. Everything
+pertaining to his desert experience had been strange--this the strangest
+of all.
+
+The sun sank swiftly, and instantly there was a change in the golden
+light. Quickly it died out. The girl changed as swiftly. She seemed
+to remember herself, and sat down as if suddenly weary. Shefford went
+closer and seated himself beside her.
+
+"The sun has set. We must go," she said. But she made no movement.
+
+"Whenever you are ready," replied he.
+
+Just as the blaze had died out of her eyes, so the flush faded out of
+her face. The whiteness stole back, and with it the sadness. He had
+to bite his tongue to keep from telling her what he felt, to keep from
+pouring out a thousand questions. But the privilege of having seen her,
+of having been with her when she had forgotten herself--that he believed
+was enough. It had been wonderful; it had made him love her But it
+need not add to the tragedy of her life, whatever that was. He tried to
+eliminate himself. And he watched her.
+
+Her eyes were fixed upon the gold-rimmed ramparts of the distant wall in
+the west. Plain it was how she loved that wild upland. And there seemed
+to be some haunting memory of the past in her gaze--some happy part of
+life, agonizing to think of now.
+
+"We must go," she said, and rose.
+
+Shefford rose to accompany her. She looked at him, and her haunting eyes
+seemed to want him to know that he had helped her to forget the present,
+to remember girlhood, and that somehow she would always associate a
+wonderful happy afternoon with him. He divined that her silence then was
+a Mormon seal on lips.
+
+"Mary, this has been the happiest, the best, the most revealing day of
+my life," he said, simply.
+
+Swiftly, as if startled, she turned and faced down the slope. At the top
+of the wall above the village she put on the dark hood, and with it that
+somber something which was Mormon.
+
+Twilight had descended into the valley, and shadows were so thick
+Shefford had difficulty in finding Mary's bucket. He filled it at the
+spring, and made offer to carry it home for her, which she declined.
+
+"You'll come to-night--later?" she asked.
+
+"Yes," he replied, hurriedly promising. Then he watched her white form
+slowly glide down the path to disappear in the shadows.
+
+Nas Ta Bega and Joe were busy at the camp-fire. Shefford joined them.
+This night he was uncommunicative. Joe peered curiously at him in
+the flare of the blaze. Later, after the meal, when Shefford appeared
+restless and strode to and fro, Joe spoke up gruffly:
+
+"Better hang round camp to-night."
+
+Shefford heard, but did not heed. Nevertheless, the purport of the
+remark, which was either jealousy or admonition, haunted him with the
+possibility of its meaning.
+
+He walked away from the camp-fire, under the dark pinyons, out into the
+starry open; and every step was hard to take, unless it pointed toward
+the home of the girl whose beauty and sadness and mystery had bewitched
+him. After what seemed hours he took the well-known path toward her
+cabin, and then every step seemed lighter. He divined he was rushing to
+some fate--he knew not what.
+
+The porch was in shadow. He peered in vain for the white form against
+the dark background. In the silence he seemed to hear his heart-beats
+thick and muffled.
+
+Some distance down the path he heard the sound of hoofs. Withdrawing
+into the gloom of a cedar, he watched. Soon he made out moving horses
+with riders. They filed past him to the number of half a score. Like
+a flash of fire the truth burned him. Mormons come for one of those
+mysterious night visits to sealed wives!
+
+Shefford stalked far down the valley, into the lonely silence and the
+night shadows under the walls.
+
+
+
+
+VIII. THE HOGAN OF NAS TA BEGA
+
+
+The home of Nas Ta Bega lay far up the cedared slope, with the craggy
+yellow cliffs and the black canyon and the pine-fringed top of Navajo
+Mountain behind, and to the fore the vast, rolling descent of cedar
+groves and sage flats and sandy washes. No dim, dark range made bold
+outline along the horizon; the stretch of gray and purple and green
+extended to the blue line of sky.
+
+Down the length of one sage level Shefford saw a long lane where the
+brush and the grass had been beaten flat. This, the Navajo said, was a
+track where the young braves had raced their mustangs and had striven
+for supremacy before the eyes of maidens and the old people of the
+tribe.
+
+"Nas Ta Bega, did you ever race here?" asked Shefford.
+
+"I am a chief by birth. But I was stolen from my home, and now I cannot
+ride well enough to race the braves of my tribe," the Indian replied,
+bitterly.
+
+In another place Joe Lake halted his horse and called Shefford's
+attention to a big yellow rock lying along the trail. And then he spoke
+in Navajo to the Indian.
+
+"I've heard of this stone--Isende Aha," said Joe, after Nas Ta Bega had
+spoken. "Get down, and let's see." Shefford dismounted, but the Indian
+kept his seat in the saddle.
+
+Joe placed a big hand on the stone and tried to move it. According to
+Shefford's eye measurement the stone was nearly oval, perhaps three feet
+high, by a little over two in width. Joe threw off his sombrero, took a
+deep breath, and, bending over, clasped the stone in his arms. He was an
+exceedingly heavy and powerful man, and it was plain to Shefford that
+he meant to lift the stone if that were possible. Joe's broad shoulders
+strained, flattened; his arms bulged, his joints cracked, his neck
+corded, and his face turned black. By gigantic effort he lifted the
+stone and moved it about six inches. Then as he released his hold he
+fell, and when he sat up his face was wet with sweat.
+
+"Try it," he said to Shefford, with his lazy smile. "See if you can
+heave it."
+
+Shefford was strong, and there had been a time when he took pride in
+his strength. Something in Joe's supreme effort and in the gloom of the
+Indian's eyes made Shefford curious about this stone. He bent over and
+grasped it as Joe had done. He braced himself and lifted with all his
+power, until a red blur obscured his sight and shooting stars seemed to
+explode in his head. But he could not even stir the stone.
+
+"Shefford, maybe you'll be able to heft it some day," observed Joe. Then
+he pointed to the stone and addressed Nas Ta Bega.
+
+The Indian shook his head and spoke for a moment.
+
+"This is the Isende Aha of the Navajos," explained Joe. "The young
+braves are always trying to carry this stone. As soon as one of them can
+carry it he is a man. He who carries it farthest is the biggest man. And
+just so soon as any Indian can no longer lift it he is old. Nas Ta
+Bega says the stone has been carried two miles in his lifetime. His own
+father carried it the length of six steps."
+
+"Well! It's plain to me that I am not a man," said Shefford, "or else I
+am old."
+
+Joe Lake drawled his lazy laugh and, mounting, rode up the trail. But
+Shefford lingered beside the Indian.
+
+"Bi Nai," said Nas Ta Bega, "I am a chief of my tribe, but I have never
+been a man. I never lifted that stone. See what the pale-face education
+has done for the Indian!"
+
+The Navajo's bitterness made Shefford thoughtful. Could greater injury
+be done to man than this--to rob him of his heritage of strength?
+
+Joe drove the bobbing pack-train of burros into the cedars where the
+smoke of the hogans curled upward, and soon the whistling of mustangs,
+the barking of dogs, the bleating of sheep, told of his reception. And
+presently Shefford was in the midst of an animated scene. Great, woolly,
+fierce dogs, like wolves, ran out to meet the visitors. Sheep and goats
+were everywhere, and little lambs scarcely able to walk, with others
+frisky and frolicsome. There were pure-white lambs, and some that
+appeared to be painted, and some so beautiful with their fleecy white
+all except black faces or ears or tails or feet. They ran right under
+Nack-yal's legs and bumped against Shefford, and kept bleating their
+thin-piped welcome. Under the cedars surrounding the several hogans were
+mustangs that took Shefford's eye. He saw an iron-gray with white mane
+and tail sweeping to the ground; and a fiery black, wilder than any
+other beast he had ever seen; and a pinto as wonderfully painted as the
+little lambs; and, most striking of all, a pure, cream-colored mustang
+with grace and fine lines and beautiful mane and tail, and, strange
+to see, eyes as blue as azure. This albino mustang came right up to
+Shefford, an action in singular contrast with that of the others, and
+showed a tame and friendly spirit toward him and Nack-yal. Indeed,
+Shefford had reason to feel ashamed of Nack-yal's temper or jealousy.
+
+The first Indians to put in an appearance were a flock of children, half
+naked, with tangled manes of raven-black hair and skin like gold bronze.
+They appeared bold and shy by turns. Then a little, sinewy man, old
+and beaten and gray, came out of the principal hogan. He wore a blanket
+round his bent shoulders. His name was Hosteen Doetin, and it meant
+gentle man. His fine, old, wrinkled face lighted with a smile of kindly
+interest. His squaw followed him, and she was as venerable as he.
+Shefford caught a glimpse of the shy, dark Glen Naspa, Nas Ta Bega's
+sister, but she did not come out. Other Indians appeared, coming from
+adjacent hogans.
+
+Nas Ta Bega turned the mustangs loose among those Shefford had noticed,
+and presently there rose a snorting, whistling, kicking, plunging melee.
+A cloud of dust hid them, and then a thudding of swift hoofs told of a
+run through the cedars. Joe Lake began picking over stacks of goat-skins
+and bags of wool that were piled against the hogan.
+
+"Reckon we'll have one grand job packing out this load," he growled.
+"It's not so heavy, but awkward to pack."
+
+It developed, presently, from talk with the old Navajo, that this pile
+was only a half of the load to be packed to Kayenta, and the other half
+was round the corner of the mountain in the camp of Piutes. Hosteen
+Doetin said he would send to the camp and have the Piutes bring their
+share over. The suggestion suited Joe, who wanted to save his burros as
+much as possible. Accordingly, a messenger was despatched to the Piute
+camp. And Shefford, with time on his hands and poignant memory to
+combat, decided to recall his keen interest in the Navajo, and learn,
+if possible, what the Indian's life was like. What would a day of his
+natural life be?
+
+In the gray of dawn, when the hush of the desert night still lay deep
+over the land, the Navajo stirred in his blanket and began to chant to
+the morning light. It began very soft and low, a strange, broken murmur,
+like the music of a brook, and as it swelled that weird and mournful
+tone was slowly lost in one of hope and joy. The Indian's soul was
+coming out of night, blackness, the sleep that resembled death, into the
+day, the light that was life.
+
+Then he stood in the door of his hogan, his blanket around him, and
+faced the east.
+
+Night was lifting out of the clefts and ravines; the rolling cedar
+ridges and the sage flats were softly gray, with thin veils like smoke
+mysteriously rising and vanishing; the colorless rocks were changing. A
+long, horizon-wide gleam of light, rosiest in the center, lay low down
+in the east and momentarily brightened. One by one the stars in
+the deep-blue sky paled and went out and the blue dome changed and
+lightened. Night had vanished on invisible wings and silence broke to
+the music of a mockingbird. The rose in the east deepened; a wisp of
+cloud turned gold; dim distant mountains showed dark against the red;
+and low down in a notch a rim of fire appeared. Over the soft ridges and
+valleys crept a wondrous transfiguration. It was as if every blade of
+grass, every leaf of sage, every twig of cedar, the flowers, the trees,
+the rocks came to life at sight of the sun. The red disk rose, and a
+golden fire burned over the glowing face of that lonely waste.
+
+The Navajo, dark, stately, inscrutable, faced the sun--his god. This was
+his Great Spirit. The desert was his mother, but the sun was his life.
+To the keeper of the winds and rains, to the master of light, to the
+maker of fire, to the giver of life the Navajo sent up his prayer:
+
+
+ Of all the good things of the Earth let me always have plenty.
+ Of all the beautiful things of the Earth let me always have plenty.
+ Peacefully let my horses go and peacefully let my sheep go.
+ God of the Heavens, give me many sheep and horses.
+ God of the Heavens, help me to talk straight.
+ Goddess of the Earth, my Mother, let me walk straight.
+ Now all is well, now all is well, now all is well, now all is well.
+
+
+Hope and faith were his.
+
+A chief would be born to save the vanishing tribe of Navajos. A bride
+would rise from a wind--kiss of the lilies in the moonlight.
+
+He drank from the clear, cold spring bubbling from under mossy rocks.
+He went into the cedars, and the tracks in the trails told him of the
+visitors of night. His mustangs whistled to him from the ridge-tops,
+standing clear with heads up and manes flying, and then trooped down
+through the sage. The shepherd-dogs, guardians of the flocks, barked him
+a welcome, and the sheep bleated and the lambs pattered round him.
+
+In the hogan by the warm, red fire his women baked his bread and cooked
+his meat. And he satisfied his hunger. Then he took choice meat to the
+hogan of a sick relative, and joined in the song and the dance and the
+prayer that drove away the evil spirit of illness. Down in the valley,
+in a sandy, sunny place, was his corn-field, and here he turned in the
+water from the ditch, and worked awhile, and went his contented way.
+
+He loved his people, his women, and his children. To his son he said:
+"Be bold and brave. Grow like the pine. Work and ride and play that
+you may be strong. Talk straight. Love your brother. Give half to your
+friend. Honor your mother that you may honor your wife. Pray and listen
+to your gods."
+
+Then with his gun and his mustang he climbed the slope of the mountain.
+He loved the solitude, but he was never alone. There were voices on the
+wind and steps on his trail. The lofty pine, the lichened rock, the tiny
+bluebell, the seared crag--all whispered their secrets. For him their
+spirits spoke. In the morning light Old Stone Face, the mountain, was a
+red god calling him to the chase. He was a brother of the eagle, at home
+on the heights where the winds swept and the earth lay revealed below.
+
+In the golden afternoon, with the warm sun on his back and the blue
+canyon at his feet, he knew the joy of doing nothing. He did not need
+rest, for he was never tired. The sage-sweet breath of the open was
+thick in his nostrils, the silence that had so many whisperings was
+all about him, the loneliness of the wild was his. His falcon eye saw
+mustang and sheep, the puff of dust down on the cedar level, the Indian
+riding on a distant ridge, the gray walls, and the blue clefts. Here was
+home, still free, still wild, still untainted. He saw with the eyes of
+his ancestors. He felt them around him. They had gone into the elements
+from which their voices came on the wind. They were the watchers on his
+trails.
+
+At sunset he faced the west, and this was his prayer:
+
+
+                Great Spirit, God of my Fathers,
+                Keep my horses in the night.
+                Keep my sheep in the night.
+                Keep my family in the night.
+                Let me wake to the day.
+                Let me be worthy of the light.
+                Now all is well, now all is well,
+                Now all is well, now all is well.
+
+
+And he watched the sun go down and the gold sink from the peaks and the
+red die out of the west and the gray shadows creep out of the canyon
+to meet the twilight and the slow, silent, mysterious approach of night
+with its gift of stars.
+
+Night fell. The white stars blinked. The wind sighed in the cedars. The
+sheep bleated. The shepherd-dogs bayed the mourning coyotes. And the
+Indian lay down in his blankets with his dark face tranquil in the
+starlight. All was well in his lonely world. Phantoms hovered, illness
+lingered, injury and pain and death were there, the shadow of a
+strange white hand flitted across the face of the moon--but now all was
+well--the Navajo had prayed to the god of his Fathers. Now all was well!
+
+. . . . . . . . . . .
+
+And this, thought Shefford in revolt, was what the white man had killed
+in the Indian tribes, was reaching out now to kill in this wild remnant
+of the Navajos. The padre, the trapper, the trader, the prospector, and
+the missionary--so the white man had come, some of him good, no doubt,
+but more of him evil; and the young brave learned a thirst that could
+never be quenched at the cold, sweet spring of his forefathers, and
+the young maiden burned with a fever in her blood, and lost the sweet,
+strange, wild fancies of her tribe.
+
+. . . . . . . . . . .
+
+Joe Lake came to Shefford and said, "Withers told me you had a mix-up
+with a missionary at Red Lake."
+
+"Yes, I regret to say," replied Shefford.
+
+"About Glen Naspa?"
+
+"Yes, Nas Ta Bega's sister."
+
+"Withers just mentioned it. Who was the missionary?"
+
+"Willetts, so Presbrey, the trader, said."
+
+"What'd he look like?"
+
+Shefford recalled the smooth, brown face, the dark eyes, the weak chin,
+the mild expression, and the soft, lax figure of the missionary.
+
+"Can't tell by what you said," went on Joe. "But I'll bet a peso to a
+horse-hair that's the fellow who's been here. Old Hosteen Doetin just
+told me. First visits he ever had from the priest with the long gown.
+That's what he called the missionary. These old fellows will never
+forget what's come down from father to son about the Spanish padres.
+Well, anyway, Willetts has been here twice after Glen Naspa. The old
+chap is impressed, but he doesn't want to let the girl go. I'm inclined
+to think Glen Naspa would as lief go as stay. She may be a Navajo, but
+she's a girl. She won't talk much."
+
+"Where's Nas Ta Bega?" asked Shefford.
+
+"He rode off somewhere yesterday. Perhaps to the Piute camp. These
+Indians are slow. They may take a week to pack that load over here. But
+if Nas Ta Bega or some one doesn't come with a message to-day I'll ride
+over there myself."
+
+"Joe, what do you think about this missionary?" queried Shefford,
+bluntly.
+
+"Reckon there's not much to think, unless you see him or find out
+something. I heard of Willetts before Withers spoke of him. He's
+friendly with Mormons. I understand he's worked for Mormon interests,
+someway or other. That's on the quiet. Savvy? This matter of him coming
+after Glen Naspa, reckon that's all right. The missionaries all go after
+the young people. What'd be the use to try to convert the old Indians?
+No, the missionary's work is to educate the Indian, and, of course, the
+younger he is the better."
+
+"You approve of the missionary?"
+
+"Shefford, if you understood a Mormon you wouldn't ask that. Did you
+ever read or hear of Jacob Hamblin?... Well, he was a Mormon missionary
+among the Navajos. The Navajos were as fierce as Apaches till Hamblin
+worked among them. He made them friendly to the white man."
+
+"That doesn't prove he made converts of them," replied Shefford, still
+bluntly.
+
+"No. For the matter of that, Hamblin let religion alone. He made
+presents, then traded with them, then taught them useful knowledge.
+Mormon or not, Shefford, I'll admit this: a good man, strong with
+his body, and learned in ways with his hands, with some knowledge of
+medicine, can better the condition of these Indians. But just as soon
+as he begins to preach his religion, then his influence wanes. That's
+natural. These heathen have their ideals, their gods."
+
+"Which the white man should leave them!" replied Shefford, feelingly.
+
+"That's a matter of opinion. But don't let's argue.... Willetts is after
+Glen Naspa. And if I know Indian girls he'll persuade her to go to his
+school."
+
+"Persuade her!" Then Shefford broke off and related the incident that
+had occurred at Red Lake.
+
+"Reckon any means justifies the end," replied Joe, imperturbably. "Let
+him talk love to her or rope her or beat her, so long as he makes a
+Christian of her."
+
+Shefford felt a hot flush and had difficulty in controlling himself.
+From this single point of view the Mormon was impossible to reason with.
+
+"That, too, is a matter of opinion. We won't discuss it," continued
+Shefford. "But--if old Hosteen Doetin objects to the girl leaving, and
+if Nas Ta Bega does the same, won't that end the matter?"
+
+"Reckon not. The end of the matter is Glen Naspa. If she wants to go
+she'll go."
+
+Shefford thought best to drop the discussion. For the first time he had
+occasion to be repelled by something in this kind and genial Mormon,
+and he wanted to forget it. Just as he had never talked about men to the
+sealed wives in the hidden valley, so he could not talk of women to Joe
+Lake.
+
+Nas Ta Bega did not return that day, but, next morning a messenger came
+calling Lake to the Piute camp. Shefford spent the morning high on the
+slope, learning more with every hour in the silence and loneliness, that
+he was stronger of soul than he had dared to hope, and that the added
+pain which had come to him could be borne.
+
+Upon his return toward camp, in the cedar grove, he caught sight of Glen
+Naspa with a white man. They did not see him. When Shefford recognized
+Willetts an embarrassment as well as an instinct made him halt and step
+into a bushy, low-branched cedar. It was not his intention to spy on
+them. He merely wanted to avoid a meeting. But the missionary's hand
+on the girl's arm, and her up-lifted head, her pretty face, strange,
+intent, troubled, struck Shefford with an unusual and irresistible
+curiosity. Willetts was talking earnestly; Glen Naspa was listening
+intently. Shefford watched long enough to see that the girl loved the
+missionary, and that he reciprocated or was pretending. His manner
+scarcely savored of pretense, Shefford concluded, as he slipped away
+under the trees.
+
+He did not go at once into camp. He felt troubled, and wished that he
+had not encountered the two. His duty in the matter, of course, was to
+tell Nas Ta Bega what he had seen. Upon reflection Shefford decided to
+give the missionary the benefit of a doubt; and if he really cared for
+the Indian girl, and admitted or betrayed it, to think all the better of
+him for the fact. Glen Naspa was certainly pretty enough, and probably
+lovable enough, to please any lonely man in this desert. The pain and
+the yearning in Shefford's heart made him lenient. He had to fight
+himself--not to forget, for that was impossible--but to keep rational
+and sane when a white flower-like face haunted him and a voice called.
+
+The cracking of hard hoofs on stones caused him to turn toward camp,
+and as he emerged from the cedar grove he saw three Indian horsemen ride
+into the cleared space before the hogans. They were superbly mounted and
+well armed, and impressed him as being different from Navajos. Perhaps
+they were Piutes. They dismounted and led the mustangs down to the pool
+below the spring. Shefford saw another mustang, standing bridle down
+and carrying a pack behind the saddle. Some squaws with children hanging
+behind their skirts were standing at the door of Hosteen Doetin's hogan.
+Shefford glanced in to see Glen Naspa, pale, quiet, almost sullen.
+Willetts stood with his hands spread. The old Navajo's seamed face
+worked convulsively as he tried to lift his bent form to some semblance
+of dignity, and his voice rolled out, sonorously: "Me no savvy Jesus
+Christ! Me hungry! ... Me no eat Jesus Christ!"
+
+Shefford drew back as if he had received a blow. That had been Hosteen
+Doetin's reply to the importunities of the missionary. The old Navajo
+could work no longer. His sons were gone. His squaw was worn out. He
+had no one save Glen Naspa to help him. She was young, strong. He was
+hungry. What was the white man's religion to him?
+
+With long, swift stride Shefford entered the hogan. Willetts, seeing
+him, did not look so mild as Shefford had him pictured in memory, nor
+did he appear surprised. Shefford touched Hosteen Doetin's shoulder and
+said, "Tell me."
+
+The aged Navajo lifted a shaking hand.
+
+"Me no savvy Jesus Christ! Me hungry!... Me no eat Jesus Christ!"
+
+Shefford then made signs that indicated the missionary's intention to
+take the girl away. "Him come--big talk--Jesus--all Jesus.... Me no want
+Glen Naspa go," replied the Indian.
+
+Shefford turned to the missionary.
+
+"Willetts, is he a relative of the girl?"
+
+"There's some blood tie, I don't know what. But it's not close," replied
+Willetts.
+
+"Then don't you think you'd better wait till Nas Ta Bega returns? He's
+her brother."
+
+"What for?" demanded Willetts. "That Indian may be gone a week. She's
+willing to accompany the missionary."
+
+Shefford looked at the girl.
+
+"Glen Naspa, do you want to go?"
+
+She was shy, ashamed, and silent, but manifestly willing to accompany
+the missionary. Shefford pondered a moment. How he hoped Nas Ta Bega
+would come back! It was thought of the Indian that made Shefford
+stubborn. What his stand ought to be was hard to define, unless he
+answered to impulse; and here in the wilds he had become imbued with the
+idea that his impulses and instincts were no longer false.
+
+"Willetts, what do you want with the girl?" queried Shefford, coolly,
+and at the question he seemed to find himself. He peered deliberately
+and searchingly into the other's face. The missionary's gaze shifted and
+a tinge of red crept up from under his collar.
+
+"Absurd thing to ask a missionary!" he burst out, impatiently.
+
+"Do you care for Glen Naspa?"
+
+"I care as God's disciple--who cares to save the soul of heathen," he
+replied, with the lofty tone of prayer.
+
+"Has Glen Naspa no--no other interest in you--except to be taught
+religion?"
+
+The missionary's face flamed, and his violent tremor showed that under
+his exterior there was a different man.
+
+"What right have you to question me?" he demanded. "You're an
+adventurer--an outcast. I've my duty here. I'm a missionary with Church
+and state and government behind me."
+
+"Yes, I'm an outcast," replied Shefford, bitterly. "And you may be all
+you say. But we're alone now out here on the desert. And this girl's
+brother is absent. You haven't answered me yet.... Is there anything
+between you and Glen Naspa except religion?"
+
+"No, you insulting beggar?"
+
+Shefford had forced the reply that he had expected and which damned the
+missionary beyond any consideration.
+
+"Willetts, you are a liar!" said Shefford, steadily.
+
+"And what are you?" cried Willetts, in shrill fury. "I've heard all
+about you. Heretic! Atheist! Driven from your Church! Hated and scorned
+for your blasphemy!"
+
+Then he gave way to ungovernable rage, and cursed Shefford as a
+religious fanatic might have cursed the most debased sinners. Shefford
+heard with the blood beating, strangling the pulse in his ears. Somehow
+this missionary had learned his secret--most likely from the Mormons
+in Stonebridge. And the terms of disgrace were coals of fire upon
+Shefford's head. Strangely, however, he did not bow to them, as had
+been his humble act in the past, when his calumniators had arraigned and
+flayed him. Passion burned in him now, for the first time in his life,
+made a tiger of him. And these raw emotions, new to him, were difficult
+to control.
+
+"You can't take the girl," he replied, when the other had ceased. "Not
+without her brother's consent."
+
+"I will take her!"
+
+Shefford threw him out of the hogan and strode after him. Willetts had
+stumbled. When he straightened up he was white and shaken. He groped for
+the bridle of his horse while keeping his eyes upon Shefford, and when
+he found it he whirled quickly, mounted, and rode off. Shefford saw him
+halt a moment under the cedars to speak with the three strange Indians,
+and then he galloped away. It came to Shefford then that he had been
+unconscious of the last strained moment of that encounter. He seemed all
+cold, tight, locked, and was amazed to find his hand on his gun. Verily
+the wild environment had liberated strange instincts and impulses, which
+he had answered. That he had no regrets proved how he had changed.
+
+Shefford heard the old woman scolding. Peering into the hogan, he saw
+Glen Naspa flounce sullenly down, for all the world like any other
+thwarted girl. Hosteen Doetin came out and pointed down the slope at the
+departing missionary.
+
+"Heap talk Jesus--all talk--all Jesus!" he exclaimed, contemptuously.
+Then he gave Shefford a hard rap on the chest. "Small talk--heap man!"
+
+The matter appeared to be adjusted for the present. But Shefford felt
+that he had made a bitter enemy, and perhaps a powerful one.
+
+He prepared and ate his supper alone that evening, for Joe Lake and Nas
+Ta Bega did not put in an appearance. He observed that the three strange
+Indians, whom he took for Piutes, kept to themselves, and, so far as he
+knew, had no intercourse with any one at the camp. This would not have
+seemed unusual, considering the taciturn habit of Indians, had he not
+remembered seeing Willetts speak to the trio. What had he to do with
+them? Shefford was considering the situation with vague doubts when, to
+his relief, the three strangers rode off into the twilight. Then he went
+to bed.
+
+He was awakened by violence. It was the gray hour before dawn. Dark
+forms knelt over him. A cloth pressed down hard over his mouth: Strong
+hands bound it while other strong hands held him. He could not cry out.
+He could not struggle. A heavy weight, evidently a man, held down his
+feet. Then he was rolled over, securely bound, and carried, to be thrown
+like a sack over the back of a horse.
+
+All this happened so swiftly as to be bewildering. He was too astounded
+to be frightened. As he hung head downward he saw the legs of a horse
+and a dim trail. A stirrup swung to and fro, hitting him in the face.
+He began to feel exceedingly uncomfortable, with a rush of blood to his
+head, and cramps in his arms and legs. This kept on and grew worse for
+what seemed a long time. Then the horse was stopped and a rude hand
+tumbled him to the ground. Again he was rolled over on his face. Strong
+fingers plucked at his clothes, and he believed he was being searched.
+His captors were as silent as if they had been dumb. He felt when they
+took his pocketbook and his knife and all that he had. Then they cut,
+tore, and stripped off all his clothing. He was lifted, carried a few
+steps, and dropped upon what seemed a soft, low mound, and left lying
+there, still tied and naked. Shefford heard the rustle of sage and the
+dull thud of hoofs as his assailants went away.
+
+His first sensation was one of immeasurable relief. He had not been
+murdered. Robbery was nothing. And though roughly handled, he had not
+been hurt. He associated the assault with the three strange visitors
+of the preceding day. Still, he had no proof of that. Not the slightest
+clue remained to help him ascertain who had attacked him.
+
+It might have been a short while or a long one, his mind was so filled
+with growing conjectures, but a time came when he felt cold. As he lay
+face down, only his back felt cold at first. He was grateful that he
+had not been thrown upon the rocks. The ground under him appeared soft,
+spongy, and gave somewhat as he breathed. He had really sunk down a
+little in this pile of soft earth. The day was not far off, as he could
+tell by the brightening of the gray. He began to suffer with the cold,
+and then slowly he seemed to freeze and grow numb. In an effort to roll
+over upon his back he discovered that his position, or his being bound,
+or the numbness of his muscles was responsible for the fact that he
+could not move. Here was a predicament. It began to look serious. What
+would a few hours of the powerful sun do to his uncovered skin? Somebody
+would trail and find him: still, he might not be found soon.
+
+He saw the sky lighten, turn rosy and then gold. The sun shone upon him,
+but some time elapsed before he felt its warmth. All of a sudden a pain,
+like a sting, shot through his shoulder. He could not see what caused
+it; probably a bee. Then he felt another upon his leg, and about
+simultaneously with it a tiny, fiery stab in his side. A sickening
+sensation pervaded his body, slowly moving, as if poison had entered
+the blood of his veins. Then a puncture, as from a hot wire, entered the
+skin of his breast. Unmistakably it was a bite. By dint of great effort
+he twisted his head to see a big red ant on his breast. Then he heard
+a faint sound, so exceedingly faint that he could not tell what it was
+like. But presently his strained ears detected a low, swift, rustling,
+creeping sound, like the slipping rattle of an infinite number of
+tiny bits of moving gravel. Then it was a sound like the seeping of
+wind-blown sand. Several hot bites occurred at once. And then with his
+head twisted he saw a red stream of ants pour out of the mound and spill
+over his quivering flesh.
+
+In an instant he realized his position. He had been dropped
+intentionally upon an ant-heap, which had sunk with his weight, wedging
+him between the crusts. At the mercy of those terrible desert ants! A
+frantic effort to roll out proved futile, as did another and another.
+His violent muscular contractions infuriated the ants, and in an instant
+he was writhing in pain so horrible and so unendurable that he nearly
+fainted. But he was too strong to faint suddenly. A bath of vitriol,
+a stripping of his skin and red embers of fire thrown upon raw flesh,
+could not have equaled this. There was fury in the bites and poison in
+the fangs of these ants. Was this an Indian's brutal trick or was it the
+missionary's revenge? Shefford realized that it would kill him soon. He
+sweat what seemed blood, although perhaps the blood came from the bites.
+A strange, hollow, buzzing roar filled his ears, and it must have been
+the pouring of the angry ants from their mound.
+
+Then followed a time that was hell--worse than fire, for fire would
+have given merciful death--agony under which his physical being began
+spasmodically to jerk and retch--and his eyeballs turned and his breast
+caved in.
+
+A cry rang through the roar in his ears. "Bi Nai! Bi Nai!"
+
+His fading sight seemed to shade round the dark face of Nas Ta Bega.
+
+Then powerful hands dragged him from the mound, through the grass
+and sage, rolled him over and over, and brushed his burning skin with
+strong, swift sweep.
+
+
+
+
+IX. IN THE DESERT CRUCIBLE
+
+
+That hard experience was but the beginning of many cruel trials for John
+Shefford.
+
+He never knew who his assailants were, nor their motive other than
+robbery; and they had gotten little, for they had not found the large
+sum of money sewed in the lining of his coat. Joe Lake declared it was
+Shadd's work, and the Mormon showed the stern nature that lay hidden
+under his mild manner. Nas Ta Bega shook his head and would not tell
+what he thought. But a somber fire burned in his eyes.
+
+The three started with a heavily laden pack-train and went down the
+mountain slope into West Canyon. The second day they were shot at from
+the rim of the walls. Lake was wounded, hindering the swift flight
+necessary to escape deeper into the canyon. Here they hid for days,
+while the Mormon recovered and the Indian took stealthy trips to try to
+locate the enemy. Lack of water and grass for the burros drove them
+on. They climbed out of a side canyon, losing several burros on a rough
+trail, and had proceeded to within half a day's journey of Red Lake
+when they were attacked while making camp in a cedar grove. Shefford
+sustained an exceedingly painful injury to his leg, but, fortunately,
+the bullet went through without breaking a bone. With that burning pain
+there came to Shefford the meaning of fight, and his rifle grew hot in
+his hands. Night alone saved the trio from certain fatality. Under the
+cover of darkness the Indian helped Shefford to escape. Joe Lake looked
+out for himself. The pack-train was lost, and the mustangs, except
+Nack-yal.
+
+Shefford learned what it meant to lie out at night, listening for
+pursuit, cold to his marrow, sick with dread, and enduring frightful
+pain from a ragged bullet-hole. Next day the Indian led him down into
+the red basin, where the sun shone hot and the sand reflected the heat.
+They had no water. A wind arose and the valley became a place of flying
+sand. Through a heavy, stifling pall Nas Ta Bega somehow got Shefford to
+the trading-post at Red Lake. Presbrey attended to Shefford's injury
+and made him comfortable. Next day Joe Lake limped in, surly and somber,
+with the news that Shadd and eight or ten of his outlaw gang had gotten
+away with the pack-train.
+
+In short time Shefford was able to ride, and with his companions went
+over the pass to Kayenta. Withers already knew of his loss, and all he
+said was that he hoped to meet Shadd some day.
+
+Shefford showed a reluctance to go again to the hidden village in the
+silent canyon with the rounded walls. The trader appeared surprised, but
+did not press the point. And Shefford meant sooner or later to tell him,
+yet never quite reached the point. The early summer brought more work
+for the little post, and Shefford toiled with the others. He liked the
+outdoor tasks, and at night was grateful that he was too tired to think.
+Then followed trips to Durango and Bluff and Monticello. He rode fifty
+miles a day for many days. He knew how a man fares who packs light and
+rides far and fast. When the Indian was with him he got along well,
+but Nas Ta Bega would not go near the towns. Thus many mishaps were
+Shefford's fortune.
+
+Many and many a mile he trailed his mustang, for Nack-yal never forgot
+the Sagi, and always headed for it when he broke his hobbles. Shefford
+accompanied an Indian teamster in to Durango with a wagon and four wild
+mustangs. Upon the return, with a heavy load of supplies, accident put
+Shefford in charge of the outfit. In despair he had to face the hardest
+task that could have been given him--to take care of a crippled Indian,
+catch, water, feed, harness, and drive four wild mustangs that did not
+know him and tried to kill him at every turn, and to get that precious
+load of supplies home to Kayenta. That he accomplished it proved to hint
+the possibilities of a man, for both endurance and patience. From that
+time he never gave up in the front of any duty.
+
+In the absence of an available Indian he rode to Durango and back in
+record time. Upon one occasion he was lost in a canyon for days, with no
+food and little water. Upon another he went through a sand-storm in the
+open desert, facing it for forty miles and keeping to the trail; When he
+rode in to Kayenta that night the trader, in grim praise, said there
+was no worse to endure. At Monticello Shefford stood off a band of
+desperadoes, and this time Shefford experienced a strange, sickening
+shock in the wounding of a man. Later he had other fights, but in none
+of them did he know whether or not he had shed blood.
+
+The heat of midsummer came, when the blistering sun shone, and a hot
+blast blew across the sand, and the furious storms made floods in the
+washes. Day and night Shefford was always in the open, and any one who
+had ever known him in the past would have failed to recognize him now.
+
+In the early fall, with Nas Ta Bega as companion, he set out to the
+south of Kayenta upon long-neglected business of the trader. They
+visited Red Lake, Blue Canyon, Keams Canyon, Oribi, the Moki villages,
+Tuba, Moencopie, and Moen Ave. This trip took many weeks and gave
+Shefford all the opportunity he wanted to study the Indians, and the
+conditions nearer to the border of civilization. He learned the truth
+about the Indians and the missionaries.
+
+Upon the return trip he rode over the trail he had followed alone to
+Red Lake and thence on to the Sagi, and it seemed that years had passed
+since he first entered this wild region which had come to be home, years
+that had molded him in the stern and fiery crucible of the desert.
+
+
+
+
+X. STONEBRIDGE
+
+
+In October Shefford arranged for a hunt in the Cresaw Mountains with Joe
+Lake and Nas Ta Bega. The Indian had gone home for a short visit, and
+upon his return the party expected to start. But Nas Ta Bega did not
+come back. Then the arrival of a Piute with news that excited Withers
+and greatly perturbed Lake convinced Shefford that something was wrong.
+
+The little trading-post seldom saw such disorder; certainly Shefford
+had never known the trader to neglect work. Joe Lake threw a saddle on
+a mustang he would have scorned to notice in an ordinary moment, and
+without a word of explanation or farewell rode hard to the north on the
+Stonebridge trail.
+
+Shefford had long since acquired patience. He was curious, but he did
+not care particularly what was in the wind. However, when Withers came
+out and sent an Indian to drive up the horses Shefford could not refrain
+from a query.
+
+"I hate to tell you," replied the trader.
+
+"Go on," added Shefford, quickly.
+
+"Did I tell you about the government sending a Supreme Court judge out
+to Utah to prosecute the polygamists?"
+
+"No," replied Shefford.
+
+"I forgot to, I reckon. You've been away a lot. Well, there's been hell
+up in Utah for six months. Lately this judge and his men have worked
+down into southern Utah. He visited Bluff and Monticello a few weeks
+ago.... Now what do you think?"
+
+"Withers! Is he coming to Stonebridge?"
+
+"He's there now. Some one betrayed the whereabouts of the hidden village
+over in the canyon. All the women have been arrested and taken to
+Stonebridge. The trial begins to-day."
+
+"Arrested!" echoed Shefford, blankly. "Those poor, lonely, good women?
+What on earth for?"
+
+"Sealed wives!" exclaimed Withers, tersely. "This judge is after the
+polygamists. They say he's absolutely relentless."
+
+"But--women can't be polygamists. Their husbands are the ones wanted."
+
+"Sure. But the prosecutors have got to find the sealed wives--the second
+wives--to find the law-breaking husbands. That'll be a job, or I don't
+know Mormons.... Are you going to ride over to Stonebridge with me?"
+
+Shefford shrank at the idea. Months of toil and pain and travail had not
+been enough to make him forget the strange girl he had loved. But he had
+remembered only at poignant intervals, and the lapse of time had made
+thought of her a dream like that sad dream which had lured him into the
+desert. With the query of the trader came a bitter-sweet regret.
+
+"Better come with me," said Withers. "Have you forgotten the Sago Lily?
+She'll be put on trial.... That girl--that child!... Shefford, you know
+she hasn't any friends. And now no Mormon man are protect her, for fear
+of prosecution."
+
+"I'll go," replied Shefford, shortly.
+
+The Indian brought up the horses. Nack-yal was thin from his long
+travel during the hot summer, but he was as hard as iron, and the way he
+pointed his keen nose toward the Sagi showed how he wanted to make for
+the upland country, with its clear springs and valleys of grass. Withers
+mounted his bay and with a hurried farewell to his wife spurred the
+mustang into the trail. Shefford took time to get his weapons and the
+light pack he always carried, and then rode out after the trader.
+
+The pace Withers set was the long, steady lope to which these Indian
+mustangs had been trained all their lives. In an hour they reached the
+mouth of the Sagi, and at sight of it it seemed to Shefford that the
+hard half-year of suffering since he had been there had disappeared.
+Withers, to Shefford's regret, did not enter the Sagi. He turned off to
+the north and took a wild trail into a split of the red wall, and wound
+in and out, and climbed a crack so narrow that the light was obscured
+and the cliffs could be reached from both sides of a horse.
+
+Once up on the wild plateau, Shefford felt again in a different world
+from the barren desert he had lately known. The desert had crucified
+him and had left him to die or survive, according to his spirit and his
+strength. If he had loved the glare, the endless level, the deceiving
+distance, the shifting sand, it had certainly not been as he loved this
+softer, wilder, more intimate upland. With the red peaks shining up into
+the blue, and the fragrance of cedar and pinyon, and the purple sage
+and flowers and grass and splash of clear water over stones--with these
+there came back to him something that he had lost and which had haunted
+him.
+
+It seemed he had returned to this wild upland of color and canyon and
+lofty crags and green valleys and silent places with a spirit gained
+from victory over himself in the harsher and sterner desert below. And,
+strange to him, he found his old self, the dreamer, the artist, the
+lover of beauty, the searcher for he knew not what, come to meet him on
+the fragrant wind.
+
+He felt this, saw the old wildness with glad eyes, yet the greater part
+of his mind was given over to the thought of the unfortunate women he
+expected to see in Stonebridge.
+
+Withers was harder to follow, to keep up with, than an Indian. For one
+thing he was a steady and tireless rider, and for another there were
+times when he had no mercy on a horse. Then an Indian always found
+easier steps in a trail and shorter cuts. Withers put his mount to some
+bad slopes, and Shefford had no choice but to follow. But they crossed
+the great broken bench of upland without mishap, and came out upon a
+promontory of a plateau from which Shefford saw a wide valley and the
+dark-green alfalfa fields of Stonebridge.
+
+Stonebridge lay in the center of a fertile valley surrounded by pink
+cliffs. It must have been a very old town, certainly far older than
+Bluff or Monticello, though smaller, and evidently it had been built to
+last. There was one main street, very wide, that divided the town and
+was crossed at right angles by a stream spanned by a small natural stone
+bridge. A line of poplar-trees shaded each foot-path. The little log
+cabins and stone houses and cottages were half hidden in foliage now
+tinted with autumn colors. Toward the center of the town the houses and
+stores and shops fronted upon the street and along one side of a
+green square, or plaza. Here were situated several edifices, the
+most prominent of which was a church built of wood, whitewashed, and
+remarkable, according to Withers, for the fact that not a nail had been
+used in its construction. Beyond the church was a large, low structure
+of stone, with a split-shingle roof, and evidently this was the town
+hall.
+
+Shefford saw, before he reached the square, that this day in Stonebridge
+was one of singular action and excitement for a Mormon village. The town
+was full of people and, judging from the horses hitched everywhere and
+the big canvas-covered wagons, many of the people were visitors. A
+crowd surrounded the hall--a dusty, booted, spurred, shirt-sleeved and
+sombreroed assemblage that did not wear the hall-mark Shefford had come
+to associate with Mormons. They were riders, cowboys, horse-wranglers,
+and some of them Shefford had seen in Durango. Navajos and Piutes were
+present, also, but they loitered in the background.
+
+Withers drew Shefford off to the side where, under a tree, they hitched
+their horses.
+
+"Never saw Stonebridge full of a riffraff gang like this to-day," said
+Withers. "I'll bet the Mormons are wild. There's a tough outfit
+from Durango. If they can get anything to drink--or if they've got
+it--Stonebridge will see smoke to-day!... Come on. I'll get in that
+hall."
+
+But before Withers reached the hall he started violently and pulled
+up short, then, with apparent unconcern, turned to lay a hand upon
+Shefford. The trader's face had blanched and his eyes grew hard and
+shiny, like flint. He gripped Shefford's arm.
+
+"Look! Over to your left!" he whispered. "See that gang of Indians
+there--by the big wagon. See the short Indian with the chaps. He's got a
+face big as a ham, dark, fierce. That's Shadd!... You ought to know him.
+Shadd and his outfit here! How's that for nerve? But he pulls a rein
+with the Mormons."
+
+Shefford's keen eye took in a lounging group of ten or twelve Indians
+and several white men. They did not present any great contrast to
+the other groups except that they were isolated, appeared quiet and
+watchful, and were all armed. A bunch of lean, racy mustangs, restive
+and spirited, stood near by in charge of an Indian. Shefford had to take
+a second and closer glance to distinguish the half-breed. At once he
+recognized in Shadd the broad-faced squat Indian who had paid him a
+threatening visit that night long ago in the mouth of the Sagi. A fire
+ran along Shefford's veins and seemed to concentrate in his breast.
+Shadd's dark, piercing eyes alighted upon Shefford and rested there.
+Then the half-breed spoke to one of his white outlaws and pointed at
+Shefford. His action attracted the attention of others in the gang, and
+for a moment Shefford and Withers were treated to a keen-eyed stare.
+
+The trader cursed low. "Maybe I wouldn't like to mix it with that damned
+breed," he said. "But what chance have we with that gang? Besides,
+we're here on other and more important business. All the same, before I
+forget, let me remind you that Shadd has had you spotted ever since you
+came out here. A friendly Piute told me only lately. Shefford, did
+any Indian between here and Flagstaff ever see that bunch of money you
+persist in carrying?"
+
+"Why, yes, I suppose so--'way back in Tuba, when I first came out,"
+replied Shefford.
+
+"Huh! Well, Shadd's after that.... Come on now, let's get inside the
+hall."
+
+The crowd opened for the trader, who appeared to be known to everybody.
+
+A huge man with a bushy beard blocked the way to a shut door.
+
+"Hello, Meade!" said Withers. "Let us in."
+
+The man opened the door, permitted Withers and Shefford to enter, and
+then closed it.
+
+Shefford, coming out of the bright glare of sun into the hall, could not
+see distinctly at first. His eyes blurred. He heard a subdued murmur
+of many voices. Withers appeared to be affected with the same kind of
+blindness, for he stood bewildered a moment. But he recovered sooner
+than Shefford. Gradually the darkness shrouding many obscure forms
+lifted. Withers drew him through a crowd of men and women to one side
+of the hall, and squeezed along a wall to a railing where progress was
+stopped.
+
+Then Shefford raised his head to look with bated breath and strange
+curiosity.
+
+The hall was large and had many windows. Men were in consultation upon a
+platform. Women to the number of twenty sat close together upon benches.
+Back of them stood another crowd. But the women on the benches held
+Shefford's gaze. They were the prisoners. They made a somber group. Some
+were hooded, some veiled, all clad in dark garments except one on the
+front bench, and she was dressed in white. She wore a long hood that
+concealed her face. Shefford recognized the hood and then the slender
+shape. She was Mary--she whom her jealous neighbors had named the Sago
+Lily. At sight of her a sharp pain pierced Shefford's breast. His eyes
+were blurred when he forced them away from her, and it took a moment for
+him to see clearly.
+
+Withers was whispering to him or to some one near at hand, but Shefford
+did not catch the meaning of what was said. He paid more attention;
+however, Withers ceased speaking. Shefford gazed upon the crowd back
+of him. The women were hooded and it was not possible to see what they
+looked like. There were many stalwart, clean-cut, young Mormons of Joe
+Lake's type, and these men appeared troubled, even distressed and at a
+loss. There was little about them resembling the stern, quiet, somber
+austerity of the more matured men, and nothing at all of the strange,
+aloof, serene impassiveness of the gray-bearded old patriarchs. These
+venerable men were the Mormons of the old school, the sons of the
+pioneers, the ruthless fanatics. Instinctively Shefford felt that it was
+in them that polygamy was embodied; they were the husbands of the sealed
+wives. He conceived an absorbing curiosity to learn if his instinct was
+correct; and hard upon that followed a hot, hateful eagerness to see
+which one was the husband of Mary.
+
+"There's Bishop Kane," whispered Withers, nudging Shefford. "And there's
+Waggoner with him."
+
+Shefford saw the bishop, and then beside him a man of striking presence.
+
+"Who's Waggoner?" asked Shefford, as he looked.
+
+"He owns more than any Mormon in southern Utah," replied the trader.
+"He's the biggest man in Stonebridge, that's sure. But I don't know his
+relation to the Church. They don't call him elder or bishop. But I'll
+bet he's some pumpkins. He never had any use for me or any Gentile. A
+close-fisted, tight-lipped Mormon--a skinflint if I ever saw one! Just
+look him over."
+
+Shefford had been looking, and considered it unlikely that he would ever
+forget this individual called Waggoner. He seemed old, sixty at least,
+yet at that only in the prime of a wonderful physical life. Unlike most
+of the others, he wore his grizzled beard close-cropped, so close that
+it showed the lean, wolfish line of his jaw. All his features were of
+striking sharpness. His eyes, of a singularly brilliant blue, were yet
+cold and pale. The brow had a serious, thoughtful cast; long furrows
+sloped down the cheeks. It was a strange, secretive face, full of a
+power that Shefford had not seen in another man's, full of intelligence
+and thought that had not been used as Shefford had known them used
+among men. The face mystified him. It had so much more than the strange
+aloofness so characteristic of his fellows.
+
+"Waggoner had five wives and fifty-five children before the law went
+into effect," whispered Withers. "Nobody knows and nobody will ever know
+how many he's got now. That's my private opinion."
+
+Somehow, after Withers told that, Shefford seemed to understand the
+strange power in Waggoner's face. Absolutely it was not the force, the
+strength given to a man from his years of control of men. Shefford, long
+schooled now in his fair-mindedness, fought down the feelings of other
+years, and waited with patience. Who was he to judge Waggoner or any
+other Mormon? But whenever his glance strayed back to the quiet, slender
+form in white, when he realized again and again the appalling nature of
+this court, his heart beat heavy and labored within his breast.
+
+Then a bustle among the men upon the platform appeared to indicate that
+proceedings were about to begin. Some men left the platform; several sat
+down at a table upon which were books and papers, and others remained
+standing. These last were all roughly garbed, in riding-boots and spurs,
+and Shefford's keen eye detected the bulge of hidden weapons. They
+looked like deputy-marshals upon duty.
+
+Somebody whispered that the judge's name was Stone. The name fitted him.
+He was not young, and looked a man suited to the prosecution of these
+secret Mormons. He had a ponderous brow, a deep, cavernous eye that
+emitted gleams but betrayed no color or expression. His mouth was the
+saving human feature of his stony face.
+
+Shefford took the man upon the judge's right hand to be a lawyer, and
+the one on his left an officer of court, perhaps a prosecuting attorney.
+Presently this fellow pounded upon the table and stood up as if to
+address a court-room. Certainly he silenced that hallful of people. Then
+he perfunctorily and briefly stated that certain women had been arrested
+upon suspicion of being sealed wives of Mormon polygamists, and were to
+be herewith tried by a judge of the United States Court. Shefford felt
+how the impressive words affected that silent hall of listeners, but
+he gathered from the brief preliminaries that the trial could not be
+otherwise than a crude, rapid investigation, and perhaps for that the
+more sinister.
+
+The first woman on the foremost bench was led forward by a deputy to a
+vacant chair on the platform just in front of the judge's table. She was
+told to sit down, and showed no sign that she had heard. Then the judge
+courteously asked her to take the chair. She refused. And Stone nodded
+his head as if he had experienced that sort of thing before. He stroked
+his chin wearily, and Shefford conceived an idea that he was a kind man,
+if he was a relentless judge.
+
+"Please remove your veil," requested the prosecutor.
+
+The woman did so, and proved to be young and handsome. Shefford had
+a thrill as he recognized her. She was Ruth, who had been one of his
+best-known acquaintances in the hidden village. She was pale, angry,
+almost sullen, and her breast heaved. She had no shame, but she seemed
+to be outraged. Her dark eyes, scornful and blazing, passed over the
+judge and his assistants, and on to the crowd behind the railing.
+Shefford, keen as a blade, with all his faculties absorbed, fancied he
+saw Ruth stiffen and change slightly as her glance encountered some
+one in that crowd. Then the prosecutor in deliberate and chosen words
+enjoined her to kiss the Bible handed to her and swear to tell the
+truth. How strange for Shefford to see her kiss the book which he had
+studied for so many years! Stranger still to hear the low murmur from
+the listening audience as she took the oath!
+
+"What is your name?" asked Judge Stone, leaning back and fixing the
+cavernous eyes upon her.
+
+"Ruth Jones," was the cool reply.
+
+"How old are you?"
+
+"Twenty."
+
+"Where were you born?" went on the judge. He allowed time for the clerk
+to record her answers.
+
+"Panguitch, Utah."
+
+"Were your parents Mormons?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Are you a Mormon?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Are you a married woman?"
+
+"No."
+
+The answer was instant, cold, final. It seemed to the truth. Almost
+Shefford believed she spoke truth. The judge stroked his chin and waited
+a moment, and then hesitatingly he went on.
+
+"Have you--any children?"
+
+"No." And the blazing eyes met the cavernous ones.
+
+That about the children was true enough, Shefford thought, and he could
+have testified to it.
+
+"You live in the hidden village near this town?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"What is the name of this village?"
+
+"It has none."
+
+"Did you ever hear of Fre-donia, another village far west of here?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"It is in Arizona, near the Utah line. There are few men there. Is it
+the same kind of village as this one in which you live?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"What does Fre-donia mean? The name--has it any meaning?"
+
+"It means free women."
+
+The judge maintained silence for a moment, turned to whisper to his
+assistants, and presently, without glancing up, said to the woman:
+
+"That will do."
+
+Ruth was led back to the bench, and the woman next to her brought
+forward. This was a heavier person, with the figure and step of a
+matured woman. Upon removing her bonnet she showed the plain face of
+a woman of forty, and it was striking only in that strange, stony
+aloofness noted in the older men. Here, Shefford thought, was the real
+Mormon, different in a way he could not define from Ruth. This woman
+seated herself in the chair and calmly faced her prosecutors. She
+manifested no emotion whatever. Shefford remembered her and could not
+see any change in her deportment. This trial appeared to be of little
+moment to her and she took the oath as if doing so had been a habit all
+her life.
+
+"What is your name?" asked Judge Stone, glancing up from a paper he
+held.
+
+"Mary Danton."
+
+"Family or married name?"
+
+"My husband's name was Danton."
+
+"Was. Is he living?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Where did you live when you were married to him?"
+
+"In St. George, and later here in Stonebridge."
+
+"You were both Mormons?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Did you have any children by him?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"How many?"
+
+"Two."
+
+"Are they living?"
+
+"One of them is living."
+
+Judge Stone bent over his paper and then slowly raised his eyes to her
+face.
+
+"Are you married now?"
+
+"No."
+
+Again the judge consulted his notes, and held a whispered colloquy with
+the two men at his table.
+
+"Mrs. Danton, when you were arrested there were five children found in
+your home. To whom do they belong?"
+
+"Me."
+
+"Are you their mother?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Your husband Danton is the father of only one, the eldest, according to
+your former statement. Is that correct?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Who, then, is the father--or who are the fathers, of your other
+children?"
+
+"I do not know."
+
+She said it with the most stony-faced calmness, with utter disregard
+of what significance her words had. A strong, mystic wall of cold flint
+insulated her. Strangely it came to Shefford how impossible either to
+doubt or believe her. Yet he did both! Judge Stone showed a little heat.
+
+"You don't know the father of one or all of these children?" he queried,
+with sharp rising inflection of voice.
+
+"I do not."
+
+"Madam, I beg to remind you that you are under oath."
+
+The woman did not reply.
+
+"These children are nameless, then--illegitimate?"
+
+"They are."
+
+"You swear you are not the sealed wife of some Mormon?"
+
+"I swear."
+
+"How do you live--maintain yourself?"
+
+"I work."
+
+"What at?"
+
+"I weave, sew, bake, and work in my garden."
+
+"My men made note of your large and comfortable cabin, even luxurious,
+considering this country. How is that?"
+
+"My husband left me comfortable."
+
+Judge Stone shook a warning finger at the defendant.
+
+"Suppose I were to sentence you to jail for perjury? For a year? Far
+from your home and children! Would you speak--tell the truth?"
+
+"I am telling the truth. I can't speak what I don't know.... Send me to
+jail."
+
+Baffled, with despairing, angry impatience, Judge Stone waved the woman
+away.
+
+"That will do for her. Fetch the next one," he said.
+
+One after another he examined three more women, and arrived, by various
+questions and answers different in tone and temper, at precisely the
+same point as had been made in the case of Mrs. Danton. Thereupon the
+proceedings rested a few moments while the judge consulted with his
+assistants.
+
+Shefford was grateful for this respite. He had been worked up to an
+unusual degree of interest, and now, as the next Mormon woman to be
+examined was she whom he had loved and loved still, he felt rise in
+him emotion that threatened to make him conspicuous unless it could
+be hidden. The answers of these Mormon women had been not altogether
+unexpected by him, but once spoken in cold blood under oath, how tragic,
+how appallingly significant of the shadow, the mystery, the yoke that
+bound them! He was amazed, saddened. He felt bewildered. He needed to
+think out the meaning of the falsehoods of women he knew to be good and
+noble. Surely religion, instead of fear and loyalty, was the foundation
+and the strength of this disgrace, this sacrifice. Absolutely, shame was
+not in these women, though they swore to shameful facts. They had been
+coached to give these baffling answers, every one of which seemed
+to brand them, not the brazen mothers of illegitimate offspring, but
+faithful, unfortunate sealed wives. To Shefford the truth was not in
+their words, but it sat upon their somber brows.
+
+Was it only his heightened imagination, or did the silence and
+the suspense grow more intense when a deputy led that dark-hooded,
+white-clad, slender woman to the defendant's chair? She did not walk
+with the poise that had been manifest in the other women, and she sank
+into the chair as if she could no longer stand.
+
+"Please remove your hood," requested the prosecutor.
+
+How well Shefford remembered the strong, shapely hands! He saw them
+tremble at the knot of ribbon, and that tremor was communicated to him
+in a sympathy which made his pulses beat. He held his breath while she
+removed the hood. And then there was revealed, he thought, the loveliest
+and the most tragic face that ever was seen in a court-room.
+
+A low, whispering murmur that swelled like a wave ran through the hall.
+And by it Shefford divined, as clearly as if the fact had been blazoned
+on the walls, that Mary's face had been unknown to these villagers. But
+the name Sago Lily had not been unknown; Shefford heard it whispered on
+all sides.
+
+The murmuring subsided. The judge and his assistants stared at Mary.
+As for Shefford, there was no need of his personal feeling to make the
+situation dramatic. Not improbably Judge Stone had tried many Mormon
+women. But manifestly this one was different. Unhooded, Mary appeared
+to be only a young girl, and a court, confronted suddenly with her youth
+and the suspicion attached to her, could not but have been shocked.
+Then her beauty made her seem, in that somber company, indeed the white
+flower for which she had been named. But, more likely, it was her
+agony that bound the court into silence which grew painful. Perhaps the
+thought that flashed into Shefford's mind was telepathic; it seemed to
+him that every watcher there realized that in this defendant the judge
+had a girl of softer mold, of different spirit, and from her the bitter
+truth could be wrung.
+
+Mary faced the court and the crowd on that side of the platform. Unlike
+the other women, she did not look at or seem to see any one behind the
+railing. Shefford was absolutely sure there was not a man or a woman who
+caught her glance. She gazed afar, with eyes strained, humid, fearful.
+
+When the prosecutor swore her to the oath her lips were seen to move,
+but no one heard her speak.
+
+"What is your name?" asked the judge.
+
+"Mary." Her voice was low, with a slight tremor.
+
+"What's your other name?"
+
+"I won't tell."
+
+Her singular reply, the tones of her voice, her manner before the judge,
+marked her with strange simplicity. It was evident that she was not
+accustomed to questions.
+
+"What were your parents' names?"
+
+"I won't tell," she replied, very low.
+
+Judge Stone did not press the point. Perhaps he wanted to make the
+examination as easy as possible for her or to wait till she showed more
+composure.
+
+"Were your parents Mormons?" he went on.
+
+"No, sir." She added the sir with a quaint respect, contrasting markedly
+with the short replies of the women before her.
+
+"Then you were not born a Mormon?"
+
+"No, sir."
+
+"How old are you?"
+
+"Seventeen or eighteen. I'm not sure."
+
+"You don't know your exact age?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Where were you born?"
+
+"I won't tell."
+
+"Was it in Utah?"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"How long have you lived in this state?"
+
+"Always--except last year."
+
+"And that's been over in the hidden village where you were arrested?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"But you often visited here--this town Stonebridge?"
+
+"I never was here--till yesterday."
+
+Judge Stone regarded her as if his interest as a man was running counter
+to his duty as an officer. Suddenly he leaned forward.
+
+"Are you a Mormon NOW?" he queried, forcibly.
+
+"No, sir," she replied, and here her voice rose a little clearer.
+
+It was an unexpected reply. Judge Stone stared at her. The low buzz ran
+through the listening crowd. And as for Shefford, he was astounded. When
+his wits flashed back and he weighed her words and saw in her face truth
+as clear as light, he had the strangest sensation of joy. Almost it
+flooded away the gloom and pain that attended this ordeal.
+
+The judge bent his head to his assistants as if for counsel. All of them
+were eager where formerly they had been weary. Shefford glanced around
+at the dark and somber faces, and a slow wrath grew within him. Then he
+caught a glimpse of Waggoner. The steel-blue, piercing intensity of the
+Mormon's gaze impressed him at a moment when all that older generation
+of Mormons looked as hard and immutable as iron. Either Shefford was
+over-excited and mistaken or the hour had become fraught with greater
+suspense. The secret, the mystery, the power, the hate, the religion of
+a strange people were thick and tangible in that hall. For Shefford the
+feeling of the presence of Withers on his left was entirely different
+from that of the Mormon on his other side. If there was not a shadow
+there, then the sun did not shine so brightly as it had shone when he
+entered. The air seemed clogged with nameless passion.
+
+"I gather that you've lived mostly in the country--away from people?"
+the judge began.
+
+"Yes, sir," replied the girl.
+
+"Do you know anything about the government of the United States?"
+
+"No, sir."
+
+He pondered again, evidently weighing his queries, leading up to the
+fatal and inevitable question.
+
+Still, his interest in this particular defendant had become visible.
+
+"Have you any idea of the consequences of perjury?"
+
+"No, sir."
+
+"Do you understand what perjury is?"
+
+"It's to lie."
+
+"Do you tell lies?"
+
+"No, sir."
+
+"Have you ever told a single lie?"
+
+"Not--yet," she replied, almost whispering.
+
+It was the answer of a child and affected the judge. He fussed with his
+papers. Perhaps his task was not easy; certainly it was not pleasant.
+Then he leaned forward again and fixed those deep, cavernous eyes upon
+the sad face.
+
+"Do you understand what a sealed wife is?"
+
+"I've never been told."
+
+"But you know there are sealed wives in Utah?"
+
+"Yes, sir; I've been told that."
+
+Judge Stone halted there, watching her. The hall was silent except for
+faint rustlings and here and there deep breaths drawn guardedly. The
+vital question hung like a sword over the white-faced girl. Perhaps she
+divined its impending stroke, for she sat like a stone with dilating,
+appealing eyes upon her executioner.
+
+"Are you a sealed wife?" he flung at her.
+
+She could not answer at once. She made effort, but the words would not
+come. He flung the question again, sternly.
+
+"No!" she cried.
+
+And then there was silence. That poignant word quivered in Shefford's
+heart. He believed it was a lie. It seemed he would have known it if
+this hour was the first in which he had ever seen the girl. He heard,
+he felt, he sensed the fatal thing. The beautiful voice had lacked some
+quality before present. And the thing wanting was something subtle, an
+essence, a beautiful ring--the truth. What a hellish thing to make that
+pure girl a liar--a perjurer! The heat deep within Shefford kindled to
+fire.
+
+"You are not married?" went on Judge Stone.
+
+"No, sir," she answered, faintly.
+
+"Have you ever been married?"
+
+"No, sir."
+
+"Do you expect ever to be married?"
+
+"Oh! No, sir."
+
+She was ashen pale now, quivering all over, with her strong hands
+clasping the black hood, and she could no longer meet the judge's
+glance.
+
+"Have you--any--any children?" the judge asked, haltingly. It was a hard
+question to get out.
+
+"No."
+
+Judge Stone leaned far over the table, and that his face was purple
+showed Shefford he was a man. His big fist clenched.
+
+"Girl, you're not going to swear you, too, were visited--over there by
+men... You're not going to swear that?"
+
+"Oh--no, sir!"
+
+Judge Stone settled back in his chair, and while he wiped his moist face
+that same foreboding murmur, almost a menace, moaned through the hall.
+
+Shefford was sick in his soul and afraid of himself. He did not know
+this spirit that flamed up in him. His helplessness was a most hateful
+fact.
+
+"Come--confess you are a sealed wife," called her interrogator.
+
+She maintained silence, but shook her head.
+
+Suddenly he seemed to leap forward.
+
+"Unfortunate child! Confess."
+
+That forced her to lift her head and face him, yet still she did not
+speak. It was the strength of despair. She could not endure much more.
+
+"Who is your husband?" he thundered at her.
+
+She rose wildly, terror-stricken. It was terror that dominated her, not
+of the stern judge, for she took a faltering step toward him, lifting
+a shaking hand, but of some one or of some thing far more terrible than
+any punishment she could have received in the sentence of a court. Still
+she was not proof against the judge's will. She had weakened, and the
+terror must have been because of that weakening.
+
+"Who is the Mormon who visits you?" he thundered, relentlessly.
+
+"I--never--knew--his--name.
+
+"But you'd know his face. I'll arrest every Mormon in this country and
+bring him before you. You'd know his face?"
+
+"Oh, I wouldn't. I COULDN'T TELL!... _I_--NEVER--SAW HIS FACE--IN THE
+LIGHT!"
+
+The tragic beauty of her, the certainty of some monstrous crime to youth
+and innocence, the presence of an agony and terror that unfathomably
+seemed not to be for herself--these transfixed the court and the
+audience, and held them silenced, till she reached out blindly and then
+sank in a heap to the floor.
+
+
+
+
+XI. AFTER THE TRIAL
+
+
+Shefford might have leaped over the railing but for Withers's
+restraining hand, and when there appeared to be some sign of kindness in
+those other women for the unconscious girl Shefford squeezed through the
+crowd and got out of the hall.
+
+The gang outside that had been denied admittance pressed upon Shefford,
+with jest and curious query, and a good nature that jarred upon him. He
+was far from gentle as he jostled off the first importuning fellows; the
+others, gaping at him, opened a lane for him to pass through.
+
+Then there was a hand laid on his shoulder that he did not shake off.
+Nas Ta Bega loomed dark and tall beside him. Neither the trader nor Joe
+Lake nor any white man Shefford had met influenced him as this Navajo.
+
+"Nas Ta Bega! you here, too. I guess the whole country is here. We
+waited at Kayenta. What kept you so long?"
+
+The Indian, always slow to answer, did not open his lips till he drew
+Shefford apart from the noisy crowd.
+
+"Bi Nai, there is sorrow in the hogan of Hosteen Doetin," he said.
+
+"Glen Naspa!" exclaimed Shefford.
+
+"My sister is gone from the home of her brother. She went away alone in
+the summer."
+
+"Blue Canyon! She went to the missionary. Nas Ta Bega, I thought I saw
+her there. But I wasn't sure. I didn't want to make sure. I was afraid
+it might be true."
+
+"A brave who loved my sister trailed her there."
+
+"Nas Ta Bega, will you--will we go find her, take her home?"
+
+"No. She will come home some day."
+
+What bitter sadness and wisdom in his words!
+
+"But, my friend, that damned missionary--" began Shefford, passionately.
+The Indian had met him at a bad hour.
+
+"Willetts is here. I saw him go in there," interrupted Nas Ta Bega, and
+he pointed to the hall.
+
+"Here! He gets around a good deal," declared Shefford. "Nas Ta Bega,
+what are you going to do to him?"
+
+The Indian held his peace and there was no telling from his inscrutable
+face what might be in his mind. He was dark, impassive. He seemed a wise
+and bitter Indian, beyond any savagery of his tribe, and the suffering
+Shefford divined was deep.
+
+"He'd better keep out of my sight," muttered Shefford, more to himself
+than to his companion.
+
+"The half-breed is here," said Nas Ta Bega.
+
+"Shadd? Yes, we saw him. There! He's still with his gang. Nas Ta Bega,
+what are they up to?"
+
+"They will steal what they can."
+
+"Withers says Shadd is friendly with the Mormons."
+
+"Yes, and with the missionary, too."
+
+"With Willetts?"
+
+"I saw them talk together--strong talk."
+
+"Strange. But maybe it's not so strange. Shadd is known well in
+Monticello and Bluff. He spends money there. They are afraid of him, but
+he's welcome just the same. Perhaps everybody knows him. It'd be like
+him to ride into Kayenta. But, Nas Ta Bega, I've got to look out for
+him, because Withers says he's after me."
+
+"Bi Nai wears a scar that is proof," said the Indian.
+
+"Then it must be he found out long ago I had a little money."
+
+"It might be. But, Bi Nai, the half-breed has a strange step on your
+trail."
+
+"What do you mean?" demanded Shefford.
+
+"Nas Ta Bega cannot tell what he does not know," replied the Navajo.
+"Let that be. We shall know some day. Bi Nai, there is sorrow to tell
+that is not the Indian's.... Sorrow for my brother!"
+
+Shefford lifted his eyes to the Indian's, and if he did not see sadness
+there he was much deceived.
+
+"Bi Nai, long ago you told a story to the trader. Nas Ta Bega sat before
+the fire that night. You did not know he could understand your language.
+He listened. And he learned what brought you to the country of the
+Indian. That night he made you his brother.... All his lonely rides into
+the canyon have been to find the little golden-haired child, the lost
+girl--Fay Larkin.... Bi Nai, I have found the girl you wanted for your
+sweetheart."
+
+Shefford was bereft of speech. He could not see steadily, and the last
+solemn words of the Indian seemed far away.
+
+"Bi Nai, I have found Fay Larkin," repeated Nas Ta Bega.
+
+"Fay Larkin!" gasped Shefford, shaking his head. "But--she's dead."
+
+"It would be less sorrow for Bi Nai if she were dead."
+
+Shefford clutched at the Indian. There was something terrible to be
+revealed. Like an aspen-leaf in the wind he shook all over. He divined
+the revelation--divined the coming blow--but that was as far as his mind
+got.
+
+"She's in there," said the Indian, pointing toward hall.
+
+"Fay Larkin?" whispered Shefford.
+
+"Yes, Bi Nai."
+
+"My God! HOW do you know? Oh, I could have seen. I've been blind. ...
+Tell me, Indian. Which one?"
+
+"Fay Larkin is the Sago Lily."
+
+. . . . . . . . . .
+
+Shefford strode away into a secluded corner of the Square, where in
+the shade and quiet of the trees he suffered a storm of heart and mind.
+During that short or long time--he had no idea how long--the Indian
+remained with him. He never lost the feeling of Nas Ta Bega close beside
+him. When the period of acute pain left him and some order began
+to replace the tumult in his mind he felt in Nas Ta Bega the same
+quality--silence or strength or help--that he had learned to feel in the
+deep canyon and the lofty crags. He realized then that the Indian was
+indeed a brother. And Shefford needed him. What he had to fight was more
+fatal than suffering and love--it was hate rising out of the unsuspected
+dark gulf of his heart--the instinct to kill--the murder in his soul.
+Only now did he come to understand Jane Withersteen's tragic story and
+the passion of Venters and what had made Lassiter a gun-man. The desert
+had transformed Shefford. The elements had entered into his muscle and
+bone, into the very fiber of his heart. Sun, wind, sand, cold, storm,
+space, stone, the poison cactus, the racking toil, the terrible
+loneliness--the iron of the desert man, the cruelty of the desert
+savage, the wildness of the mustang, the ferocity of hawk and wolf, the
+bitter struggle of every surviving thing--these were as if they had been
+melted and merged together and now made a dark and passionate stream
+that was his throbbing blood. He realized what he had become and gloried
+in it, yet there, looking on with grave and earnest eyes, was his old
+self, the man of reason, of intellect, of culture, who had been a good
+man despite the failure and shame of his life. And he gave heed to the
+voice of warning, of conscience. Not by revengefully seeking the Mormon
+who had ruined Fay Larkin and blindly dealing a wild justice could he
+help this unfortunate girl. This fierce, newborn strength and passion
+must be tempered by reason, lest he become merely elemental, a man
+answering wholly to primitive impulses. In the darkness of that hour he
+mined deep into his heart, understood himself, trembled at the thing he
+faced, and won his victory. He would go forth from that hour a man. He
+might fight, and perhaps there was death in the balance, but hate would
+never overthrow him.
+
+Then when he looked at future action he felt a strange, unalterable
+purpose to save Fay Larkin. She was very young--seventeen or eighteen,
+she had said--and there could be, there must be some happiness
+before her. It had been his dream to chase a rainbow--it had been his
+determination to find her in the lost Surprise Valley. Well, he had
+found her. It never occurred to him to ask Nas Ta Bega how he had
+discovered that the Sago Lily was Fay Larkin. The wonder was, Shefford
+thought, that he had so long been blind himself. How simply everything
+worked out now! Every thought, every recollection of her was proof. Her
+strange beauty like that of the sweet and rare lily, her low voice that
+showed the habit of silence, her shapely hands with the clasp strong as
+a man's, her lithe form, her swift step, her wonderful agility upon the
+smooth, steep trails, and the wildness of her upon the heights, and
+the haunting, brooding shadow of her eyes when she gazed across the
+canyon--all these fitted so harmoniously the conception of a child
+lost in a beautiful Surprise Valley and growing up in its wildness and
+silence, tutored by the sad love of broken Jane and Lassiter. Yes, to
+save her had been Shefford's dream, and he had loved that dream. He
+had loved the dream and he had loved the child. The secret of her
+hiding-place as revealed by the story told him and his slow growth from
+dream to action--these had strangely given Fay Larkin to him. Then
+had come the bitter knowledge that she was dead. In the light of this
+subsequent revelation how easy to account for his loving Mary, too.
+Never would she be Mary again to him! Fay Larkin and the Sago Lily were
+one and the same. She was here, near him, and he was powerless for the
+present to help her or to reveal himself. She was held back there in
+that gloomy hall among those somber Mormons, alien to the women, bound
+in some fatal way to one of the men, and now, by reason of her weakness
+in the trial, surely to be hated. Thinking of her past and her present,
+of the future, and that secret Mormon 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 canyon and, after the
+excitement had died down, visit them as usual. Nothing, perhaps, would
+ever change these old Mormons but death.
+
+Shefford resolved to remain in Stonebridge and ingratiate himself deeper
+into the regard of the Mormons. He would find work there, if the sealed
+wives were not returned to the hidden village. In case the women went
+back to the valley Shefford meant to resume his old duty of driving
+Withers's pack-trains. Wanting that opportunity, he would find some
+other work, some excuse to take him there. In due time he would reveal
+to Fay Larkin that he knew her. How the thought thrilled him! She might
+deny, might persist in her fear, might fight to keep her secret. But he
+would learn it--hear her story--hear what had become of Jane Withersteen
+and Lassiter--and if they were alive, which now he believed he would
+find them--and he would take them and Fay out of the country.
+
+The duty, the great task, held a grim fascination for him. He had a
+foreboding of the cost; he had a dark realization of the force he meant
+to oppose. There were duty here and pity and unselfish love, but these
+alone did not actuate Shefford. Mystically fate seemed again to come
+like a gleam and bid him follow.
+
+When Shefford and Nas Ta Bega returned to the town hall the trial had
+been ended, the hall was closed, and only a few Indians and cowboys
+remained in the square, and they were about to depart. On the street,
+however, and the paths and in the doorways of stores were knots of
+people, talking earnestly. Shefford walked up and down, hoping to meet
+Withers or Joe Lake. Nas Ta Bega said he would take the horses to water
+and feed and then return.
+
+There were indications that Stonebridge might experience some of the
+excitement and perhaps violence common to towns like Monticello and
+Durango. There was only one saloon in Stonebridge, and it was full
+of roystering cowboys and horse-wranglers. Shefford saw the bunch of
+mustangs, in charge of the same Indian, that belonged to Shadd and
+his gang. The men were inside, drinking. Next door was a tavern called
+Hopewell House, a stone structure of some pretensions. There were
+Indians lounging outside. Shefford entered through a wide door and
+found himself in a large bare room, boarded like a loft, with no
+ceiling except the roof. The place was full of men and noise. Here he
+encountered Joe Lake talking to Bishop Kane and other Mormons. Shefford
+got a friendly greeting from the bishop, and then was well received by
+the strangers, to whom Joe introduced him.
+
+"Have you seen Withers?" asked Shefford.
+
+"Reckon he's around somewhere," replied Joe. "Better hang up here, for
+he'll drop in sooner or later."
+
+"When are you going back to Kayenta?" went on Shefford.
+
+"Hard to say. We'll have to call off our hunt. Nas Ta Bega is here,
+too."
+
+"Yes, I've been with him."
+
+The older Mormons drew aside, and then Joe mentioned the fact that he
+was half starved. Shefford went with him into another clapboard room,
+which was evidently a dining-room. There were half a dozen men at the
+long table. The seat at the end was a box, and scarcely large enough or
+safe enough for Joe and Shefford, but they risked it.
+
+"Saw you in the hall," said Joe. "Hell--wasn't it?"
+
+"Joe, I never knew how much I dared say to you, so I don't talk much.
+But, it was hell," replied Shefford.
+
+"You needn't be so scared of me," spoke up Joe, testily.
+
+That was the first time Shefford had heard the Mormon speak that way.
+
+"I'm not scared, Joe. But I like you--respect you. I can't say so much
+of--of your people."
+
+"Did you stick out the whole mix?" asked Joe.
+
+"No. I had enough when--when they got through with Mary." Shefford spoke
+low and dropped his head. He heard the Mormon grind his teeth. There was
+silence for a little space while neither man looked at the other.
+
+"Reckon the judge was pretty decent," presently said Joe.
+
+"Yes, I thought so. He might have--" But Shefford did not finish that
+sentence. "How'd the thing end?"
+
+"It ended all right."
+
+"Was there no conviction--no sentence?" Shefford felt a curious
+eagerness.
+
+"Naw," he snorted. "That court might have saved its breath."
+
+"I suppose. Well, Joe, between you and me, as old friends now, that
+trial established one fact, even if it couldn't be proved.... Those
+women are sealed wives."
+
+Joe had no reply for that. He looked gloomy, and there was a stern line
+in his lips. To-day he seemed more like a Mormon.
+
+"Judge Stone knew that as well as I knew," went on Shefford. "Any man of
+penetration could have seen it. What an ordeal that was for good women
+to go through! I know they're good. And there they were swearing to--"
+
+"Didn't it make me sick?" interrupted Joe in a kind of growl. "Reckon
+it made Judge Stone sick, too. After Mary went under he conducted that
+trial like a man cuttin' out steers at a round-up. He wanted to get it
+over. He never forced any question.... Bad job to ride down Stonebridge
+way! It's out of creation. There's only six men in the party, with a
+poor lot of horses. Really, government officers or not, they're not
+safe. And they've taken a hunch."
+
+"Have they left already?" inquired Shefford.
+
+"Were packed an hour ago. I didn't see them go, but somebody said they
+went. Took the trail for Bluff, which sure is the only trail they could
+take, unless they wanted to go to Colorado by way of Kayenta. That might
+have been the safest trail."
+
+"Joe, what might happen to them?" asked Shefford, quietly, with eyes on
+the Mormon.
+
+"Aw, you know that rough trail. Bad on horses. Weathered
+slopes--slipping ledges--a rock might fall on you any time. Then Shadd's
+here with his gang. And bad Piutes."
+
+"What became of the women?" Shefford asked, 'presently.
+
+"They're around among friends."
+
+"Where are their children?"
+
+"Left over there with the old women. Couldn't be fetched over. But there
+are some pretty young babies in that bunch--need their mothers."
+
+"I should--think so," replied Shefford, constrainedly. "When will their
+mothers get back to them?"
+
+"To-night, maybe, if this mob of cow-punchers and wranglers get out of
+town.... It's a bad mix, Shefford, here's a hunch on that. These fellows
+will get full of whisky. And trouble might come if they--approach the
+women."
+
+"You mean they might get drunk enough to take the oaths of those poor
+women--take the meaning literally--pretend to believe the women what
+they swore they were?"
+
+"Reckon you've got the hunch," replied Joe, gloomily.
+
+"My God! man, that would be horrible!" exclaimed Shefford.
+
+"Horrible or not, it's liable to happen. The women can be kept here yet
+awhile. Reckon there won't be any trouble here. It'll be over there in
+the valley. Shefford, getting the women over there safe is a job that's
+been put to me. I've got a bunch of fellows already. Can I count on you?
+I'm glad to say you're well thought of. Bishop Kane liked you, and what
+he says goes."
+
+"Yes, Joe, you can count on me," replied Shefford.
+
+They finished their meal then and repaired to the big office-room of
+the house. Several groups of men were there and loud talk was going
+on outside. Shefford saw Withers talking to Bishop Kane and two other
+Mormons, both strangers to Shefford. The trader appeared to be speaking
+with unwonted force, emphasizing his words with energetic movements of
+his hands.
+
+"Reckon something's up," whispered Joe, hoarsely. "It's been in the air
+all day."
+
+Withers must have been watching for Shefford.
+
+"Here's Shefford now," he said to the trio of Mormons, as Joe and
+Shefford reached the group. "I want you to hear him speak for himself."
+
+"What's the matter?" asked Shefford.
+
+"Give me a hunch and I'll put in my say-so," said Joe Lake.
+
+"Shefford, it's the matter of a good name more than a job," replied the
+trader. "A little while back I told the bishop I meant to put you on the
+pack job over to the valley--same as when you first came to me. Well,
+the bishop was pleased and said he might put something in your way.
+Just now I ran in here to find you--not wanted. When I kicked I got the
+straight hunch. Willetts has said things about you. One of them--the one
+that sticks in my craw--was that you'd do anything, even pretend to
+be inclined toward Mormonism, just to be among those Mormon women over
+there. Willetts is your enemy. And he's worse than I thought. Now I want
+you to tell Bishop Kane why this missionary is bitter toward you."
+
+"Gentlemen, I knocked him down," replied Shefford, simply.
+
+"What for?" inquired the bishop, in surprise and curiosity.
+
+Shefford related the incident which had occurred at Red Lake and that
+now seemed again to come forward fatefully.
+
+"You insinuate he had evil intent toward the Indian girl?" queried Kane.
+
+"I insinuate nothing. I merely state what led to my acting as I did."
+
+"Principles of religion, sir?"
+
+"No. A man's principles."
+
+Withers interposed in his blunt way, "Bishop, did you ever see Glen
+Naspa?"
+
+"No."
+
+"She's the prettiest Navajo in the country. Willetts was after her,
+that's all."
+
+"My dear man, I can't believe that of a Christian missionary. We've
+known Willetts for years. He's a man of influence. He has money back of
+him. He's doing a good work. You hint of a love relation."
+
+"No, I don't hint," replied Withers, impatiently. "I know. It's not the
+first time I've known a missionary to do this sort of thing. Nor is it
+the first time for Willetts. Bishop Kane, I live among the Indians. I
+see a lot I never speak of. My work is to trade with the Indians, that's
+all. But I'll not have Willetts or any other damned hypocrite run down
+my friend here. John Shefford is the finest young man that ever came to
+me in the desert. And he's got to be put right before you all or I'll
+not set foot in Stonebridge again.... Willetts was after Glen Naspa.
+Shefford punched him. And later threw him out of the old Indian's hogan
+up on the mountain. That explains Willetts's enmity. He was after the
+girl."
+
+"What's more, gentlemen, he GOT her," added Shefford. "Glen Naspa has
+not been home for six months. I saw her at Blue Canyon.... I would like
+to face this Willetts before you all."
+
+"Easy enough," replied Withers, with a grim chuckle. "He's just
+outside."
+
+The trader went out; Joe Lake followed at his heels and the three
+Mormons were next; Shefford brought up the rear and lingered in the door
+while his eye swept the crowd of men and Indians. His feeling was in
+direct contrast to his movements. He felt the throbbing of fierce anger.
+But it seemed a face came between him and his passion--a sweet and
+tragic face that would have had power to check him in a vastly more
+critical moment than this. And in an instant he had himself in hand,
+and, strangely, suddenly felt the strength that had come to him.
+
+Willetts stood in earnest colloquy with a short, squat Indian--the
+half-breed Shadd. They leaned against a hitching-rail. Other Indians
+were there, and outlaws. It was a mixed group, rough and hard-looking.
+
+"Hey, Willetts!" called the trader, and his loud, ringing voice, not
+pleasant, stilled the movement and sound.
+
+When Willetts turned, Shefford was half-way across the wide walk. The
+missionary not only saw him, but also Nas Ta Bega, who was striding
+forward. Joe Lake was ahead of the trader, the Mormons followed with
+decision, and they all confronted Willetts. He turned pale. Shadd had
+cautiously moved along the rail, nearer to his gang, and then they, with
+the others of the curious crowd, drew closer.
+
+"Willetts, here's Shefford. Now say it to his face!" declared the
+trader. He was angry and evidently wanted the fact known, as well as the
+situation.
+
+Willetts had paled, but he showed boldness. For an instant Shefford
+studied the smooth face, with its sloping lines, the dark, wine-colored
+eyes.
+
+"Willetts, I understand you've maligned me to Bishop Kane and others,"
+began Shefford, curtly.
+
+"I called you an atheist," returned the missionary, harshly.
+
+"Yes, and more than that. And I told these men WHY you vented your spite
+on me."
+
+Willetts uttered a half-laugh, an uneasy, contemptuous expression of
+scorn and repudiation.
+
+"The charges of such a man as you are can't hurt me," he said.
+
+The man did not show fear so much as disgust at the meeting. He seemed
+to be absorbed in thought, yet no serious consideration of the situation
+made itself manifest. Shefford felt puzzled. Perhaps there was no fire
+to strike from this man. The desert had certainly not made him flint. He
+had not toiled or suffered or fought.
+
+"But _I_ can hurt you," thundered Shefford, with startling suddenness.
+"Here! Look at this Indian! Do you know him? Glen Naspa's brother. Look
+at him. Let us see you face him while I accuse you.... You made love to
+Glen Naspa--took her from her home!"
+
+"Harping infidel!" replied Willetts, hoarsely. "So that's your game.
+Well, Glen Naspa came to my school of her own accord and she will say
+so."
+
+"Why will she? Because you blinded the simple Indian girl.... Willetts,
+I'll waste little more time on you."
+
+And swift and light as a panther Shefford leaped upon the man and,
+fastening powerful hands round the thick neck, bore him to his knees
+and bent back his head over the rail. There was a convulsive struggle,
+a hard flinging of arms, a straining wrestle, and then Willetts was in a
+dreadful position. Shefford held him in iron grasp.
+
+"You damned, white-livered hypocrite--I'm liable to kill you!" cried
+Shefford. "I watched you and Glen Naspa that day up on the mountain.
+I saw you embrace her. I saw that she loved you. Tell THAT, you liar!
+That'll be enough."
+
+The face of the missionary turned purple as Shefford forced his head
+back over the rail.
+
+"I'll kill you, man," repeated Shefford, piercingly. "Do you want to go
+to your God unprepared? Say you made love to Glen Naspa--tell that you
+persuaded her to leave her home. Quick!"
+
+Willetts raised a shaking hand and then Shefford relaxed the paralyzing
+grip and let his head come forward. The half-strangled man gasped out a
+few incoherent words that his livid, guilty face made unnecessary.
+
+Shefford gave him a shove and he fell into the dust at the feet of the
+Navajo.
+
+"Gentlemen, I leave him to Nas Ta Bega," said Shefford, with a strange
+change from passion to calmness.
+
+Late that night, when the roystering visitors had gone or were deep
+in drunken slumber, a melancholy and strange procession filed out of
+Stonebridge. Joe Lake and his armed comrades were escorting the Mormon
+women back to the hidden valley. They were mounted on burros and
+mustangs, and in all that dark and somber line there was only one figure
+which shone white under the pale moon.
+
+At the starting, until that white-clad figure had appeared, Shefford's
+heart had seemed to be in his throat; and thereafter its beat was
+muffled and painful in his breast. Yet there was some sad sweetness in
+the knowledge that he could see her now, be near her, watch over her.
+
+By and by the overcast clouds drifted and the moon shone bright. The
+night was still; the great dark mountain loomed to the stars; the
+numberless waves of rounded rock that must be crossed and circled lay
+deep in shadow. There was only a steady pattering of light hoofs.
+
+Shefford's place was near the end of the line, and he kept well back,
+riding close to one woman and then another. No word was spoken. These
+sealed wives rode where their mounts were led or driven, as blind in
+their hoods as veiled Arab women in palanquins. And their heads drooped
+wearily and their shoulders bent, as if under a burden. It took an hour
+of steady riding to reach the ascent to the plateau, and here, with the
+beginning of rough and smooth and shadowed trail, the work of the escort
+began. The line lengthened out and each man kept to the several women
+assigned to him. Shefford had three, and one of them was the girl he
+loved. She rode as if the world and time and life were naught to her.
+As soon as he dared trust his voice and his control he meant to let her
+know the man whom perhaps she had not forgotten was there with her, a
+friend. Six months! It had been a lifetime to him. Surely eternity to
+her! Had she forgotten? He felt like a coward who had basely deserted
+her. Oh--had he only known!
+
+She rode a burro that was slow, continually blocking the passage for
+those behind, and eventually it became lame. Thus the other women forged
+ahead. Shefford dismounted and stopped her burro. It was a moment before
+she noted the halt, and twice in that time Shefford tried to speak and
+failed. What poignant pain, regret, love made his utterance fail!
+
+"Ride my horse," he finally said, and his voice was not like his own.
+
+Obediently and wearily she dismounted from the burro and got up on
+Nack-yal. The stirrups were long for her and he had to change them. His
+fingers were all thumbs as he fumbled with the buckles.
+
+Suddenly he became aware that there had been a subtle change in her. He
+knew it without looking up and he seemed to be unable to go on with his
+task. If his life had depended upon keeping his head lowered he could
+not have done it. The listlessness of her drooping form was no longer
+manifest. The peak of the dark hood pointed toward him. He knew then
+that she was gazing at him.
+
+Never so long as he lived would that moment be forgotten! They were
+alone. The others had gotten so far ahead that no sound came back. The
+stillness was so deep it could be felt. The moon shone with white, cold
+radiance and the shining slopes of smooth stone waved away, crossed by
+shadows of pinyons.
+
+Then she leaned a little toward him. One swift hand flew up to tear the
+black hood back so that she could see. In its place flashed her white
+face. And her eyes were like the night.
+
+"YOU!" she whispered.
+
+His blood came leaping to sting neck and cheek and temple. What dared
+he interpret from that single word? Could any other word have meant so
+much?
+
+"No--one--else," he replied, unsteadily.
+
+Her white hand flashed again to him, and he met it with his own. He
+felt himself standing cold and motionless in the moonlight. He saw her,
+wonderful, with the deep, shadowy eyes, and a silver sheen on her hair.
+And as he looked she released her hand and lifted it, with the other,
+to her hood. He saw the shiny hair darken and disappear--and then the
+lovely face with its sad eyes and tragic lips.
+
+He drew Nack-yal's bridle forward, and led him up the moonlit trail.
+
+
+
+
+XII. THE REVELATION
+
+
+The following afternoon cowboys and horse-wranglers, keen-eyed as
+Indians for tracks and trails, began to arrive in the quiet valley to
+which the Mormon women had been returned.
+
+Under every cedar clump there were hobbled horses, packs, and rolled
+bedding in tarpaulins. Shefford and Joe Lake had pitched camp in the old
+site near the spring. The other men of Joe's escort went to the homes of
+the women; and that afternoon, as the curious visitors began to arrive,
+these homes became barred and dark and quiet, as if they had been closed
+and deserted for the winter. Not a woman showed herself.
+
+Shefford and Joe, by reason of the location of their camp and their
+alertness, met all the new-comers. The ride from Stonebridge was a long
+and hard one, calculated to wear off the effects of the whisky
+imbibed by the adventure-seekers. This fact alone saved the situation.
+Nevertheless, Joe expected trouble. Most of the visitors were decent,
+good-natured fellows, merely curious, and simple enough to believe that
+this really was what the Mormons had claimed--a village of free women.
+But there were those among them who were coarse, evil-minded, and
+dangerous.
+
+By supper-time there were two dozen or more of these men in the valley,
+camped along the west wall. Fires were lighted, smoke curled up over the
+cedars, gay songs disturbed the usual serenity of the place. Later in
+the early twilight the curious visitors, by twos and threes, walked
+about the village, peering at the dark cabins and jesting among
+themselves. Joe had informed Shefford that all the women had been put in
+a limited number of cabins, so that they could be protected. So far as
+Shefford saw or heard there was no unpleasant incident in the village;
+however, as the sauntering visitors returned toward their camps they
+loitered at the spring, and here developments threatened.
+
+In spite of the fact that the majority of these cowboys and their
+comrades were decent-minded and beginning to see the real relation
+of things, they were not disposed to be civil to Shefford. They were
+certainly not Mormons. And his position, apparently as a Gentile, among
+these Mormons was one open to criticism. They might have been jealous,
+too; at any rate, remarks were passed in his hearing, meant for his
+ears, that made it exceedingly trying for him not to resent. Moreover,
+Joe Lake's increasing impatience rendered the situation more difficult.
+Shefford welcomed the arrival of Nas Ta Bega. The Indian listened to the
+loud talk of several loungers round the camp-fire; and thereafter he was
+like Shefford's shadow, silent, somber, watchful.
+
+Nevertheless, it did not happen to be one of the friendly and sarcastic
+cowboys that precipitated the crisis. A horse-wrangler named Hurley, a
+man of bad repute, as much outlaw as anything, took up the bantering.
+
+"Say, Shefford, what in the hell's your job here, anyway?" he queried
+as he kicked a cedar branch into the camp-fire. The brightening blaze
+showed him swarthy, unshaven, a large-featured, ugly man.
+
+"I've been doing odd jobs for Withers," replied Shefford. "Expect to
+drive pack-trains in here for a while."
+
+"You must stand strong with these Mormons. Must be a Mormon yerself?"
+
+"No," replied Shefford, briefly.
+
+"Wal, I'm stuck on your job. Do you need a packer? I can throw a
+diamond-hitch better 'n any feller in this country."
+
+"I don't need help."
+
+"Mebbe you'll take me over to see the ladies," he went on, with a coarse
+laugh.
+
+Shefford did not show that he had heard. Hurley waited, leering as
+looked from the keen listeners to Shefford.
+
+"Want to have them all yerself, eh?" he jeered.
+
+Shefford struck him--sent him tumbling heavily, like a log. Hurley,
+cursing as he half rose, jerked his gun out. Nas Ta Bega, swift as
+light, kicked the gun out of his hand. And Joe Lake picked it up.
+
+Deliberately the Mormon cocked the weapon and stood over Hurley.
+
+"Get up!" he ordered, and Shefford heard the ruthless Mormon in him
+then.
+
+Hurley rose slowly. Then Joe prodded him in the middle with the cocked
+gun. Shefford startled, expected the gun to go off. So did the others,
+especially Hurley, who shrank in panic from the dark Mormon.
+
+"Rustle!" said Joe, and gave the man a harder prod. Assuredly the gun
+did not have a hair-trigger.
+
+"Joe, mebbe it's loaded!" protested one of the cowboys.
+
+Hurley shrank back, and turned to hurry away, with Joe close after him.
+They disappeared in the darkness. A constrained silence was maintained
+around the camp-fire for a while. Presently some of the men walked off
+and others began to converse. Everybody heard the sound of hoofs passing
+down the trail. The patter ceased, and in a few moments Lake returned.
+He still carried Hurley's gun.
+
+The crowd dispersed then. There was no indication of further trouble.
+However, Shefford and Joe and Nas Ta Bega divided the night in watches,
+so that some one would be wide awake.
+
+Early next morning there was an exodus from the village of the better
+element among the visitors. "No fun hangin' round hyar," one of them
+expressed it, and as good-naturedly as they had come they rode away. Six
+or seven of the desperado class remained behind, bent on mischief; and
+they were reinforced by more arrivals from Stonebridge. They avoided the
+camp by the spring, and when Shefford and Lake attempted to go to them
+they gave them a wide berth. This caused Joe to assert that they were
+up to some dirty work. All morning they lounged around under the cedars,
+keeping out of sight, and evidently the reinforcement from Stonebridge
+had brought liquor. When they gathered together at their camp, half
+drunk, all noisy, some wanting to swagger off into the village and
+others trying to hold them back, Joe Lake said, grimly, that somebody
+was going to get shot. Indeed, Shefford saw that there was every
+likelihood of bloodshed.
+
+"Reckon we'd better take to one of the cabins," said Joe.
+
+Thereupon the three repaired to the nearest cabin, and, entering, kept
+watch from the windows. During a couple of hours, however, they did not
+see or hear anything of the ruffians. Then came a shot from over in
+the village, a single yell, and, after that, a scattering volley. The
+silence and suspense which followed were finally broken by hoof-beats.
+Nas Ta Bega called Joe and Shefford to the window he had been stationed
+at. From here they saw the unwelcome visitors ride down the trail, to
+disappear in the cedars toward the outlet of the valley. Joe, who had
+numbered them, said that all but one of them had gone.
+
+"Reckon he got it," added Joe.
+
+So indeed it turned out; one of the men, a well-known rustler named
+Harker, had been killed, by whom no one seemed to know. He had brazenly
+tried to force his way into one of the houses, and the act had cost him
+his life. Naturally Shefford, never free from his civilized habit of
+thought, remarked apprehensively that he hoped this affair would not
+cause the poor women to be arrested again and haled before some rude
+court.
+
+"Law!" grunted Joe. "There ain't any. The nearest sheriff is in Durango.
+That's Colorado. And he'd give us a medal for killing Harker. It was a
+good job, for it'll teach these rowdies a lesson."
+
+Next day the old order of life was resumed in the village. And the
+arrival of a heavily laden pack-train, under the guidance of Withers,
+attested to the fact that the Mormons meant not only to continue to live
+in the valley, but also to build and plant and enlarge. This was good
+news to Shefford. At least the village could be made less lonely.
+And there was plenty of work to give him excuse for staying there.
+Furthermore, Withers brought a message form Bishop Kane to the effect
+that the young man was offered a place as teacher in the school, in
+co-operation with the Mormon teachers. Shefford experienced no twinge of
+conscience when he accepted.
+
+It was the fourth evening after the never-to-be-forgotten moonlight ride
+to the valley that Shefford passed under the dark pinyon-trees on his
+way to Fay Larkin's cottage. He paused in the gloom and memory beset
+him. The six months were annihilated, and it was the night he had fled.
+But now all was silent. He seemed to be trying to drag himself back.
+A beginning must be made. Only how to meet her--what to say--what to
+conceal!
+
+He tapped on the door and she came out. After all, it was a meeting
+vastly different from what his feeling made him imagine it might have
+been. She was nervous, frightened, as were all the other women, for
+that matter. She was alone in the cottage. He made haste to reassure her
+about the improbability of any further trouble such as had befallen
+the last week. As he had always done on those former visits to her,
+he talked rapidly, using all his wit, and here his emotion made him
+eloquent; he avoided personalities, except to tell about his prospects
+of work in the village, and he sought above all to lead her mind from
+thought of herself and her condition. Before he left her he had the
+gladness of knowing he had succeeded.
+
+When he said good night he felt the strange falsity of his position. He
+did not expect to be able to keep up the deception for long. That roused
+him, and half the night he lay awake, thinking. Next day he was the life
+of the work and study and play in that village. Kindness and good-will
+did not need inspiration, but it was keen, deep passion that made him a
+plotter for influence and friendship. Was there a woman in the village
+whom he might trust, in case he needed one? And his instinct guided him
+to her whom he had liked well--Ruth. Ruth Jones she had called herself
+at the trial, and when Shefford used the name she laughed mockingly.
+Ruth was not very religious, and sometimes she was bitter and hard.
+She wanted life, and here she was a prisoner in a lonely valley. She
+welcomed Shefford's visits. He imagined that she had slightly changed,
+and whether it was the added six months with its trouble and pain or
+a growing revolt he could not tell. After a time he divined that the
+inevitable retrogression had set in: she had not enough faith to uphold
+the burden she had accepted, nor the courage to cast it off. She was
+ready to love him. That did not frighten Shefford, and if she did love
+him he was not so sure it would not be an anchor for her. He saw her
+danger, and then he became what he had never really been in all the days
+of his ministry--the real helper. Unselfishly, for her sake, he found
+power to influence her; and selfishly, for the sake of Fay Larkin, he
+began slowly to win her to a possible need.
+
+The days passed swiftly. Mormons came and went, though in the open day,
+as laborers; new cabins went up, and a store, and other improvements.
+Some part of every evening Shefford spent with Fay, and these visits
+were no longer unknown to the village. Women gossiped, in a friendly way
+about Shefford, but with jealous tongues about the girl. Joe Lake told
+Shefford the run of the village talk. Anything concerning the Sago Lily
+the droll Mormon took to heart. He had been hard hit, and admitted it.
+Sometimes he went with Shefford to call upon her, but he talked little
+and never remained long. Shefford had anticipated antagonism on the part
+of Joe; however, he did not find it.
+
+Shefford really lived through the busy day for that hour with Fay in the
+twilight. And every evening seemed the same. He would find her in the
+dark, alone, silent, brooding, hopeless. Her mood did not puzzle him,
+but how to keep from plunging her deeper into despair baffled him. He
+exhausted all his powers trying to do for her what he had been able to
+do for Ruth. Yet he failed. Something had blunted her. The shadow of
+that baneful trial hovered over her, and he came to sense a strange
+terror in her. It was mostly always present. Was she thinking of Jane
+Withersteen and Lassiter, left dead or imprisoned in the valley from
+which she had been brought so mysteriously? Shefford wearied his brain
+revolving these questions. The fate of her friends, and the cross she
+bore--of these was tragedy born, but the terror--that Shefford divined
+came of waiting for the visit of the Mormon whose face she had never
+seen. Shefford prayed that he might never meet this man. Finally he grew
+desperate. When he first arrived at the girl's home she would speak, she
+showed gladness, relief, and then straightway she dropped back into the
+shadow of her gloom. When he got up to go then there was a wistfulness,
+an unspoken need, an unconscious reliance, in her reluctant good night.
+
+Then the hour came when he reached his limit. He must begin his
+revelation.
+
+"You never ask me anything--let alone about myself," he said.
+
+"I'd like to hear," she replied, timidly.
+
+"Do I strike you as an unhappy man?"
+
+"No, indeed."
+
+"Well, how DO I strike you?"
+
+This was an entirely new tack he had veered to.
+
+"Very good and kind to us women," she said.
+
+"I don't know about that. If I am so, it doesn't bring me happiness.
+... Do you remember what I told you once, about my being a
+preacher--disgrace, ruin, and all that--and my rainbow-chasing dream out
+here after a--a lost girl?"
+
+"I--remember all--you said," she replied, very low.
+
+"Listen." His voice was a little husky, but behind it there seemed a
+tide of resistless utterance. "Loss of faith and name did not send me to
+this wilderness. But I had love--love for that lost girl, Fay Larkin. I
+dreamed about her till I loved her. I dreamed that I would find her--my
+treasure--at the foot of a rainbow. Dreams!... When you told me she was
+dead I accepted that. There was truth in your voice. I respected your
+reticence. But something died in me then. I lost myself, the best of me,
+the good that might have uplifted me. I went away, down upon the barren
+desert, and there I rode and slept and grew into another and a harder
+man. Yet, strange to say, I never forgot her, though my dreams were
+done. As I toiled and suffered and changed I loved her--if not her,
+the thought of her--more and more. Now I have come back to these walled
+valleys--to the smell of pinyon, to the flowers in the nooks, to the
+wind on the heights, to the silence and loneliness and beauty. And here
+the dreams come back and SHE is WITH me always. Her spirit is all that
+keeps me kind and good, as you say I am. But I suffer, I long for her
+alive. If I love her dead, how could I love her living! Always I torture
+myself with the vain dream that--that she MIGHT not be dead. I have
+never been anything but a dreamer. And here I go about my work by day
+and lie awake at night with that lost girl in my mind.... I love her.
+Does that seem strange to you? But it would not if you understood.
+Think. I had lost faith, hope. I set myself a great work--to find Fay
+Larkin. And by the fire and the iron and the blood that I felt it
+would cost to save her some faith must come to me again.... My work
+is undone--I've never saved her. But listen, how strange it is to
+feel--now--as I let myself go--that just the loving her and the living
+here in the wildness that holds her somewhere have brought me hope
+again. Some faith must come, too. It was through her that I met this
+Indian, Nas Ta Bega. He has saved my life--taught me much. What would I
+ever have learned of the naked and vast earth, of the sublimity of the
+wild uplands, of the storm and night and sun, if I had not followed a
+gleam she inspired? In my hunt for a lost girl perhaps I wandered into
+a place where I shall find a God and my salvation. Do you marvel that I
+love Fay Larkin--that she is not dead to me? Do you marvel that I love
+her, when I KNOW, were she alive, chained in a canyon, or bound, or lost
+in any way, my destiny would lead me to her, and she should be saved?"
+
+Shefford ended, overcome with emotion. In the dusk he could not see the
+girl's face, but the white form that had drooped so listlessly
+seemed now charged by some vitalizing current. He knew he had spoken
+irrationally; still he held it no dishonor to have told her he loved
+her as one dead. If she took that love to the secret heart of living Fay
+Larkin, then perhaps a spirit might light in her darkened soul. He had
+no thought yet that Fay Larkin might ever belong to him. He divined a
+crime--he had seen her agony. And this avowal of his was only one step
+toward her deliverance.
+
+Softly she rose, retreating into the shadow.
+
+"Forgive me if I--I disturb you, distress you," he said. "I wanted to
+tell you. She was--somehow known to you. I am not happy. And are YOU
+happy?... Let her memory be a bond between us.... Good night."
+
+"Good night."
+
+Faintly as the faintest whisper breathed her reply, and, though it came
+from a child forced into womanhood, it whispered of girlhood not dead,
+of sweet incredulity, of amazed tumult, of a wondering, frantic desire
+to run and hide, of the bewilderment incident to a first hint of love.
+
+Shefford walked away into the darkness. The whisper filled his soul. Had
+a word of love ever been spoken to that girl? Never--not the love which
+had been on his lips. Fay Larkin's lonely life spoke clearly in her
+whisper.
+
+. . . . . . . . . . .
+
+Next morning as the sun gilded the looming peaks and shafts of gold
+slanted into the valley she came swiftly down the path to the spring.
+
+Shefford paused in his task of chopping wood. Joe Lake, on his knees,
+with his big hands in a pan of dough, lifted his head to stare. She
+had left off the somber black hood, and, although that made a vast
+difference in her, still it was not enough to account for what struck
+both men.
+
+"Good morning," she called, brightly.
+
+They both answered, but not spontaneously. She stopped at the spring and
+with one sweep of her strong arm filled the bucket and lifted it. Then
+she started back down the path and, pausing opposite the camp, set the
+bucket down.
+
+"Joe, do you still pride yourself on your sour dough?" she asked.
+
+"Reckon I do," replied Joe, with a grin.
+
+"I've heard your boasts, but never tasted your bread," she went on.
+
+"I'll ask you to eat with us some day."
+
+"Don't forget," she replied.
+
+And then shyly she looked at Shefford. She was like the fresh dawn, and
+the gold of the sun shone on her head.
+
+"Have you chopped all that wood--so early?" she asked.
+
+"Sure," replied Shefford, laughing. "I have to get up early to keep Joe
+from doing all the camp chores."
+
+She smiled, and then to Shefford she seemed to gleam, to be radiant.
+
+"It'd be a lovely morning to climb--'way high."
+
+"Why--yes--it would," replied Shefford, awkwardly. "I wish I didn't have
+my work."
+
+"Joe, will YOU climb with me some day?"
+
+"I should smile I will," declared Joe.
+
+"But I can run right up the walls."
+
+"I reckon. Mary, it wouldn't surprise me to see you fly."
+
+"Do you mean I'm like a canyon swallow or an angel?"
+
+Then, as Joe stared speechlessly, she said good-by and, taking up the
+bucket, went on with her swift, graceful step.
+
+"She's perked up," said the Mormon, staring after her. "Never heard her
+say more 'n yes or no till now."
+
+"She did seem--bright," replied Shefford.
+
+He was stunned. What had happened to her? To-day this girl had not been
+Mary, the sealed wife, or the Sago Lily, alien among Mormon women. Then
+it flashed upon him--she was Fay Larkin. She who had regarded herself
+as dead had come back to life. In one short night what had transformed
+her--what had taken place in her heart? Shefford dared not accept, nor
+allow lodgment in his mind, a thrilling idea that he had made her forget
+her misery.
+
+"Shefford, did you ever see her like that?" asked Joe.
+
+"Never."
+
+"Haven't you--something to do with it?"
+
+"Maybe I have. I--I hope so."
+
+"Reckon you've seen how she's faded--since the trial?"
+
+"No," replied Shefford, swiftly. "But I've not seen her face in daylight
+since then."
+
+"Well, take my hunch," said Joe, soberly. "She's begun to fade like the
+canyon lily when it's broken. And she's going to die unless--"
+
+"Why man!" ejaculated Shefford. "Didn't you see--"
+
+"Sure I see," interrupted the Mormon. "I see a lot you don't. She's so
+white you can look through her. She's grown thin, all in a week. She
+doesn't eat. Oh, I know, because I've made it my business to find out.
+It's no news to the women. But they'd like to see her die. And she will
+die unless--"
+
+"My God!" exclaimed Shefford, huskily. "I never noticed--I never
+thought.... Joe, hasn't she any friends?"
+
+"Sure. You and Ruth--and me. Maybe Nas Ta Bega, too. He watches her a
+good deal."
+
+"We can do so little, when she needs so much."
+
+"Nobody can help her, unless it's you," went on the Mormon. "That's
+plain talk. She seemed different this morning. Why, she was alive--she
+talked--she smiled.... Shefford, if you cheer her up I'll go to hell for
+you!"
+
+The big Mormon, on his knees, with his hands in a pan of dough, and his
+shirt all covered with flour, presented an incongruous figure of a man
+actuated by pathos and passion. Yet the contrast made his emotion all
+the simpler and stronger. Shefford grew closer to Joe in that moment.
+
+"Why do you think _I_ can cheer her, help her?" queried Shefford.
+
+"I don't know. But she's different with you. It's not that you're a
+Gentile, though, for all the women are crazy about you. You talk to her.
+You have power over her, Shefford. I feel that. She's only a kid."
+
+"Who is she, Joe? Where did she come from?" asked Shefford, very low,
+with his eyes cast down.
+
+"I don't know. I can't find out. Nobody knows. It's a mystery--to all
+the younger Mormons, anyway."
+
+Shefford burned to ask questions about the Mormon whose sealed wife the
+girl was, but he respected Joe too much to take advantage of him in a
+poignant moment like this. Besides, it was only jealousy that made him
+burn to know the Mormon's identity, and jealousy had become a creeping,
+insidious, growing fire. He would be wise not to add fuel to it. He
+rejected many things before he thought of one that he could voice to his
+friend.
+
+"Joe, it's only her body that belongs to--to.... Her soul is lost to--"
+
+"John Shefford, let that go. My mind's tired. I've been taught so and
+so, and I'm not bright.... But, after all, men are much alike. The thing
+with you and me is this--we don't want to see HER grave!"
+
+Love spoke there. The Mormon had seized upon the single elemental point
+that concerned him and his friend in their relation to this unfortunate
+girl. His simple, powerful statement united them; it gave the lie to his
+hint of denseness; it stripped the truth naked. It was such a wonderful
+thought-provoking statement that Shefford needed time to ponder how
+deep the Mormon was. To what limit would he go? Did he mean that here,
+between two men who loved the same girl, class, duty, honor, creed were
+nothing if they stood in the way of her deliverance and her life?
+
+"Joe Lake, you Mormons are impossible," said Shefford, deliberately.
+"You don't want to see her grave. So long as she lives--remains on the
+earth--white and gold like the flower you call her, that's enough for
+you. It's her body you think of. And that's the great and horrible error
+in your religion.... But death of the soul is infinitely worse than
+death of the body. I have been thinking of her soul.... So here we
+stand, you and I. You to save her life--I to save her soul! What will
+you do?"
+
+"Why, John, I'd turn Gentile," he said, with terrible softness. It was
+a softness that scorned Shefford for asking, and likewise it flung
+defiance at his creed and into the face of hell.
+
+Shefford felt the sting and the exaltation.
+
+"And I'd be a Mormon," he said.
+
+"All right. We understand each other. Reckon there won't be any call for
+such extremes. I haven't an idea what you mean--what can be done. But I
+say, go slow, so we won't all find graves. First cheer her up somehow.
+Make her want to live. But go slow, John. AND DON'T BE WITH HER LATE!"
+
+. . . . . . . . . . .
+
+That night Shefford found her waiting for him in the moonlight--a girl
+who was as transparent as crystal-clear water, who had left off the
+somber gloom with the black hood, who tremulously embraced happiness
+without knowing it, who was one moment timid and wild like a
+half-frightened fawn, and the next, exquisitely half-conscious of
+what it meant to be thought dead, but to be alive, to be awakening,
+wondering, palpitating, and to be loved.
+
+Shefford lived the hour as a dream and went back to the quiet darkness
+under the cedars to lie wide-eyed, trying to recall all that she had
+said. For she had talked as if utterance had long been dammed behind a
+barrier of silence.
+
+There followed other hours like that one, indescribable hours, so sweet
+they stung, and in which, keeping pace with his love, was the nobler
+stride of a spirit that more every day lightened her burden.
+
+The thing he had to do, sooner or later, was to tell her he knew she was
+Fay Larkin, not dead, but alive, and that, not love nor religion, but
+sacrifice, nailed her down to her martyrdom. Many and many a time he
+had tried to force himself to tell her, only to fail. He hated to risk
+ending this sweet, strange, thoughtless, girlish mood of hers. It might
+not be soon won back--perhaps never. How could he tell what chains bound
+her? And so as he vacillated between Joe's cautious advice to go slow
+and his own pity the days and weeks slipped by.
+
+One haunting fear kept him sleepless half the nights and sick even in
+his dreams, and it was that the Mormon whose sealed wife she was might
+come, surely would come, some night. Shefford could bear it. But what
+would that visit do to Fay Larkin? Shefford instinctively feared the
+awakening in the girl of womanhood, of deeper insight, of a spiritual
+realization of what she was, of a physical dawn.
+
+He might have spared himself needless torture. One day Joe Lake eyed him
+with penetrating glance.
+
+"Reckon you don't have to sleep right on that Stonebridge trail," said
+the Mormon, significantly.
+
+Shefford felt the blood burn his neck and face. He had pulled his
+tarpaulin closer to the trail, and his motive was as an open page to the
+keen Mormon.
+
+"Why?" asked Shefford.
+
+"There won't be any Mormons riding in here soon--by night--to visit
+the women," replied Joe, bluntly. "Haven't you figured there might be
+government spies watching the trails?"
+
+"No, I haven't."
+
+"Well, take a hunch, then," added the Mormon, gruffly, and Shefford
+divined, as well as if he had been told, that warning word had gone to
+Stonebridge. Gone despite the fact that Nas Ta Bega had reported
+every trail free of watchers! There was no sign of any spies, cowboys,
+outlaws, or Indians in the vicinity of the valley. A passionate
+gratitude to the Mormon overcame Shefford; and the unreasonableness of
+it, the nature of it, perturbed him greatly. But, something hammered
+into his brain, if he loved one of these sealed wives, how could he help
+being jealous?
+
+The result of Joe's hint was that Shefford put off the hour of
+revelation, lived in his dream, helped the girl grow farther and farther
+away from her trouble, until that inevitable hour arrived when he was
+driven by accumulated emotion as much as the exigency of the case.
+
+He had not often walked with her beyond the dark shade of the pinyons
+round the cottage, but this night, when he knew he must tell her, he led
+her away down the path, through the cedar grove to the west end of the
+valley where it was wild and lonely and sad and silent.
+
+The moon was full and the great peaks were crowned as with snow. A
+coyote uttered his cutting cry. There were a few melancholy notes from
+a night bird of the stone walls. The air was clear and cold, with a
+tang of frost in it. Shefford gazed about him at the vast, uplifted,
+insulating walls, and that feeling of his which was more than a sense
+told him how walls like these and the silence and shadow and mystery had
+been nearly all of Fay Larkin's life. He felt them all in her.
+
+He stopped out in the open, near the line where dark shadow of the wall
+met the silver moonlight on the grass, and here, by a huge flat stone
+where he had come often alone and sometimes with Ruth, he faced Fay
+Larkin in the spirit to tell her gently that he knew her, and sternly to
+force her secret from her.
+
+"Am I your friend?" he began.
+
+"Ah!--my only friend," she said.
+
+"Do you trust me, believe I mean well by you, want to help you?"
+
+"Yes, indeed."
+
+"Well, then, let me speak of you. You know one topic we've never touched
+upon. You!"
+
+She was silent, and looked wonderingly, a little fearfully, at him, as
+if vague, disturbing thoughts were entering the fringe of her mind.
+
+"Our friendship is a strange one, is it not?" he went on.
+
+"How do I know? I never had any other friendship. What do you mean by
+strange?"
+
+"Well, I'm a young man. You're a--a married woman. We are together a
+good deal--and like to be."
+
+"Why is that strange?" she asked.
+
+Suddenly Shefford realized that there was nothing strange in what was
+natural. A remnant of sophistication clung to him and that had spoken.
+He needed to speak to her in a way which in her simplicity she would
+understand.
+
+"Never mind strange. Say that I am interested in you, and, as you're not
+happy, I want to help you. And say that your neighbors are curious and
+oppose my idea. Why do they?"
+
+"They're jealous and want you themselves," she replied, with sweet
+directness. "They've said things I don't understand. But I felt
+they--they hated in me what would be all right in themselves."
+
+Here to simplicity she added truth and wisdom, as an Indian might have
+expressed them. But shame was unknown to her, and she had as yet only
+vague perceptions of love and passion. Shefford began to realize the
+quickness of her mind, that she was indeed awakening.
+
+"They are jealous--were jealous before I ever came here. That's only
+human nature. I was trying to get to a point. Your neighbors are
+curious. They oppose me. They hate you. It's all bound up in the--the
+fact of your difference from them, your youth, beauty, that you're not
+a Mormon, that you nearly betrayed their secret at the trial in
+Stonebridge."
+
+"Please--please don't--speak of that!" she faltered.
+
+"But I must," he replied, swiftly. "That trial was a torture to you. It
+revealed so much to me.... I know you are a sealed wife. I know there
+has been a crime. I know you've sacrificed yourself. I know that love
+and religion have nothing to do with--what you are.... Now, is not all
+that true?"
+
+"I must not tell," she whispered.
+
+"But I shall MAKE you tell," he replied, and his voice rang.
+
+"Oh no, you cannot," she said.
+
+"I can--with just one word!"
+
+Her eyes were great, starry, shadowy gulfs, dark in the white beauty of
+her face. She was calm now. She had strength. She invited him to speak
+the word, and the wistful, tremulous quiver of her lips was for his
+earnest thought of her.
+
+"Wait--a--little," said Shefford, unsteadily. "I'll come to that
+presently. Tell me this--have you ever thought of being free?"
+
+"Free!" she echoed, and there was singular depth and richness in her
+voice. That was the first spark of fire he had struck from her. "Long
+ago, the minute I was unwatched, I'd have leaped from a wall had I
+dared. Oh, I wasn't afraid. I'd love to die that way. But I never
+dared."
+
+"Why?" queried Shefford, piercingly.
+
+She was silent then.
+
+"Suppose I offered to give you freedom that meant life?"
+
+"I--couldn't--take it."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Oh, my friend, don't ask me any more."
+
+"I know, I can see--you want to tell me--you need to tell."
+
+"But I daren't."
+
+"Won't you trust me?"
+
+"I do--I do."
+
+"Then tell me."
+
+"No--no--oh no!"
+
+The moment had come. How sad, tragic, yet glorious for him! It would be
+like a magic touch upon this lovely, cold, white ghost of Fay Larkin,
+transforming her into a living, breathing girl. He held his love as a
+thing aloof, and, as such, intangible because of the living death she
+believed she lived, it had no warmth and intimacy for them. What might
+it not become with a lightning flash of revelation? He dreaded, yet he
+was driven to speak. He waited, swallowing hard, fighting the tumultuous
+storm of emotion, and his eyes dimmed.
+
+"What did I come to this country for?" he asked, suddenly, in ringing,
+powerful voice.
+
+"To find a girl," she whispered.
+
+"I've found her!"
+
+She began to shake. He saw a white hand go to her breast.
+
+"Where is Surprise Valley?... How were you taken from Jane Withersteen
+and Lassiter?... I know they're alive. But where?"
+
+She seemed to turn to stone.
+
+"Fay!--FAY LARKIN!... I KNOW YOU!" he cried, brokenly.
+
+She slipped off the stone to her knees, swayed forward blindly with her
+hands reaching out, her head falling back to let the moon fall full upon
+the beautiful, snow-white, tragically convulsed face.
+
+
+
+
+XIII. THE STORY OF SURPRISE VALLEY
+
+
+"... Oh, I remember so well! Even now I dream of it sometimes. I hear
+the roll and crash of falling rock--like thunder.... We rode and rode.
+Then the horses fell. Uncle Jim took me in his arms and started up the
+cliff. Mother Jane climbed close after us. They kept looking back. Down
+there in the gray valley 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 canyon and wound in and out. Then
+there was the narrow white trail, straight up, with the little cut
+steps and the great, red, ruined walls. I looked down over Uncle Jim's
+shoulder. I saw Mother Jane dragging herself up. Uncle Jim's blood
+spotted the trail. He reached a flat place at the top and fell with me.
+Mother Jane crawled up to us.
+
+"Then she cried out and pointed. Tull was 'way below, climbing the
+trail. His men came behind him. Uncle Jim went to a great, tall rock and
+leaned against it. There was a bloody hole in his hand. He pushed
+the rock. It rolled down, banging the loose walls. They crashed and
+crashed--then all was terrible thunder and red smoke. I couldn't hear--I
+couldn't see.
+
+"Uncle Jim carried me down and down out of the dark and dust into a
+beautiful valley all red and gold, with a wonderful arch of stone over
+the entrance.
+
+"I don't remember well what happened then for what seemed a long, long
+time. I can feel how the place looked, but not so clear as it is now
+in my dreams. I seem to see myself with the dogs, and with Mother Jane,
+learning my letters, marking with red stone on the walls.
+
+"But I remember now how I felt when I first understood we were shut in
+for ever. Shut in Surprise Valley where Venters had lived so long. I
+was glad. The Mormons would never get me. I was seven or eight years old
+then. From that time all is clear in my mind.
+
+"Venters had left supplies and tools and grain and cattle and burros, so
+we had a good start to begin life there. He had killed off the wildcats
+and kept the coyotes out, so the rabbits and quail multiplied till there
+were thousands of them. We raised corn and fruit, and stored what we
+didn't use. Mother Jane taught me to read and write with the soft red
+stone that marked well on the walls.
+
+"The years passed. We kept track of time pretty well. Uncle Jim's hair
+turned white and Mother Jane grew gray. Every day was like the one
+before. Mother Jane cried sometimes and Uncle Jim was sad because they
+could never be able to get me out of the valley. It was long before they
+stopped looking and listening for some one. Venters would come back,
+Uncle Jim always said. But Mother Jane did not think so.
+
+"I loved Surprise Valley. I wanted to stay there always. I remembered
+Cottonwoods, how the children there hated me, and I didn't want to go
+back. The only unhappy times I ever had in the valley were when Ring and
+Whitie, my dogs, grew old and died. I roamed the valley. I climbed to
+every nook upon the mossy ledges. I learned to run up the steep cliffs.
+I could almost stick on the straight walls. Mother Jane called me a wild
+girl. We had put away the clothes we wore when we got there, to save
+them, and we made clothes of skins. I always laughed when I thought of
+my little dress--how I grew out of it. I think Uncle Jim and Mother Jane
+talked less as the years went by. And after I'd learned all she could
+teach me we didn't talk much. I used to scream into the caves just to
+hear my voice, and the echoes would frighten me.
+
+"The older I grew the more I was alone. I was always running round the
+valley. I would climb to a high place and sit there for hours,
+doing nothing. I just watched and listened. I used to stay in the
+cliff-dwellers' caves and wonder about them. I loved to be out in the
+wind. And my happiest time was in the summer storms with the thunder
+echoes under the walls. At evening it was such a quiet place--after
+the night bird's cry, no sound. The quiet made me sad but I loved it. I
+loved to watch the stars as I lay awake.
+
+"So it was beautiful and happy for me there till--till...
+
+"Two years or more ago there was a bad storm, and one of the great walls
+caved. The walls were always weathering, slipping. Many and many a time
+have I heard the rumble of an avalanche, but most of them were in other
+canyon. This slide in the valley made it possible, Uncle Jim said,
+for men to get down into the valley. But we could not climb out unless
+helped from above. Uncle Jim never rested well after that. But it never
+worried me.
+
+"One day, over a year ago, while I was across the valley, I heard
+strange shouts, and then screams. I ran to our camp. I came upon men
+with ropes and guns. Uncle Jim was tied, and a rope was round his neck.
+Mother Jane was lying on the ground. I thought she was dead until I
+heard her moan. I was not afraid. I screamed and flew at Uncle Jim to
+tear the ropes off him. The men held me back. They called me a pretty
+cat. Then they talked together, and some were for hanging Lassiter--that
+was the first time I ever knew any name for him but Uncle Jim--and some
+were for leaving him in the valley. Finally they decided to hang him.
+But Mother Jane pleaded so and I screamed and fought so that they left
+off. Then they went away and we saw them climb out of the valley.
+
+"Uncle Jim said they were Mormons, and some among them had been born in
+Cottonwoods. I was not told why they had such a terrible hate for him.
+He said they would come back and kill him. Uncle Jim had no guns to
+fight with.
+
+"We watched and watched. In five days they did come back, with more men,
+and some of them wore black masks. They came to our cave with ropes and
+guns. One was tall. He had a cruel voice. The others ran to obey him. I
+could see white hair and sharp eyes behind the mask. The men caught me
+and brought me before him.
+
+"He said Lassiter had killed many Mormons. He said Lassiter had killed
+his father and should be hanged. But Lassiter would be let live and
+Mother Jane could stay with him, both prisoners there in the valley, if
+I would marry the Mormon. I must marry him, accept the Mormon faith, and
+bring up my children as Mormons. If I refused they would hang Lassiter,
+leave the heretic Jane Withersteen alone in the valley, and take me and
+break me to their rule.
+
+"I agreed. But Mother Jane absolutely forbade me to marry him. Then the
+Mormons took me away. It nearly killed me to leave Uncle Jim and Mother
+Jane. I was carried and lifted out of the valley, and rode a long way
+on a horse. They brought me here, to the cabin where I live, and I have
+never been away except that--that time--to--Stonebridge. Only little by
+little did I learn my position. Bishop Kane was kind, but stern, because
+I could not be quick to learn the faith.
+
+"I am not a sealed wife. But they're trying to make me one. The master
+Mormon--he visited me often--at night--till lately. He threatened me. He
+never told me a name--except Saint George. I don't--know him--except his
+voice. I never--saw his face--in the light!"
+
+. . . . . . . . . . .
+
+Fay Larkin ended her story. Toward its close Shefford had grown
+involuntarily restless, and when her last tragic whisper ceased all his
+body seemed shaken with a terrible violence of his joy. He strode to and
+fro in the dark shadow of the stone. The receding blood left him cold,
+with a pricking, sickening sensation over his body, but there seemed
+to be an overwhelming tide accumulating deep in his breast--a tide of
+passion and pain. He dominated the passion, but the ache remained. And
+he returned to the quiet figure on the stone.
+
+"Fay Larkin!" he exclaimed, with a deep breath of relief that the secret
+was disclosed. "So you're not a wife!... You're free! Thank Heaven! But
+I felt it was sacrifice. I knew there had been a crime. For crime it is.
+You child! You can't understand what crime. Oh, almost I wish you and
+Jane and Lassiter had never been found. But that's wrong of me. One year
+of agony--that shall not ruin your life. Fay, I will take you away."
+
+"Where?" she whispered.
+
+"Away from this Mormon country--to the East," he replied, and he spoke
+of what he had known, of travel, of cities, of people, of happiness
+possible for a young girl who had spent all her life hidden between the
+narrow walls of a silent, lonely valley--he spoke swiftly and eloquently
+till he lost his breath.
+
+There was an instant of flashing wonder and joy on her white face, and
+then the radiance paled, the glow died. Her soul was the darker for that
+one strange, leaping glimpse of a glory not for such as she.
+
+"I must stay here," she said, shudderingly.
+
+"Fay!--How strange to SAY Fay aloud to YOU!--Fay, do you know the way to
+Surprise Valley?"
+
+"I don't know where it is, but I could go straight to it," she replied.
+
+"Take me there. Show me your beautiful valley. Let me see where you ran
+and climbed and spent so many lonely years."
+
+"Ah, how I'd love to! But I dare not. And why should you want me to take
+you? We can run and climb here."
+
+"I want to--I mean to save Jane Withersteen and Lassiter," he declared.
+
+She uttered a little cry of pain. "Save them?"
+
+"Yes, save them. Get them out of the valley, take them out of the
+country, far away where they and YOU--"
+
+"But I can't go," she wailed. "I'm afraid. I'm bound. It CAN'T be
+broken. If I dared--if I tried to go they would catch me. They would
+hang Uncle Jim and leave Mother Jane alone there to starve."
+
+"Fay, Lassiter and Jane both will starve--at least they will die there
+if we do not save them. You have been terribly wronged. You're a slave.
+You're not a wife."
+
+"They--said I'll be burned in hell if I don't marry him.... Mother Jane
+never taught me about God. I don't know. But HE--he said God was there.
+I dare not break it."
+
+"Fay, you have been deceived by old men. Let them have their creed. But
+YOU mustn't accept it."
+
+"John, what is God to you?"
+
+"Dear child, I--I am not sure of that myself," he replied, huskily.
+"When all this trouble is behind us, surely I can help you to understand
+and you can help me. The fact that you are alive--that Lassiter and Jane
+are alive--that I shall save you all--that lifts me up. I tell you--Fay
+Larkin will be my salvation."
+
+"Your words trouble me. Oh, I shall be torn one way and another.... But,
+John, I daren't run away. I will not tell you where to find Lassiter and
+Mother Jane."
+
+"I shall find them--I have the Indian. He found you for me. Nas Ta Bega
+will find Surprise Valley."
+
+"Nas Ta Bega!... Oh, I remember. There was an Indian with the Mormons
+who found us. But he was a Piute."
+
+"Nas Ta Bega never told me how he learned about you. That he learned was
+enough. And, Fay, he will find Surprise Valley. He will save Uncle Jim
+and Mother Jane."
+
+Fay's hands clasped Shefford's in strong, trembling pressure; the tears
+streamed down her white cheeks; a tragic and eloquent joy convulsed her
+face.
+
+"Oh, my friend, save them! But I can't go.... Let them keep me! Let him
+kill me!"
+
+"Him! Fay--he shall not harm you," replied Shefford in passionate
+earnestness.
+
+She caught the hand he had struck out with.
+
+"You talk--you look like Uncle Jim when he spoke of the Mormons," she
+said. "Then I used to be afraid of him. He was so different. John, you
+must not do anything about me. Let me be. It's too late. He--and his
+men--they would hang you. And I couldn't bear that. I've enough to bear
+without losing my friend. Say you won't watch and wait--for--for him."
+
+Shefford had to promise her. Like an Indian she gave expression to
+primitive feeling, for it certainly never occurred to her that, whatever
+Shefford might do, he was not the kind of man to wait in hiding for an
+enemy. Fay had faltered through her last speech and was now weak and
+nervous and frightened. Shefford took her back to the cabin.
+
+"Fay, don't be distressed," he said. "I won't do anything right away.
+You can trust me. I won't be rash. I'll consult you before I make a
+move. I haven't any idea what I could do, anyway.... You must bear up.
+Why, it looks as if you're sorry I found you."
+
+"Oh! I'm glad!" she whispered.
+
+"Then if you're glad you mustn't break down this way again. Suppose some
+of the women happened to run into us."
+
+"I won't again. It's only you--you surprised me so. I used to think how
+I'd like you to know--I wasn't really dead. But now--it's different.
+It hurts me here. Yet I'm glad--if my being alive makes you--a little
+happier."
+
+Shefford felt that he had to go then. He could not trust himself any
+further.
+
+"Good night, Fay," he said.
+
+"Good night, John," she whispered. "I promise--to be good to-morrow."
+
+She was crying softly when he left her. Twice he turned to see the dim,
+white, slender form against the gloom of the cabin. Then he went on
+under the pinyons, blindly down the path, with his heart as heavy as
+lead. That night as he rolled in his blanket and stretched wearily he
+felt that he would never be able to sleep. The wind in the cedars made
+him shiver. The great stars seemed relentless, passionless, white eyes,
+mocking his little destiny and his pain. The huge shadow of the mountain
+resembled the shadow of the insurmountable barrier between Fay and him.
+
+. . . . . . . . . . .
+
+Her pitiful, childish promise to be good was in his mind when he went
+to her home on the next night. He wondered how she would be, and he
+realized a desperate need of self-control.
+
+But that night Fay Larkin was a different girl. In the dark, before she
+spoke, he felt a difference that afforded him surprise and relief. He
+greeted her as usual. And then it seemed, though not at all clearly,
+that he was listening to a girl, strangely and unconsciously glad to see
+him, who spoke with deeper note in her voice, who talked where always
+she had listened, whose sadness was there under an eagerness, a subdued
+gaiety as new to her, as sweet as it was bewildering. And he responded
+with emotion, so that the hour passed swiftly, and he found himself back
+in camp, in a kind of dream, unable to remember much of what she had
+said, sure only of this strange sweetness suddenly come to her.
+
+Upon the following night, however, he discovered what had wrought this
+singular change in Fay Larkin. She loved him and she did not know it.
+How passionately sweet and sad and painful was that realization for
+Shefford! The hour spent with her then was only a moment.
+
+He walked under the stars that night and they shed a glorious light upon
+him. He tried to think, to plan, but the sweetness of remembered word or
+look made mental effort almost impossible. He got as far as the thought
+that he would do well to drift, to wait till she learned she loved
+him, and then, perhaps, she could be persuaded to let him take her and
+Lassiter and Jane away together.
+
+And from that night he went at his work and the part he played in the
+village with a zeal and a cunning that left him free to seek Fay when he
+chose.
+
+Sometimes in the afternoon, always for a while in the evening, he was
+with her. They climbed the walls, and sat upon a lonely height to look
+afar; they walked under the stars, and the cedars, and the shadows
+of the great cliffs. She had a beautiful mind. Listening to her, he
+imagined he saw down into beautiful Surprise Valley with all its weird
+shadows, its colored walls and painted caves, its golden shafts of
+morning light and the red haze at sunset; and he felt the silence that
+must have been there, and the singing of the wind in the cliffs, and the
+sweetness and fragrance of the flowers, and the wildness of it all. Love
+had worked a marvelous transformation in this girl who had lived her
+life in a canyon. The burden upon her did not weigh heavily. She could
+not have an unhappy thought. She spoke of the village, of her Mormon
+companions, of daily happenings, of Stonebridge, of many things in a
+matter-of-fact way that showed how little they occupied her mind. She
+even spoke of sealed wives in a kind of dreamy abstraction. Something
+had possession of her, something as strong as the nature which had
+developed her, and in its power she, in her simplicity, was utterly
+unconscious, a watching and feeling girl. A strange, witching, radiant
+beauty lurked in her smile. And Shefford heard her laugh in his dreams.
+
+The weeks slipped by. The black mountain took on a white cap of snow;
+in the early mornings there was ice in the crevices on the heights and
+frost in the valley. In the sheltered canyon where sunshine seemed
+to linger it was warm and pleasant, so that winter did not kill the
+flowers.
+
+Shefford waited so long for Fay's awakening that he believed it would
+never come, and, believing, had not the heart to force it upon her. Then
+there was a growing fear with him. What would Fay Larkin do when she
+awakened to the truth? Fay was indeed like that white and fragile lily
+which bloomed in the silent, lonely canyon, but the same nature that
+had created it had created her. Would she droop as the lily would in a
+furnace blast? More than that, he feared a sudden flashing into life of
+strength, power, passion, hate. She did not hate yet because she did not
+yet realize love. She was utterly innocent of any wrong having been done
+her. More and more he began to fear, and a foreboding grew upon him.
+He made up his mind to broach the subject of Surprise Valley and of
+escaping with Lassiter and Jane; still, every time he was with Fay the
+girl and her beauty and her love were so wonderful that he put off the
+ordeal till the next night. As time flew by he excused his vacillation
+on the score that winter was not a good time to try to cross the desert.
+There was no grass for the mustangs, except in well-known valleys, and
+these he must shun. Spring would soon come. So the days passed, and he
+loved Fay more all the time, desperately living out to its limit the
+sweetness of every moment with her, and paying for his bliss in the
+increasing trouble that beset him when once away from her charm.
+
+. . . . . . . . . . .
+
+One starry night, about ten o'clock, he went, as was his custom, to
+drink at the spring. Upon his return to the cedars Nas Ta Bega, who
+slept under the same tree with him, had arisen, with his blanket hanging
+half off his shoulder.
+
+"Listen," said the Indian.
+
+Shefford took one glance at the dark, somber face, with its inscrutable
+eyes, now so strange and piercing, and then, with a kind of cold
+excitement, he faced the way the Indian looked, and listened. But he
+heard only the soft moan of the night wind in the cedars.
+
+Nas Ta Bega kept the rigidity of his position for a moment, and then
+he relaxed, and stood at ease. Shefford knew the Indian had made a
+certainty of what must have been a doubtful sound. And Shefford leaned
+his ear to the wind and strained his hearing.
+
+Then the soft night breeze brought a faint patter--the slow trot of
+horses on a hard trail. Some one was coming into the village at a late
+hour. Shefford thought of Joe Lake. But Joe lay right behind him, asleep
+in his blankets. It could not be Withers, for the trader was in Durango
+at that time. Shefford thought of Willetts and Shadd.
+
+"Who's coming?" he asked low of the Indian.
+
+Nas Ta Bega pointed down the trail without speaking.
+
+Shefford peered through the white dim haze of starlight and presently
+he made out moving figures. Horses, with riders--a string of
+them--one--two--three--four--five--and he counted up to eleven. Eleven
+horsemen riding into the village! He was amazed, and suddenly keenly
+anxious. This visit might be one of Shadd's raids.
+
+"Shadd's gang!" he whispered.
+
+"No, Bi Nai," replied Nas Ta Bega, and he drew Shefford farther into the
+shade of the cedars. His voice, his action, the way he kept a hand on
+Shefford's shoulder, all this told much to the young man.
+
+Mormons come on a night visit! Shefford realized it with a slight shock.
+Then swift as a lightning flash he was rent by another shock--one that
+brought cold moisture to his brow and to his heart a flame of hell.
+
+He was shaking when he sank down to find the support of a log. Like
+a shadow the Indian silently moved away. Shefford watched the eleven
+horses pass the camp, go down the road, to disappear in the village.
+They vanished, and the soft clip-clops of hoofs died away. There was
+nothing left to prove he had not dreamed.
+
+Nothing to prove it except this sudden terrible demoralization of his
+physical and spiritual being! While he peered out into the valley,
+toward the black patch of cedars and pinyons that hid the cabins,
+moments and moments passed, and in them he was gripped with cold and
+fire.
+
+Was the Mormon who had abducted Fay--the man with the cruel voice--was
+he among those eleven horsemen? He might not have been. What a torturing
+hope! But vain--vain, for inevitably he must be among them. He was there
+in the cabin already. He had dismounted, tied his horse, had knocked on
+her door. Did he need to knock? No, he would go in, he would call her in
+that cruel voice, and then...
+
+Shefford pulled a blanket from his bed and covered his cold and
+trembling body. He had sunk down off the log, was leaning back upon it.
+The stars were pale, far off, and the valley seemed unreal. He found
+himself listening--listening with sick and terrible earnestness, trying
+to hear against the thrum and beat of his heart, straining to catch a
+sound in all that cold, star-blanched, silent valley. But he could hear
+no sound. It was as if death held the valley in its perfect silence.
+How he hated that silence! There ought to have been a million horrible,
+bellowing demons making the night hideous. Did the stars serenely look
+down upon the lonely cabins of these exiles? Was there no thunderbolt
+to drop down from that dark and looming mountain upon the silent cabin
+where tragedy had entered? In all the world, under the sea, in the
+abysmal caves, in the vast spaces of the air, there was no such terrible
+silence as this. A scream, a long cry, a moan--these were natural to
+a woman, and why did not one of these sealed wives, why did not Fay
+Larkin, damn this everlasting acquiescent silence? Perhaps she would fly
+out of her cabin, come running along the path. Shefford peered into the
+bright patches of starlight and into the shadows of the cedars. But he
+saw no moving form in the open, no dim white shape against the gloom.
+And he heard no sound--not even a whisper of wind in the branches
+overhead.
+
+Nas Ta Bega returned to the shade of the cedars and, lying down on his
+blankets, covered himself and went to sleep. The fact seemed to bring
+bitter reality to Shefford. Nothing was going to happen. The valley
+was to be the same this night as any other night. Shefford accepted the
+truth. He experienced a kind of self-pity. The night he had thought so
+much about, prepared for, and had forgotten had now arrived. Then he
+threw another blanket round him, and, cold, dark, grim, he faced that
+lonely vigil, meaning to sit there, wide-eyed, to endure and to wait.
+
+Jealousy and pain, following his frenzy, abided with him long hours, and
+when they passed he divined that selfishness passed with them. What he
+suffered then was for Fay Larkin and for her sisters in misfortune. He
+grew big enough to pity these fanatics. The fiery, racing tide of blood
+that had made of him only an animal had cooled with thought of others.
+Still he feared that stultifying thing which must have been hate. What
+a tempest had raged within him! This blood of his, that had received a
+stronger strain from his desert life, might in a single moment flood out
+reason and intellect and make him a vengeful man. So in those starlit
+hours that dragged interminably he looked deep into his heart and tried
+to fortify himself against a dark and evil moment to come.
+
+Midnight--and the valley seemed a tomb! Did he alone keep wakeful? The
+sky was a darker blue, the stars burned a whiter fire, the peaks stood
+looming and vast, tranquil sentinels of that valley, and the wind rose
+to sigh, to breathe, to mourn through the cedars. It was a sad music.
+The Indian lay prone, dark face to the stars. Joe Lake lay prone,
+sleeping as quietly, with his dark face exposed to the starlight. The
+gentle movement of the cedar branches changed the shape of the bright
+patches on the grass where shadow and light met. The walls of the valley
+waved upward, dark below and growing paler, to shine faintly at the
+rounded rims. And there was a tiny, silvery tinkle of running water over
+stones.
+
+Here was a little nook of the vast world. Here were tranquillity,
+beauty, music, loneliness, life. Shefford wondered--did he alone keep
+watchful? Did he feel that he could see dark, wide eyes peering into
+the gloom? And it came to him after a time that he was not alone in his
+vigil, nor was Fay Larkin alone in her agony. There was some one else in
+the valley, a great and breathing and watchful spirit. It entered
+into Shefford's soul and he trembled. What had come to him? And he
+answered--only added pain and new love, and a strange strength from the
+firmament and the peaks and the silence and the shadows.
+
+The bright belt with its three radiant stars sank behind the western
+wall and there was a paler gloom upon the valley.
+
+Then a few lights twinkled in the darkness that enveloped the cabins; a
+woman's laugh strangely broke the silence, profaning it, giving the lie
+to that somber yoke which seemed to consist of the very shadows; the
+voices of men were heard, and then the slow clip-clop of trotting horses
+on the hard trail.
+
+Shefford saw the Mormons file out into the paling starlight, ride down
+the valley, and vanish in the gray gloom. He was aware that the Indian
+sat up to watch the procession ride by, and that Joe turned over, as if
+disturbed.
+
+One by one the stars went out. The valley became a place of gray
+shadows. In the east a light glowed. Shefford sat there, haggard and
+worn, watching the coming of the dawn, the kindling of the light; and
+had the power been his the dawn would never have broken and the rose and
+gold never have tipped the lofty peaks.
+
+. . . . . . . . . . .
+
+Shefford attended to his camp chores as usual. Several times he was
+aware of Joe's close scrutiny, and finally, without looking at him,
+Shefford told of the visit of the Mormons. A violent expulsion of breath
+was Joe's answer and it might have been a curse. Straightway Joe ceased
+his cheery whistling and became as somber as the Indian. The camp was
+silent; the men did not look at one another. While they sat at breakfast
+Shefford's back was turned toward the village--he had not looked in that
+direction since dawn.
+
+"Ugh!" suddenly exclaimed Nas Ta Bega.
+
+Joe Lake muttered low and deep, and this time there was no mistake about
+the nature of his speech. Shefford did not have the courage to turn to
+see what had caused these exclamations. He knew since today had dawned
+that there was calamity in the air.
+
+"Shefford, I reckon if I know women there's a little hell coming to
+you," said the Mormon, significantly.
+
+Shefford wheeled as if a powerful force had turned him on a pivot. He
+saw Fay Larkin. She seemed to be almost running. She was unhooded and
+her bright hair streamed down. Her swift, lithe action was without
+its usual grace. She looked wild, and she almost fell crossing the
+stepping-stones of the brook.
+
+Joe hurried to meet her, took hold of her arm and spoke, but she did not
+seem to hear him. She drew him along with her, up the little bench under
+the cedars straight toward Shefford. Her face held a white, mute agony,
+as if in the hour of strife it had hardened into marble. But her eyes
+were dark-purple fire--windows of an extraordinarily intense and vital
+life. In one night the girl had become a woman. But the blight Shefford
+had dreaded to see--the withering of the exquisite soul and spirit and
+purity he had considered inevitable, just as inevitable as the death of
+something similar in the flower she resembled, when it was broken and
+defiled--nothing of this was manifest in her. Straight and swiftly she
+came to him back in the shade of the cedars and took hold of his hands.
+
+"Last night--HE CAME!" she said.
+
+"Yes--Fay--I--I know," replied Shefford, haltingly.
+
+He was tremblingly conscious of amaze at her--of something wonderful in
+her. She did not heed Joe, who stepped aside a little; she did not see
+Nas Ta Bega, who sat motionless on a log, apparently oblivious to her
+presence.
+
+"You knew he came?"
+
+"Yes, Fay. I was awake when--they rode in. I watched them. I sat up all
+night. I saw them ride away."
+
+"If you knew when he came why didn't you run to me--to get to me before
+he did?"
+
+Her question was unanswerable. It had the force of a blow. It stunned
+him. Its sharp, frank directness sprang from a simplicity and a strength
+that had not been nurtured in the life he had lived. So far men had
+wandered from truth and nature!
+
+"I came to you as soon as I was able," she went on. "I must have
+fainted. I just had to drag myself around.... And now I can tell you."
+
+He was powerless to reply, as if she had put another unanswerable
+question. What did she mean to tell him? What might she not tell him?
+She loosed her hands from his and lifted them to his shoulders, and that
+was the first conscious action of feeling, of intimacy, which she had
+ever shown. It quite robbed Shefford of strength, and in spite of his
+sorrow there was an indefinable thrill in her touch. He looked at her,
+saw the white-and-gold beauty that was hers yesterday and seemed changed
+to-day, and he recognized Fay Larkin in a woman he did not know.
+
+"Listen! He came--"
+
+"Fay, don't--tell me," interrupted Shefford.
+
+"I WILL tell you," she said.
+
+Did the instinct of love teach her how to mitigate his pain? Shefford
+felt that, as he felt the new-born strength in her.
+
+"Listen," she went on. "He came when I was undressing for bed. I heard
+the horse. He knocked on the door. Something terrible happened to me
+then. I felt sick and my head wasn't clear. I remember next--his being
+in the room--the lamp was out--I couldn't see very well. He thought I
+was sick and he gave me a drink and let the air blow in on me through
+the window. I remember I lay back in the chair and I thought. And I
+listened. When would you come? I didn't feel that you could leave me
+there alone with him. For his coming was different this time. That pain
+like a blade in my side!... When it came I was not the same. I loved
+you. I understood then. I belonged to you. I couldn't let him touch me.
+I had never been his wife. When I realized this--that he was there, that
+you might suffer for it--I cried right out.
+
+"He thought I was sick. He worked over me. He gave me medicine. And then
+he prayed. I saw him, in the dark, on his knees, praying for me. That
+seemed strange. Yet he was kind, so kind that I begged him to let me go.
+I was not a Mormon. I couldn't marry him. I begged him to let me go.
+
+"Then he thought I had been deceiving him. He fell into a fury. He
+talked for a long time. He called upon God to visit my sins upon me. He
+tried to make me pray. But I wouldn't. And then I fought him. I'd have
+screamed for you had he not smothered me. I got weak.... And you never
+came. I know I thought you would come. But you didn't. Then I--I gave
+out. And after--some time--I must have fainted."
+
+"Fay! For Heaven's sake, how could I come to you?" burst out Shefford,
+hoarse and white with remorse, passion, pain.
+
+"If I'm any man's wife I'm yours. It's a thing you FEEL, isn't it? I
+know that now.... But I want to know what to do?"
+
+"Fay!" he cried, huskily.
+
+"I'm sick of it all. If it weren't for you I'd climb the wall and throw
+myself off. That would be easy for me. I'd love to die that way. All my
+life I've been high up on the walls. To fall would be nothing!"
+
+"Oh, you mustn't talk like that!"
+
+"Do you love me?" she asked, with a low and deathless sweetness.
+
+"Love you? With all my heart! Nothing can change that!"
+
+"Do you want me--as you used to want the Fay Larkin lost in Surprise
+Valley? Do you love me that way? I understand things better than before,
+but still--not all. I AM Fay Larkin. I think I must have dreamed of you
+all my life. I was glad when you came here. I've been happy lately. I
+forgot--till last night. Maybe it needed that to make me see I've loved
+you all the time.... And I fought him like a wildcat!... Tell me the
+truth. I feel I'm yours. Is that true? If I'm not--I'll not live another
+hour. Something holds me up. I am the same.... Do you want me?"
+
+"Yes, Fay Larkin, I want you," replied Shefford, steadily, with his grip
+on her arms.
+
+"Then take me away. I don't want to live here another hour."
+
+"Fay, I'll take you. But it can't be done at once. We must plan. I need
+help. There are Lassiter and Jane to get out of Surprise Valley. Give
+me time, dear--give me time. It'll be a hard job. And we must plan so we
+can positively get away. Give me time, Fay."
+
+"Suppose HE comes back?" she queried, with a singular depth of voice.
+
+"We'll have to risk that," replied Shefford, miserably. "But--he won't
+come soon."
+
+"He said he would," she flashed.
+
+Shefford seemed to freeze inwardly with her words. Love had made her
+a woman and now the woman in her was speaking. She saw the truth as he
+could not see it. And the truth was nature. She had been hidden all her
+life from the world, from knowledge as he had it, yet when love betrayed
+her womanhood to her she acquired all its subtlety.
+
+"If I wait and he DOES come will you keep me from him?" she asked.
+
+"How can I? I'm staking all on the chance of his not coming soon. ...
+But, Fay, if he DOES come and I don't give up our secret--how on earth
+can I keep you from him?" demanded Shefford.
+
+"If you love me you will do it," she said, as simply as if she were
+fate.
+
+"But how?" cried Shefford, almost beside himself.
+
+"You are a man. Any man would save the woman who loves him
+from--from--Oh, from a beast!... How would Lassiter do it?"
+
+"Lassiter!"
+
+"YOU CAN KILL HIM!"
+
+It was there, deep and full in her voice, the strength of the elemental
+forces that had surrounded her, primitive passion and hate and love, as
+they were in woman in the beginning.
+
+"My God!" Shefford cried aloud with his spirit when all that was red in
+him sprang again into a flame of hell. That was what had been wrong with
+him last night. He could kill this stealthy night-rider, and now, face
+to face with Fay, who had never been so beautiful and wonderful as in
+this hour when she made love the only and the sacred thing of life, now
+he had it in him to kill. Yet, murder--even to kill a brute--that was
+not for John Shefford, not the way for him to save a woman. Reason
+and wisdom still fought the passion in him. If he could but cling to
+them--have them with him in the dark and contending hour!
+
+She leaned against him now, exhausted, her soul in her eyes, and they
+saw only him. Shefford was all but powerless to resist the longing to
+take her into his arms, to hold her to his heart, to let himself go. Did
+not her love give her to him? Shefford gazed helplessly at the stricken
+Joe Lake, at the somber Indian, as if from them he expected help.
+
+"I know him now," said Fay, breaking the silence with startling
+suddenness.
+
+"What!"
+
+"I've seen him in the light. I flashed a candle in his face. I saw it. I
+know him now. He was there at Stonebridge with us, and I never knew him.
+But I know him now. His name is--"
+
+"For God's sake don't tell me who he is!" implored Shefford.
+
+Ignorance was Shefford's safeguard against himself. To make a name of
+this heretofore intangible man, to give him an identity apart from the
+crowd, to be able to recognize him--that for Shefford would be fatal.
+
+"Fay--tell me--no more," he said, brokenly. "I love you and I will give
+you my life. Trust me. I swear I'll save you."
+
+"Will you take me away soon?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+She appeared satisfied with that and dropped her hands and moved back
+from him. A light flitted over her white face, and her eyes grew
+dark and humid, losing their fire in changing, shadowing thought of
+submission, of trust, of hope.
+
+"I can lead you to Surprise Valley," she said. "I feel the way. It's
+there!" And she pointed to the west.
+
+"Fay, we'll go--soon. I must plan. I'll see you to-night. Then we'll
+talk. Run home now, before some of the women see you here."
+
+She said good-by and started away under the cedars, out into the
+open where her hair shone like gold in the sunlight, and she took the
+stepping-stones with her old free grace, and strode down the path swift
+and lithe as an Indian. Once she turned to wave a hand.
+
+Shefford watched her with a torture of pride, love, hope, and fear
+contending within him.
+
+
+
+
+XIV. THE NAVAJO
+
+
+That morning a Piute rode into the valley.
+
+Shefford recognized him as the brave who had been in love with Glen
+Naspa. The moment Nas Ta Bega saw this visitor he made a singular motion
+with his hands--a motion that somehow to Shefford suggested despair--and
+then he waited, somber and statuesque, for the messenger to come to him.
+It was the Piute who did all the talking, and that was brief. Then
+the Navajo stood motionless, with his hands crossed over his breast.
+Shefford drew near and waited.
+
+"Bi Nai," said the Navajo, "Nas Ta Bega said his sister would come home
+some day.... Glen Naspa is in the hogan of her grandfather."
+
+He spoke in his usual slow, guttural voice, and he might have been
+bronze for all the emotion he expressed; yet Shefford instinctively
+felt the despair that had been hinted to him, and he put his hand on the
+Indian's shoulder.
+
+"If I am the Navajo's brother, then I am brother to Glen Naspa," he
+said. "I will go with you to the hogan of Hosteen Doetin."
+
+Nas Ta Bega went away into the valley for the horses. Shefford hurried
+to the village, made his excuses at the school, and then called to
+explain to Fay that trouble of some kind had come to the Indian.
+
+Soon afterward he was riding Nack-yal on the rough and winding trail up
+through the broken country of cliffs and canyon to the great league-long
+sage and cedar slope of the mountain. It was weeks since he had ridden
+the mustang. Nack-yal was fat and lazy. He loved his master, but he did
+not like the climb, and so fell far behind the lean and wiry pony that
+carried Nas Ta Bega. The sage levels were as purple as the haze of the
+distance, and there was a bitter-sweet tang on the strong, cool wind.
+The sun was gold behind the dark line of fringe on the mountain-top. A
+flock of sheep swept down one of the sage levels, looking like a narrow
+stream of white and black and brown. It was always amazing for Shefford
+to see how swiftly these Navajo sheep grazed along. Wild mustangs
+plunged out of the cedar clumps and stood upon the ridges, whistling
+defiance or curiosity, and their manes and tails waved in the wind.
+
+Shefford mounted slowly to the cedar bench in the midst of which were
+hidden the few hogans. And he halted at the edge to dismount and take
+a look at that downward-sweeping world of color, of wide space, at the
+wild desert upland which from there unrolled its magnificent panorama.
+
+Then he passed on into the cedars. How strange to hear the lambs
+bleating again! Lambing-time had come early, but still spring was there
+in the new green of grass, in the bright upland flower. He led his
+mustang out of the cedars into the cleared circle. It was full of colts
+and lambs, and there were the shepherd-dogs and a few old rams and ewes.
+But the circle was a quiet place this day. There were no Indians in
+sight. Shefford loosened the saddle-girths on Nack-yal and, leaving him
+to graze, went toward the hogan of Hosteen Doetin. A blanket was hung
+across the door. Shefford heard a low chanting. He waited beside the
+door till the covering was pulled in, then he entered.
+
+Hosteen Doetin met him, clasped his hand. The old Navajo could not
+speak; his fine face was working in grief; tears streamed from his
+dim old eyes and rolled down his wrinkled cheeks. His sorrow was no
+different from a white man's sorrow. Beyond him Shefford saw Nas Ta Bega
+standing with folded arms, somehow terrible in his somber impassiveness.
+At his feet crouched the old woman, Hosteen Doetin's wife, and beside
+her, prone and quiet, half covered with a blanket, lay Glen Naspa.
+
+She was dead. To Shefford she seemed older than when he had last seen
+her. And she was beautiful. Calm, cold, dark, with only bitter lips to
+give the lie to peace! There was a story in those lips.
+
+At her side, half hidden under the fold of blanket, lay a tiny bundle.
+Its human shape startled Shefford. Then he did not need to be told
+the tragedy. When he looked again at Glen Naspa's face he seemed to
+understand all that had made her older, to feel the pain that had lined
+and set her lips.
+
+She was dead, and she was the last of Nas Ta Bega's family. In the old
+grandfather's agony, in the wild chant of the stricken grandmother, in
+the brother's stern and terrible calmness Shefford felt more than the
+death of a loved one. The shadow of ruin, of doom, of death hovered
+over the girl and her family and her tribe and her race. There was no
+consolation to offer these relatives of Glen Naspa. Shefford took one
+more fascinated gaze at her dark, eloquent, prophetic face, at the
+tragic tiny shape by her side, and then with bowed head he left the
+hogan.
+
+. . . . . . . . . . .
+
+Outside he paced to and fro, with an aching heart for Nas Ta Bega, with
+something of the white man's burden of crime toward the Indian weighing
+upon his soul.
+
+Old Hosteen Doetin came to him with shaking hands and words memorable of
+the time Glen Naspa left his hogan.
+
+"Me no savvy Jesus Christ. Me hungry. Me no eat Jesus Christ!"
+
+That seemed to be all of his trouble that he could express to Shefford.
+He could not understand the religion of the missionary, this Jesus
+Christ who had called his granddaughter away. And the great fear of an
+old Indian was not death, but hunger. Shefford remembered a custom of
+the Navajos, a thing barbarous looked at with a white man's mind. If an
+old Indian failed on a long march he was inclosed by a wall of stones,
+given plenty to eat and drink, and left there to die in the desert. Not
+death did he fear, but hunger! Old Hosteen Doetin expected to starve,
+now that the young and strong squaw of his family was gone.
+
+Shefford spoke in his halting Navajo and assured the old Indian that Nas
+Ta Bega would never let him starve.
+
+At sunset Shefford stood with Nas Ta Bega facing the west. The Indian
+was magnificent in repose. He watched the sun go down upon the day that
+had seen the burial of the last of his family. He resembled an impassive
+destiny, upon which no shocks fell. He had the light of that flaring
+golden sky in his face, the majesty of the mountain in his mien, the
+silence of the great gulf below on his lips. This educated Navajo, who
+had reverted to the life of his ancestors, found in the wildness and
+loneliness of his environment a strength no white teaching could
+ever have given him. Shefford sensed in him a measureless grief, an
+impenetrable gloom, a tragic acceptance of the meaning of Glen Naspa's
+ruin and death--the vanishing of his race from the earth. Death had
+written the law of such bitter truth round Glen Naspa's lips, and the
+same truth was here in the grandeur and gloom of the Navajo.
+
+"Bi Nai," he said, with the beautiful sonorous roll in his voice, "Glen
+Naspa is in her grave and there are no paths to the place of her sleep.
+Glen Naspa is gone."
+
+"Gone! Where? Nas Ta Bega, remember I lost my own faith, and I have not
+yet learned yours."
+
+"The Navajo has one mother--the earth. Her body has gone to the earth
+and it will become dust. But her spirit is in the air. It shall whisper
+to me from the wind. I shall hear it on running waters. It will hide in
+the morning music of a mocking-bird and in the lonely night cry of the
+canyon hawk. Her blood will go to make the red of the Indian flowers and
+her soul will rest at midnight in the lily that opens only to the moon.
+She will wait in the shadow for me, and live in the great mountain that
+is my home, and for ever step behind me on the trail."
+
+"You will kill Willetts?" demanded Shefford.
+
+"The Navajo will not seek the missionary."
+
+"But if you meet him you'll kill him?"
+
+"Bi Nai, would Nas Ta Bega kill after it is too late? What good could
+come? The Navajo is above revenge."
+
+"If he crosses my trail I think I couldn't help but kill him," muttered
+Shefford in a passion that wrung the threat from him.
+
+The Indian put his arm round the white man's shoulders.
+
+"Bi Nai, long ago I made you my brother. And now you make me your
+brother. Is it not so? Glen Naspa's spirit calls for wisdom, not
+revenge. Willetts must be a bad man. But we'll let him live. Life will
+punish him. Who knows if he was all to blame? Glen Naspa was only one
+pretty Indian girl. There are many white men in the desert. She loved
+a white man when she was a baby. The thing was a curse. ... Listen, Bi
+Nai, and the Navajo will talk.
+
+"Many years ago the Spanish padres, the first white men, came into the
+land of the Indian. Their search was for gold. But they were not wicked
+men. They did not steal and kill. They taught the Indian many useful
+things. They brought him horses. But when they went away they left him
+unsatisfied with his life and his god.
+
+"Then came the pioneers. They crossed the great river and took the
+pasture-lands and the hunting-grounds of the Indian. They drove him
+backward, and the Indian grew sullen. He began to fight. The white man's
+government made treaties with the Indian, and these were broken. Then
+war came--fierce and bloody war. The Indian was driven to the waste
+places. The stream of pioneers, like a march of ants, spread on into the
+desert. Every valley where grass grew, every river, became a place for
+farms and towns. Cattle choked the water-holes where the buffalo and
+deer had once gone to drink. The forests in the hills were cut and the
+springs dried up. And the pioneers followed to the edge of the desert.
+
+"Then came the prospectors, mad, like the padres for the gleam of
+gold. The day was not long enough for them to dig in the creeks and the
+canyon; they worked in the night. And they brought weapons and rum to
+the Indian, to buy from him the secret of the places where the shining
+gold lay hidden.
+
+"Then came the traders. And they traded with the Indian. They gave him
+little for much, and that little changed his life. He learned a taste
+for the sweet foods of the white man. Because he could trade for a sack
+of flour he worked less in the field. And the very fiber of his bones
+softened.
+
+"Then came the missionaries. They were proselytizers for converts
+to their religion. The missionaries are good men. There may be a bad
+missionary, like Willetts, the same as there are bad men in other
+callings, or bad Indians. They say Shadd is a half-breed. But the Piutes
+can tell you he is a full-blood, and he, like me, was sent to a white
+man's school. In the beginning the missionaries did well for the Indian.
+They taught him cleaner ways of living, better farming, useful work with
+tools--many good things. But the wrong to the Indian was the undermining
+of his faith. It was not humanity that sent the missionary to the
+Indian. Humanity would have helped the Indian in his ignorance of
+sickness and work, and left him his god. For to trouble the Indian about
+his god worked at the roots of his nature.
+
+"The beauty of the Indian's life is in his love of the open, of all that
+is nature, of silence, freedom, wildness. It is a beauty of mind and
+soul. The Indian would have been content to watch and feel. To a white
+man he might be dirty and lazy--content to dream life away without
+trouble or what the white man calls evolution. The Indian might seem
+cruel because he leaves his old father out in the desert to die. But the
+old man wants to die that way, alone with his spirits and the sunset.
+And the white man's medicine keeps his old father alive days and days
+after he ought to be dead. Which is more cruel? The Navajos used to
+fight with other tribes, and then they were stronger men than they are
+to-day.
+
+"But leaving religion, greed, and war out of the question, contact with
+the white man would alone have ruined the Indian. The Indian and the
+white man cannot mix. The Indian brave learns the habits of the white
+man, acquires his diseases, and has not the mind or body to withstand
+them. The Indian girl learns to love the white man--and that is death of
+her Indian soul, if not of life.
+
+"So the red man is passing. Tribes once powerful have died in the life
+of Nas Ta Bega. The curse of the white man is already heavy upon my race
+in the south. Here in the north, in the wildest corner of the desert,
+chased here by the great soldier, Carson, the Navajo has made his last
+stand.
+
+"Bi Nai, you have seen the shadow in the hogan of Hosteen Doetin. Glen
+Naspa has gone to her grave, and no sisters, no children, will make
+paths to the place of her sleep. Nas Ta Bega will never have a wife--a
+child. He sees the end. It is the sunset of the Navajo.... Bi Nai, the
+Navajo is dying--dying--dying!"
+
+
+
+
+XV. WILD JUSTICE
+
+
+A crescent moon hung above the lofty peak over the valley and a train
+of white stars ran along the bold rim of the western wall. A few young
+frogs peeped plaintively. The night was cool, yet had a touch of balmy
+spring, and a sweeter fragrance, as if the cedars and pinyons had
+freshened in the warm sun of that day.
+
+Shefford and Fay were walking in the aisles of moonlight and the patches
+of shade, and Nas Ta Bega, more than ever a shadow of his white brother,
+followed them silently.
+
+"Fay, it's growing late. Feel the dew?" said Shefford. "Come, I must
+take you back."
+
+"But the time's so short. I have said nothing that I wanted to say," she
+replied.
+
+"Say it quickly, then, as we go."
+
+"After all, it's only--will you take me away soon?"
+
+"Yes, very soon. The Indian and I have talked. But we've made no
+plan yet. There are only three ways to get out of this country. By
+Stonebridge, by Kayenta and Durango, and by Red Lake. We must choose
+one. All are dangerous. We must lose time finding Surprise Valley. I
+hoped the Indian could find it. Then we'd bring Lassiter and Jane here
+and hide them near till dark, then take you and go. That would give us a
+night's start. But you must help us to Surprise Valley."
+
+"I can go right to it, blindfolded, or in the dark.... Oh, John, hurry!
+I dread the wait. He might come again."
+
+"Joe says--they won't come very soon."
+
+"Is it far--where we're going--out of the country?"
+
+"Ten days' hard riding."
+
+"Oh! That night ride to and from Stonebridge nearly killed me. But I
+could walk very far, and climb for ever."
+
+"Fay, we'll get out of the country if I have to carry you."
+
+When they arrived at the cabin Fay turned on the porch step and, with
+her face nearer a level with his, white and sweet in the moonlight, with
+her eyes shining and unfathomable, she was more than beautiful.
+
+"You've never been inside my house," she said. "Come in. I've something
+for you."
+
+"But it's late," he remonstrated. "I suppose you've got me a cake or
+pie--something to eat. You women all think Joe and I have to be fed."
+
+"No. You'd never guess. Come in," she said, and the rare smile on her
+face was something Shefford would have gone far to see.
+
+"Well, then, for a minute."
+
+He crossed the porch, the threshold, and entered her home. Her dim,
+white shape moved in the darkness. And he followed into a room where the
+moon shone through the open window, giving soft, mellow, shadowy light.
+He discerned objects, but not clearly, for his senses seemed absorbed in
+the strange warmth and intimacy of being for the first time with her in
+her home.
+
+"No, it's not good to eat," she said, and her laugh was happy. "Here--"
+
+Suddenly she abruptly ceased speaking. Shefford saw her plainly, and the
+slender form had stiffened, alert and strained. She was listening.
+
+"What was that?" she whispered.
+
+"I didn't hear anything," he whispered back.
+
+He stepped softly nearer the open window and listened.
+
+Clip-clop! clip-clop! clip-clop! Hard hoofs on the hard path outside!
+
+A strong and rippling thrill went over Shefford. In the soft light her
+eyes seemed unnaturally large and black and fearful.
+
+Clip-clop! clip-clop!
+
+The horse stopped outside. Then followed a metallic clink of spur
+against stirrup--thud of boots on hard ground--heavy footsteps upon the
+porch.
+
+A swift, cold contraction of throat, of breast, convulsed Shefford. His
+only thought was that he could not think.
+
+"Ho--Mary!"
+
+A voice liberated both Shefford's muscle and mind--a voice of strange,
+vibrant power. Authority of religion and cruelty of will--these
+Mormon attributes constituted that power. And Shefford suffered a
+transformation which must have been ordered by demons. That sudden flame
+seemed to curl and twine and shoot along his veins with blasting force.
+A rancorous and terrible cry leaped to his lips.
+
+"Ho--Mary!" Then came a heavy tread across the threshold of the outer
+room.
+
+Shefford dared not look at Fay. Yet, dimly, from the corner of his eye,
+he saw her, a pale shadow, turned to stone, with her arms out. If he
+looked, if he made sure of that, he was lost. When had he drawn his gun?
+It was there, a dark and glinting thing in his hand. He must fly--not
+through cowardice and fear, but because in one more moment he would
+kill a man. Swift as the thought he dove through the open window. And,
+leaping up, he ran under the dark pinyons toward camp.
+
+Joe Lake had been out late himself. He sat by the fire, smoking his
+pipe. He must have seen or heard Shefford coming, for he rose with
+unwonted alacrity, and he kicked the smoldering logs into a flickering
+blaze.
+
+Shefford, realizing his deliverance, came panting, staggering into the
+light. The Mormon uttered an exclamation. Then he spoke, anxiously, but
+what he said was not clear in Shefford's thick and throbbing ears. He
+dropped his pipe, a sign of perturbation, and he stared.
+
+But Shefford, without a word, lunged swiftly away into the shadow of the
+cedars. He found relief in action. He began a steep ascent of the east
+wall, a dangerous slant he had never dared even in daylight, and he
+climbed it without a slip. Danger, steep walls, perilous heights, night,
+and black canyon the same--these he never thought of. But something
+drove him to desperate effort, that the hours might seem short.
+
+. . . . . . . . . . .
+
+The red sun was tipping the eastern wall when he returned to camp, and
+he was neither calm nor sure of himself nor ready for sleep or food.
+Only he had put the night behind him.
+
+The Indian showed no surprise. But Joe Lake's jaw dropped and his eyes
+rolled. Moreover, Joe bore a singular aspect, the exact nature of which
+did not at once dawn upon Shefford.
+
+"By God! you've got nerve--or you're crazy!" he ejaculated, hoarsely.
+
+Then it was Shefford's turn to stare. The Mormon was haggard, grieved,
+frightened, and utterly amazed. He appeared to be trying to make certain
+of Shefford's being there in the flesh and then to find reason for it.
+
+"I've no nerve and I am crazy," replied Shefford. "But, Joe--what do you
+mean? Why do you look at me like that?"
+
+"I reckon if I get your horse that'll square us. Did you come back for
+him? You'd better hit the trail quick."
+
+"It's you now who're crazy," burst out Shefford.
+
+"Wish to God I was," replied Joe.
+
+It was then Shefford realized catastrophe, and cold fear gnawed at his
+vitals, so that he was sick.
+
+"Joe, what has happened?" he asked, with the blood thick in his heart.
+
+"Hadn't you better tell me?" demanded the Mormon, and a red wave blotted
+out the haggard shade of his face.
+
+"You talk like a fool," said Shefford, sharply, and he strode right up
+to Joe.
+
+"See here, Shefford, we've been pards. You're making it hard for me.
+Reckon you ain't square."
+
+Shefford shot out a long arm and his hand clutched the Mormon's burly
+shoulder.
+
+"Why am I not square? What do you mean?"
+
+Joe swallowed hard and gave himself a shake. Then he eyed his comrade
+steadily.
+
+"I was afraid you'd kill him. I reckon I can't blame you. I'll help you
+get away. And I'm a Mormon! Do you take the hunch?... But don't deny you
+killed him!"
+
+"Killed whom?" gasped Shefford.
+
+"Her husband!"
+
+Shefford seemed stricken by a slow, paralyzing horror. The Mormon's
+changing face grew huge and indistinct and awful in his sight. He was
+clutched and shaken in Joe's rude hands, yet scarcely felt them. Joe
+seemed to be bellowing at him, but the voice was far off. Then Shefford
+began to see, to hear through some cold and terrible deadness that had
+come between him and everything.
+
+"Say YOU killed him!" hoarsely supplicated the Mormon.
+
+Shefford had not yet control of speech. Something in his gaze appeared
+to drive Joe frantic.
+
+"Damn you! Tell me quick. Say YOU killed him!... If you want to know
+my stand, why, I'm glad!... Shefford, don't look so stony! ... For HER
+sake, say you killed him!"
+
+Shefford stood with a face as gray and still as stone. With a groan the
+Mormon drew away from him and sank upon a log. He bowed his head; his
+broad shoulders heaved; husky sounds came from him. Then with a violent
+wrench he plunged to his feet and shook himself like a huge, savage dog.
+
+"Reckon it's no time to weaken," he said, huskily, and with the words a
+dark, hard, somber bitterness came to his face.
+
+"Where--is--she?" whispered Shefford.
+
+"Shut up in the school-house," he replied.
+
+"Did she--did she--"
+
+"She neither denied nor confessed."
+
+"Have you--seen her?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"How did--she look?"
+
+"Cool and quiet as the Indian there.... Game as hell! She always had
+stuff in her."
+
+"Oh, Joe!... It's unbelievable!" cried Shefford. "That lovely, innocent
+girl! She couldn't--she couldn't."
+
+"She's fixed him. Don't think of that. It's too late. We ought to have
+saved her."
+
+"God!... She begged me to hurry--to take her away."
+
+"Think what we can do NOW to save her," cut in the Mormon.
+
+Shefford sustained a vivifying shock. "To save her?" he echoed.
+
+"Think, man!"
+
+"Joe, I can hit the trail and let you tell them I killed him," burst out
+Shefford in panting excitement.
+
+"Reckon I can."
+
+"So help me God I'll do it!"
+
+The Mormon turned a dark and austere glance upon Shefford.
+
+"You mustn't leave her. She killed him for your sake.... You must fight
+for her now--save her--take her away."
+
+"But the law!"
+
+"Law!" scoffed Joe. "In these wilds men get killed and there's no law.
+But if she's taken back to Stonebridge those iron-jawed old Mormons will
+make law enough to--to... Shefford, the thing is--get her away. Once out
+of the country, she's safe. Mormons keep their secrets."
+
+"I'll take her. Joe, will you help me?"
+
+Shefford, even in his agitation, felt the Mormon's silence to be a
+consent that need not have been asked. And Shefford had a passionate
+gratefulness toward his comrade. That stultifying and blinding prejudice
+which had always seemed to remove a Mormon outside the pale of certain
+virtue suffered final eclipse; and Joe Lake stood out a man, strange and
+crude, but with a heart and a soul.
+
+"Joe, tell me what to do," said Shefford, with a simplicity that meant
+he needed only to be directed.
+
+"Pull yourself together. Get your nerve back," replied Joe. "Reckon
+you'd better show yourself over there. No one saw you come in this
+morning--your absence from camp isn't known. It's better you seem
+curious and shocked like the rest of us. Come on. We'll go over. And
+afterward we'll get the Indian, and plan."
+
+They left camp and, crossing the brook, took the shaded path toward the
+village. Hope of saving Fay, the need of all his strength and nerve
+and cunning to effect that end, gave Shefford the supreme courage to
+overcome his horror and fear. On that short walk under the pinyons to
+Fay's cabin he had suffered many changes of emotion, but never anything
+like this change which made him fierce and strong to fight, deep and
+crafty to plan, hard as iron to endure.
+
+The village appeared very quiet, though groups of women stood at the
+doors of cabins. If they talked, it was very low. Henninger and Smith,
+two of the three Mormon men living in the village, were standing
+before the closed door of the school-house. A tigerish feeling thrilled
+Shefford when he saw them on guard there. Shefford purposely avoided
+looking at Fay's cabin as long as he could keep from it. When he had to
+look he saw several hooded, whispering women in the yard, and Beal, the
+other Mormon man, standing in the cabin door. Upon the porch lay the
+long shape of a man, covered with blankets.
+
+Shefford experienced a horrible curiosity.
+
+"Say, Beal, I've fetched Shefford over," said Lake. "He's pretty much
+cut up."
+
+Beal wagged a solemn head, but said nothing. His mind seemed absent or
+steeped in gloom, and he looked up as one silently praying.
+
+Joe Lake strode upon the little porch and, reaching down, he stripped
+the blanket from the shrouded form.
+
+Shefford saw a sharp, cold, ghastly face. "WAGGONER!" he whispered.
+
+"Yes," replied Lake.
+
+Waggoner! Shefford remembered the strange power in his face, and, now
+that life had gone, that power was stripped of all disguise. Death, in
+Shefford's years of ministry, had lain under his gaze many times and in
+a multiplicity of aspects, but never before had he seen it stamped so
+strangely. Shefford did not need to be told that here was a man who
+believed he had conversed with God on earth, who believed he had a
+divine right to rule women, who had a will that would not yield itself
+to death utterly. Waggoner, then, was the devil who had come masked to
+Surprise Valley, had forced a martyrdom upon Fay Larkin. And this was
+the Mormon who had made Fay Larkin a murderess. Shefford had hated
+him living, and now he hated him dead. Death here was robbed of all
+nobility, of pathos, of majesty. It was only retribution. Wild justice!
+But alas! that it had to be meted out by a white-soled girl whose
+innocence was as great as the unconscious savagery which she had
+assimilated from her lonely and wild environment. Shefford laid a
+despairing curse upon his own head, and a terrible remorse knocked at
+his heart. He had left her alone, this girl in whom love had made the
+great change--like a coward he had left her alone. That curse he visited
+upon himself because he had been the spirit and the motive of this wild
+justice, and his should have been the deed.
+
+Joe Lake touched Shefford's arm and pointed at the haft of a knife
+protruding from Waggoner's breast. It was a wooden haft. Shefford had
+seen it before somewhere.
+
+Then he was struck with what perhaps Joe meant him to see--the singular
+impression the haft gave of one sweeping, accurate, powerful stroke. A
+strong arm had driven that blade home. The haft was sunk deep; there was
+a little depression in the cloth; no blood showed; and the weapon looked
+as if it could not be pulled out. Shefford's thought went fatally and
+irresistibly to Fay Larkin's strong arm. He saw her flash that white arm
+and lift the heavy bucket from the spring with an ease he wondered at.
+He felt the strong clasp of her hand as she had given it to him in a
+flying leap across a crevice upon the walls. Yes, her fine hand and the
+round, strong arm possessed the strength to have given that blade
+its singular directness and force. The marvel was not in the physical
+action. It hid inscrutably in the mystery of deadly passion rising out
+of a gentle and sad heart.
+
+Joe Lake drew up the blanket and shut from Shefford's fascinated gaze
+that spare form, that accusing knife, that face of strange, cruel power.
+
+"Anybody been sent for?" asked Lake of Beal.
+
+"Yes. An Indian boy went for the Piute. We'll send him to Stonebridge,"
+replied the Mormon.
+
+"How soon do you expect any one here from Stonebridge?"
+
+"To-morrow, mebbe by noon."
+
+"Meantime what's to be done with--this?"
+
+"Elder Smith thinks the body should stay right here where it fell till
+they come from Stonebridge."
+
+"Waggoner was found here, then?"
+
+"Right here."
+
+"Who found him?"
+
+"Mother Smith. She came over early. An' the sight made her scream. The
+women all came runnin'. Mother Smith had to be put to bed."
+
+"Who found--Mary?"
+
+"See here, Joe, I told you all I knowed once before," replied the
+Mormon, testily.
+
+"I've forgotten. Was sort of bewildered. Tell me again.... Who
+found--her?"
+
+"The women folks. She laid right inside the door, in a dead faint. She
+hadn't undressed. There was blood on her hands an' a cut or scratch. The
+women fetched her to. But she wouldn't talk. Then Elder Smith come an'
+took her. They've got her locked up."
+
+Then Joe led Shefford away from the cabin farther on into the village.
+When they were halted by the somber, grieving women it was Joe who did
+the talking. They passed the school-house, and here Shefford quickened
+his step. He could scarcely bear the feeling that rushed over him. And
+the Mormon gripped his arm as if he understood.
+
+"Shefford, which one of these younger women do you reckon your best
+friend? Ruth?" asked Lake, earnestly.
+
+"Ruth, by all means. Just lately I haven't seen her often. But we've
+been close friends. I think she'd do much for me."
+
+"Maybe there'll be a chance to find out. Maybe we'll need Ruth. Let's
+have a word with her. I haven't seen her out among the women."
+
+They stopped at the door of Ruth's cabin. It was closed. When Joe
+knocked there came a sound of footsteps inside, a hand drew aside the
+window-blind, and presently the door opened. Ruth stood there, dressed
+in somber hue. She was a pretty, slender, blue-eyed, brown-haired young
+woman.
+
+Shefford imagined from her pallor and the set look of shock upon her
+face, that the tragedy had affected her more powerfully than it had the
+other women. When he remembered that she had been more friendly with
+Fay Larkin than any other neighbor, he made sure he was right in his
+conjecture.
+
+"Come in," was Ruth's greeting.
+
+"No. We just wanted to say a word. I noticed you've not been out. Do you
+know--all about it?"
+
+She gave them a strange glance.
+
+"Any of the women folks been in?" added Joe.
+
+"Hester ran over. She told me through the window. Then I barred my door
+to keep the other women out."
+
+"What for?" asked Joe, curiously.
+
+"Please come in," she said, in reply.
+
+They entered, and she closed the door after them. The change that came
+over her then was the loosing of restraint.
+
+"Joe--what will they do with Mary?" she queried, tensely.
+
+The Mormon studied her with dark, speculative eyes. "Hang her!" he
+rejoined in brutal harshness.
+
+"O Mother of Saints!" she cried, and her hands went up.
+
+"You're sorry for Mary, then?" asked Joe, bluntly.
+
+"My heart is breaking for her."
+
+"Well, so's Shefford's," said the Mormon, huskily. "And mine's kind of
+damn shaky."
+
+Ruth glided to Shefford with a woman's swift softness.
+
+"You've been my good--my best friend. You were hers, too. Oh, I know!
+... Can't you do something for her?"
+
+"I hope to God I can," replied Shefford.
+
+Then the three stood looking from one to the other, in a strong and
+subtly realizing moment drawn together.
+
+"Ruth," whispered Joe, hoarsely, and then he glanced fearfully around,
+at the window and door, as if listeners were there. It was certain
+that his dark face had paled. He tried to whisper more, only to fail.
+Shefford divined the weight of Mormonism that burdened Joe Lake then.
+Joe was faithful to a love for Fay Larkin, noble in friendship to
+Shefford, desperate in a bitter strait with his own manliness, but the
+power of that creed by which he had been raised struck his lips mute.
+For to speak on meant to be false to that creed. Already in his heart he
+had decided, yet he could not voice the thing.
+
+"Ruth"--Shefford took up the Mormon's unfinished whisper--"if we plan to
+save her--if we need you--will you help?"
+
+Ruth turned white, but an instant and splendid fire shone in her eyes.
+
+"Try me," she whispered back. "I'll change places with her--so you can
+get her away. They can't do much to me."
+
+Shefford wrung her hands. Joe licked his lips and found his voice:
+"We'll come back later." Then he led the way out and Shefford followed.
+They were silent all the way back to camp.
+
+Nas Ta Bega sat in repose where they had left him, a thoughtful, somber
+figure. Shefford went directly to the Indian, and Joe tarried at the
+camp-fire, where he raked out some red embers and put one upon the bowl
+of his pipe. He puffed clouds of white smoke, then found a seat beside
+the others.
+
+"Shefford, go ahead. Talk. It'll take a deal of talk. I'll listen. Then
+I'll talk. It'll be Nas Ta Bega who makes the plan out of it all."
+
+Shefford launched himself so swiftly that he scarcely talked coherently.
+But he made clear the points that he must save Fay, get her away from
+the village, let her lead him to Surprise Valley, rescue Lassiter and
+Jane Withersteen, and take them all out of the country.
+
+Joe Lake dubiously shook his head. Manifestly the Surprise Valley part
+of the situation presented a new and serious obstacle. It changed the
+whole thing. To try to take the three out by way of Kayenta and Durango
+was not to be thought of, for reasons he briefly stated. The Red Lake
+trail was the only one left, and if that were taken the chances were
+against Shefford. It was five days over sand to Red Lake--impossible to
+hide a trail--and even with a day's start Shefford could not escape the
+hard-riding men who would come from Stonebridge. Besides, after reaching
+Red Lake, there were days and days of desert-travel needful to avoid
+places like Blue Canyon, Tuba, Moencopie, and the Indian villages.
+
+"We'll have to risk all that," declared Shefford, desperately.
+
+"It's a fool risk," retorted Joe. "Listen. By tomorrow noon all of
+Stonebridge, more or less, will be riding in here. You've got to get
+away to-night with the girl--or never! And to-morrow you've got to find
+that Lassiter and the woman in Surprise Valley. This valley must be
+back, deep in the canyon country. Well, you've got to come out this
+way again. No trail through here would be safe. Why, you'd put all your
+heads in a rope!... You mustn't come through this way. It'll have to be
+tried across country, off the trails, and that means hell--day-and-night
+travel, no camp, no feed for horses--maybe no water. Then you'll have
+the best trackers in Utah like hounds on your trail."
+
+When the Mormon ceased his forceful speech there was a silence fraught
+with hopeless meaning. He bowed his head in gloom. Shefford, growing
+sick again to his marrow, fought a cold, hateful sense of despair.
+
+"Bi Nai!" In his extremity he called to the Indian.
+
+"The Navajo has heard," replied Nas Ta Bega, strangely speaking in his
+own language.
+
+With a long, slow heave of breast Shefford felt his despair leave him.
+In the Indian lay his salvation. He knew it. Joe Lake caught the subtle
+spirit of the moment and looked up eagerly.
+
+Nas Ta Bega stretched an arm toward the east, and spoke in Navajo.
+But Shefford, owing to the hurry and excitement of his mind, could not
+translate. Joe Lake listened, gave a violent start, leaped up with all
+his big frame quivering, and then fired question after question at the
+Indian. When the Navajo had replied to all, Joe drew himself up as if
+facing an irrevocable decision which would wring his very soul. What did
+he cast off in that moment? What did he grapple with? Shefford had no
+means to tell, except by the instinct which baffled him. But whether the
+Mormon's trial was one of spiritual rending or the natural physical
+fear of a perilous, virtually impossible venture, the fact was he was
+magnificent in his acceptance of it. He turned to Shefford, white, cold,
+yet glowing.
+
+"Nas Ta Bega believes he can take you down a canyon to the big
+river--the Colorado. He knows the head of this canyon. Nonnezoshe Boco
+it's called--canyon of the rainbow bridge. He has never been down it.
+Only two or three living Indians have ever seen the great stone bridge.
+But all have heard of it. They worship it as a god. There's water runs
+down this canyon and water runs to the river. Nas Ta Bega thinks he can
+take you down to the river."
+
+"Go on," cried Shefford breathlessly, as Joe paused.
+
+"The Indian plans this way. God, it's great!... If only I can do my
+end!... He plans to take mustangs to-day and wait with them for you
+to-night or to-morrow till you come with the girl. You'll go get
+Lassiter and the woman out of Surprise Valley. Then you'll strike east
+for Nonnezoshe Boco. If possible, you must take a pack of grub. You may
+be days going down--and waiting for me at the mouth of the canyon, at
+the river."
+
+"Joe! Where will you be?"
+
+"I'll ride like hell for Kayenta, get another horse there, and ride
+like hell for the San Juan River. There's a big flatboat at the Durango
+crossing. I'll go down the San Juan in that--into the big river. I'll
+drift down by day, tie up by night, and watch for you at the mouth of
+every canyon till I come to Nonnezoshe Boco."
+
+Shefford could not believe the evidence of his ears. He knew the
+treacherous San Juan River. He had heard of the great, sweeping,
+terrible red Colorado and its roaring rapids.
+
+"Oh, it seems impossible!" he gasped. "You'll just lose your life for
+nothing."
+
+"The Indian will turn the trick, I tell you. Take my hunch. It's nothing
+for me to drift down a swift river. I worked a ferry-boat once."
+
+Shefford, to whom flying straws would have seemed stable, caught the
+inflection of defiance and daring and hope of the Mormon's spirit.
+
+"What then--after you meet us at the mouth of Nonnezoshe Boco?" he
+queried.
+
+"We'll all drift down to Lee's Ferry. That's at the head of Marble
+Canyon. We'll get out on the south side of the river, thus avoiding
+any Mormons at the ferry. Nas Ta Bega knows the country. It's open
+desert--on the other side of these plateaus. He can get horses from
+Navajos. Then you'll strike south for Willow Springs."
+
+"Willow Springs? That's Presbrey's trading-post," said Shefford.
+
+"Never met him. But he'll see you safe out of the Painted Desert. ...
+The thing that worries me most is how not to miss you all at the mouth
+of Nonnezoshe. You must have sharp eyes. But I forget the Indian. A bird
+couldn't pass him.... And suppose Nonnezoshe Boco has a steep-walled,
+narrow mouth opening into a rapids!... Whew! Well, the Indian will
+figure that, too. Now, let's put our heads together and plan how to turn
+this end of the trick here. Getting the girl!"
+
+After a short colloquy it was arranged that Shefford would go to Ruth
+and talk to her of the aid she had promised. Joe averred that this aid
+could be best given by Ruth going in her somber gown and hood to the
+school-house, and there, while Joe and Shefford engaged the guards
+outside, she would change apparel and places with Fay and let her come
+forth.
+
+"What'll they do to Ruth?" demanded Shefford. "We can't accept her
+sacrifice if she's to suffer--or be punished."
+
+"Reckon Ruth has a strong hunch that she can get away with it. Did you
+notice how strange she said that? Well, they can't do much to her. The
+bishop may damn her soul. But--Ruth--"
+
+Here Lake hesitated and broke off. Not improbably he had meant to say
+that of all the Mormon women in the valley Ruth was the least likely to
+suffer from punishment inflicted upon her soul.
+
+"Anyway, it's our only chance," went on Joe, "unless we kill a couple of
+men. Ruth will gladly take what comes to help you."
+
+"All right; I consent," replied Shefford, with emotion. "And now after
+she comes out--the supposed Ruth--what then?"
+
+"You can be natural-like. Go with her back to Ruth's cabin. Then stroll
+off into the cedars. Then climb the west wall. Meanwhile Nas Ta Bega
+will ride off with a pack of grub and Nack-yal and several other
+mustangs. He'll wait for you or you'll wait for him, as the case may be,
+at some appointed place. When you're gone I'll jump my horse and hit the
+trail for Kayenta and the San Juan."
+
+"Very well; that's settled," said Shefford, soberly. "I'll go at once to
+see Ruth. You and Nas Ta Bega decide on where I'm to meet him."
+
+"Reckon you'd do just as well to walk round and come up to Ruth's from
+the other side--instead of going through the village," suggested Joe.
+
+Shefford approached Ruth's cabin in a roundabout way; nevertheless, she
+saw him coming before he got there and, opening the door, stood pale,
+composed, and quietly bade him enter. Briefly, in low and earnest voice,
+Shefford acquainted her with the plan.
+
+"You love her so much," she said, wistfully, wonderingly.
+
+"Indeed I do. Is it too much to ask of you to do this thing?" he asked.
+
+"Do it?" she queried, with a flash of spirit. "Of course I'll do it."
+
+"Ruth, I can't thank you. I can't. I've only a faint idea what you're
+risking. That distresses me. I'm afraid of what may happen to you."
+
+She gave him another of the strange glances. "I don't risk so much as
+you think," she said, significantly.
+
+"Why?"
+
+She came close to him, and her hands clasped his arms and she looked up
+at him, her eyes darkening and her face growing paler. "Will you swear
+to keep my secret?" she asked, very low.
+
+"Yes, I swear."
+
+"I was one of Waggoner's sealed wives!"
+
+"God Almighty!" broke out Shefford, utterly overwhelmed.
+
+"Yes. That's why I say I don't risk so much. I will make up a story to
+tell the bishop and everybody. I'll tell that Waggoner was jealous, that
+he was brutal to Mary, that I believed she was goaded to her mad deed,
+that I thought she ought to be free. They'll be terrible. But what can
+they do to me? My husband is dead... and if I have to go to hell to keep
+from marrying another married Mormon, I'll go!"
+
+In that low, passionate utterance Shefford read the death-blow to the
+old Mormon polygamous creed. In the uplift of his spirit, in the joy at
+this revelation, he almost forgot the stern matter at hand. Ruth and Joe
+Lake belonged to a younger generation of Mormons. Their nobility in this
+instance was in part a revolt at the conditions of their lives. Doubt
+was knocking at Joe Lake's heart, and conviction had come to this young
+sealed wife, bitter and hopeless while she had been fettered, strong and
+mounting now that she was free. In a flash of inspiration Shefford saw
+the old order changing. The Mormon creed might survive, but that part of
+it which was an affront to nature, a horrible yoke on women's necks,
+was doomed. It could not live. It could never have survived more than a
+generation or two of religious fanatics. Shefford had marked a different
+force and religious fervor in the younger Mormons, and now he understood
+them.
+
+"Ruth, you talk wildly," he said. "But I understand. I see. You are free
+and you're going to stay free.... It stuns me to think of that man of
+many wives. What did you feel when you were told he was dead?"
+
+"I dare not think of that. It makes me--wicked. And he was good to
+me.... Listen. Last night about midnight he came to my window and woke
+me. I got up and let him in. He was in a terrible state. I thought he
+was crazy. He walked the floor and called on his saints and prayed. When
+I wanted to light a lamp he wouldn't let me. He was afraid I'd see his
+face. But I saw well enough in the moonlight. And I knew something
+had happened. So I soothed and coaxed him. He had been a man as
+close-mouthed as a stone. Yet then I got him to talk.... He had gone
+to Mary's, and upon entering, thought he heard some one with her. She
+didn't answer him at first. When he found her in her bedroom she was
+like a ghost. He accused her. Her silence made him furious. Then he
+berated her, brought down the wrath of God upon her, threatened her with
+damnation. All of which she never seemed to hear. But when he tried to
+touch her she flew at him like a she-panther. That's what he called her.
+She said she'd kill him! And she drove him out of her house.... He was
+all weak and unstrung, and I believe scared, too, when he came to me.
+She must have been a fury. Those quiet, gentle women are furies when
+they're once roused. Well, I was hours up with him and finally he
+got over it. He didn't pray any more. He paced the room. It was just
+daybreak when he said the wrath of God had come to him. I tried to keep
+him from going back to Mary. But he went.... An hour later the women ran
+to tell me he had been found dead at Mary's door."
+
+"Ruth--she was mad--driven--she didn't know what she--was doing," said
+Shefford, brokenly.
+
+"She was always a strange girl, more like an Indian than any one I
+ever knew. We called her the Sago Lily. I gave her the name. She was so
+sweet, lovely, white and gold, like those flowers.... And to think!
+Oh, it's horrible for her! You must save her. If you get her away there
+never will be anything come of it. The Mormons will hush it up."
+
+"Ruth, time is flying," rejoined Shefford, hurriedly. "I must go back
+to Joe. You be ready for us when we come. Wear something loose, easily
+thrown off, and don't forget the long hood."
+
+"I'll be ready and watching," she said. "The sooner the better, I'd
+say."
+
+He left her and returned toward camp in the same circling route by which
+he had come. The Indian had disappeared and so had his mustang. This
+significant fact augmented Shefford's hurried, thrilling excitement.
+But one glance at Joe's face changed all that to a sudden numbness, a
+sinking of his heart.
+
+"What is it?" he queried.
+
+"Look there!" exclaimed the Mormon.
+
+Shefford's quick eye caught sight of horses and men down the valley. He
+saw several Indians and three or four white men. They were making camp.
+
+"Who are they?" demanded Shefford.
+
+"Shadd and some of his gang. Reckon that Piute told the news. By
+to-morrow the valley will be full as a horse-wrangler's corral.... Lucky
+Nas Ta Bega got away before that gang rode in. Now things won't look
+as queer as they might have looked. The Indian took a pack of grub, six
+mustangs, and my guns. Then there was your rifle in your saddle-sheath.
+So you'll be well heeled in case you come to close quarters. Reckon
+you can look for a running fight. For now, as soon as your flight is
+discovered, Shadd will hit your trail. He's in with the Mormons. You
+know him--what you'll have to deal with. But the advantage will all be
+yours. You can ambush the trail."
+
+"We're in for it. And the sooner we're off the better," replied
+Shefford, grimly.
+
+"Reckon that's gospel. Well--come on!"
+
+The Mormon strode off, and Shefford, catching up with him, kept at his
+side. Shefford's mind was full, but Joe's dark and gloomy face did not
+invite communication. They entered the pinyon grove and passed the
+cabin where the tragedy had been enacted. A tarpaulin had been stretched
+across the front porch. Beal was not in sight, nor were any of the
+women.
+
+"I forgot," said Shefford, suddenly. "Where am I to meet the Indian?"
+
+"Climb the west wall, back of camp," replied Joe. "Nas Ta Bega took the
+Stonebridge trail. But he'll leave that, climb the rocks, then hide the
+outfit and come back to watch for you. Reckon he'll see you when you top
+the wall."
+
+They passed on into the heart of the village. Joe tarried at the window
+of a cabin, and passed a few remarks to a woman there, and then he
+inquired for Mother Smith at her house. When they left here the Mormon
+gave Shefford a nudge. Then they separated, Joe going toward the
+school-house, while Shefford bent his steps in the direction of Ruth's
+home.
+
+Her door opened before he had a chance to knock. He entered. Ruth, white
+and resolute, greeted him with a wistful smile.
+
+"All ready?" she asked.
+
+"Yes. Are you?" he replied, low-voiced.
+
+"I've only to put on my hood. I think luck favors you. Hester was here
+and she said Elder Smith told some one that Mary hadn't been offered
+anything to eat yet. So I'm taking her a little. It'll be a good excuse
+for me to get in the school-house to see her. I can throw off this dress
+and she can put it on in a minute. Then the hood. I mustn't forget to
+hide her golden hair. You know how it flies. But this is a big hood....
+Well, I'm ready now. And--this 's our last time together."
+
+"Ruth, what can I say--how can I thank you?"
+
+"I don't want any thanks. It'll be something to think of always--to make
+me happy.... Only I'd like to feel you--you cared a little."
+
+The wistful smile was there, a tremor on the sad lips, and a shadow of
+soul-hunger in her eyes. Shefford did not misunderstand her. She did
+not mean love, although it was a yearning for real love that she mutely
+expressed.
+
+"Care! I shall care all my life," he said, with strong feeling. "I shall
+never forget you."
+
+"It's not likely I'll forget you.... Good-by, John!"
+
+Shefford took her in his arms and held her close. "Ruth--good-by!" he
+said, huskily.
+
+Then he released her. She adjusted the hood and, taking up a little tray
+which held food covered with a napkin, she turned to the door. He opened
+it and they went out.
+
+They did not speak another word.
+
+It was not a long walk from Ruth's home to the school-house, yet if it
+were to be measured by Shefford's emotion the distance would have been
+unending. The sacrifice offered by Ruth and Joe would have been noble
+under any circumstances had they been Gentiles or persons with no
+particular religion, but, considering that they were Mormons, that Ruth
+had been a sealed-wife, that Joe had been brought up under the strange,
+secret, and binding creed, their action was no less than tremendous in
+its import. Shefford took it to mean vastly more than loyalty to him
+and pity for Fay Larkin. As Ruth and Joe had arisen to this height,
+so perhaps would other young Mormons, have arisen. It needed only the
+situation, the climax, to focus these long-insulated, slow-developing
+and inquiring minds upon the truth--that one wife, one mother of
+children, for one man at one time 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
+canyon. Then he led the way, walking swiftly. It was Shefford, and
+not Fay, who had difficulty in keeping close to him. This speed caused
+Shefford to become more alive to the business, instead of the feeling,
+of the flight. The Indian entered a crack between low cliffs--a very
+narrow canyon full of rocks and clumps of cedars--and in a half-hour or
+less he came to where the mustangs were halted among some cedars. Three
+of the mustangs, including Nack-yal, were saddled; one bore a small
+pack, and the remaining two had blankets strapped on their backs.
+
+"Fay, can you ride in that long skirt?" asked Shefford. How strange
+it seemed that his first words to her were practical when all his
+impassioned thought had been only mute! But the instant he spoke he
+experienced a relief, a relaxation.
+
+"I'll take it off," replied Fay, just as practically. And in a twinkling
+she slipped out of both waist and skirt. She had worn them over the
+short white-flannel dress with which Shefford had grown familiar.
+
+As Nack-yal appeared to be the safest mustang for her to ride, Shefford
+helped her upon him and then attended to the stirrups. When he had
+adjusted them to the proper length he drew the bridle over Nack-yal's
+head and, upon handing it to her, found himself suddenly looking into
+her face. She had taken off the hood, too. The instant there eyes met he
+realized that she was strangely afraid to meet his glance, as he was to
+meet hers. That seemed natural. But her face was flushed and there were
+unmistakable signs upon it of growing excitement, of mounting happiness.
+Save for that fugitive glance she would have been the Fay Larkin of
+yesterday. How he had expected her to look he did not know, but it was
+not like this. And never had he felt her strange quality of simplicity
+so powerfully.
+
+"Have you ever been here--through this little canyon?" he asked.
+
+"Oh yes, lots of times."
+
+"You'll be able to lead us to Surprise Valley, you think?"
+
+"I know it. I shall see Uncle Jim and Mother Jane before sunset!"
+
+"I hope--you do," he replied, a little shakily. "Perhaps we'd better not
+tell them of the--the--about what happened last night."
+
+Her beautiful, grave, and troubled glance returned to meet his, and
+he received a shock that he considered was amaze. And after more swift
+consideration he believed he was amazed because that look, instead of
+betraying fear or gloom or any haunting shadow of darkness, betrayed
+apprehension for him--grave, sweet, troubled love for him. She was not
+thinking of herself at all--of what he might think of her, of a possible
+gulf between them, of a vast and terrible change in the relation of
+soul to soul. He experienced a profound gladness. Though he could not
+understand her, he was happy that the horror of Waggoner's death had
+escaped her. He loved her, he meant to give his life to her, and right
+then and there he accepted the burden of her deed and meant to bear it
+without ever letting her know of the shadow between them.
+
+"Fay, we'll forget--what's behind us," he said. "Now to find Surprise
+Valley. Lead on. Nack-yal is gentle. Pull him the way you want to go.
+We'll follow."
+
+Shefford mounted the other saddled mustang, and they set off, Fay
+in advance. Presently they rode out of this canyon up to level
+cedar-patched, solid rock, and here Fay turned straight west. Evidently
+she had been over the ground before. The heights to which he had climbed
+with her were up to the left, great slopes and looming promontories. And
+the course she chose was as level and easy as any he could have picked
+out in that direction.
+
+When a mile or more of this up-and-down travel had been traversed Fay
+halted and appeared to be at fault. The plateau was losing its rounded,
+smooth, wavy characteristics, and to the west grew bolder, more rugged,
+more cut up into low crags and buttes. After a long, sweeping glance Fay
+headed straight for this rougher country. Thereafter from time to time
+she repeated this action.
+
+"Fay, how do you know you're going in the right direction?" asked
+Shefford, anxiously.
+
+"I never forget any ground I've been over. I keep my eyes close ahead.
+All that seems strange to me is the wrong way. What I've seen, before
+must be the right way, because I saw it when they brought me from
+Surprise Valley."
+
+Shefford had to acknowledge that she was following an Indian's instinct
+for ground he had once covered.
+
+Still Shefford began to worry, and finally dropped back to question Nas
+Ta Bega.
+
+"Bi Nai, she has the eye of a Navajo," replied the Indian. "Look!
+Iron-shod horses have passed here. See the marks in the stone?"
+
+Shefford indeed made out faint cut tracks that would have escaped his
+own sight. They had been made long ago, but they were unmistakable.
+
+"She's following the trail by memory--she must remember the stones,
+trees, sage, cactus," said Shefford in surprise.
+
+"Pictures in her mind," replied the Indian.
+
+Thereafter the farther she progressed the less at fault she appeared and
+the faster she traveled. She made several miles an hour, and about
+the middle of the afternoon entered upon the more broken region of the
+plateau. View became restricted. Low walls, and ruined cliffs of red
+rock with cedars at their base, and gullies growing into canyon and
+canyon opening into larger ones--these were passed and crossed and
+climbed and rimmed in travel that grew more difficult as the going
+became wilder. Then there was a steady ascent, up and up all the time,
+though not steep, until another level, green with cedar and pinyon, was
+reached.
+
+It reminded Shefford of the forest near the mouth of the Sagi. It was so
+dense he could not see far ahead of Fay, and often he lost sight of her
+entirely. Presently he rode out of the forest into a strip of purple
+sage. It ended abruptly, and above that abrupt line, seemingly far away,
+rose a long, red wall. Instantly he recognized that to be the opposite
+wall of a canyon which as yet he could not see.
+
+Fay was acting strangely and he hurried forward. She slipped off
+Nack-yal and fell, sprang up and ran wildly, to stand upon a promontory,
+her arms uplifted, her hair a mass of moving gold in the wind, her
+attitude one of wild and eloquent significance.
+
+Shefford ran, too, and as he ran the red wall in his eager sight seemed
+to enlarge downward, deeper and deeper, and then it merged into a strip
+of green.
+
+Suddenly beneath him yawned a red-walled gulf, a deceiving gulf seen
+through transparent haze, a softly shining green-and-white valley,
+strange, wild, beautiful, like a picture in his memory.
+
+"Surprise Valley!" he cried, in wondering recognition.
+
+Fay Larkin waved her arms as if they were wings to carry her swiftly
+downward, and her plaintive cry fitted the wildness of her manner and
+the lonely height where she leaned.
+
+Shefford drew her back from the rim.
+
+"Fay, we are here," he said. "I recognize the valley. I miss only one
+thing--the arch of stone."
+
+His words seemed to recall her to reality.
+
+"The arch? That fell when the wall slipped, in the great avalanche. See!
+There is the place. We can get down there. Oh, let us hurry!"
+
+The Indian reached the rim and his falcon gaze swept the valley. "Ugh!"
+he exclaimed. He, too, recognized the valley that he had vainly sought
+for half a year.
+
+"Bring the lassos," said Shefford.
+
+With Fay leading, they followed the rim toward the head of the valley.
+Here the wall had caved in, and there was a slope of jumbled rock a
+thousand feet wide and more than that in depth. It was easy to descend
+because there were so many rocks waist-high that afforded a handhold.
+Shefford marked, however, that Fay never took advantage of these. More
+than once he paused to watch her. Swiftly she went down; she stepped
+from rock to rock; lightly she crossed cracks and pits; she ran along
+the sharp and broken edge of a long ledge; she poised on a pointed stone
+and, sure-footed as a mountain-sheep, she sprang to another that had
+scarce surface for a foothold; her moccasins flashed, seemed to hold
+wondrously on any angle; and when a rock tipped or slipped with her she
+leaped to a surer stand. Shefford watched her performance, so swift,
+agile, so perfectly balanced, showing such wonderful accord between eye
+and foot; and then when he swept his gaze down upon that wild valley
+where she had roamed alone for twelve years he marveled no more.
+
+The farther down he got the greater became the size of rocks, until
+he found himself amid huge pieces of cliff as large as houses. He lost
+sight of Fay entirely, and he anxiously threaded a narrow, winding,
+descending way between the broken masses. Finally he came out upon flat
+rock again. Fay stood on another rim, looking down. He saw that the
+slide had moved far out into the valley, and the lower part of it
+consisted of great sections of wall. In fact, the base of the great
+wall had just moved out with the avalanche, and this much of it held its
+vertical position. Looking upward, Shefford was astounded and thrilled
+to see how far he had descended, how the walls leaned like a great,
+wide, curving, continuous rim of mountain.
+
+"Here! Here!" called Fay. "Here's where they got down--where they
+brought me up. Here are the sticks they used. They stuck them in this
+crack, down to that ledge."
+
+Shefford ran to her side and looked down. There was a narrow split in
+this section of wall and it was perhaps sixty feet in depth. The floor
+of rock below led out in a ledge, with a sheer drop to the valley level.
+
+As Shefford gazed, pondering on a way to descend lower, the Indian
+reached his side. He had no sooner looked than he proceeded to act.
+Selecting one of the sticks, which were strong pieces of cedar, well
+hewn and trimmed, he jammed it between the walls of the crack till it
+stuck fast. Then sitting astride this one he jammed in another some
+three feet below. When he got down upon that one it was necessary for
+Shefford to drop him a third stick. In a comparatively short time the
+Indian reached the ledge below. Then he called for the lassos. Shefford
+threw them down. His next move was an attempt to assist Fay, but she
+slipped out of his grasp and descended the ladder with a swiftness
+that made him hold his breath. Still, when his turn came, her spirit
+so governed him that he went down as swiftly, and even leaped sheer the
+last ten feet.
+
+Nas Ta Bega and Fay were leaning over the ledge.
+
+"Here's the place," she said, excitedly. "Let me down on the rope."
+
+It took two thirty-foot lassos tied together to reach the floor of the
+valley. Shefford folded his vest, put it round Fay, and slipped a loop
+of the lasso under her arms. Then he and Nas Ta Bega lowered her to
+the grass below. Fay, throwing off the loop, bounded away like a wild
+creature, uttering the strangest cries he had ever heard, and she
+disappeared along the wall.
+
+"I'll go down," said Shefford to the Indian. "You stay here to help pull
+us up."
+
+Hand over hand Shefford descended, and when his feet touched the grass
+he experienced a shock of the most singular exultation.
+
+"In Surprise Valley!" he breathed, softly. The dream that had come to
+him with his friend's story, the years of waiting, wondering, and then
+the long, fruitless, hopeless search in the desert uplands--these were
+in his mind as he turned along the wall where Fay had disappeared. He
+faced a wide terrace, green with grass and moss and starry with strange
+white flowers, and dark-foliaged, spear-pointed spruce-trees. Below the
+terrace sloped a bench covered with thick copse, and this merged into
+a forest of dwarf oaks, and beyond that was a beautiful strip of white
+aspens, their leaves quivering in the stillness. The air was close,
+sweet, warm, fragrant, and remarkably dry. It reminded him of the air he
+had smelled in dry caves under cliffs. He reached a point from where he
+saw a meadow dotted with red-and-white-spotted cattle and little black
+burros. There were many of them. And he remembered with a start the
+agony of toil and peril Venters had endured bringing the progenitors of
+this stock into the valley. What a strange, wild, beautiful story it
+all was! But a story connected with this valley could not have been
+otherwise.
+
+Beyond the meadow, on the other side of the valley, extended the forest,
+and that ended in the rising bench of thicket, which gave place to green
+slope and mossy terrace of sharp-tipped spruces--and all this led the
+eye irresistibly up to the red wall where a vast, dark, wonderful cavern
+yawned, with its rust-colored streaks of stain on the wall, and the
+queer little houses of the cliff-dwellers, with their black, vacant,
+silent windows speaking so weirdly of the unknown past.
+
+Shefford passed a place where the ground had been cultivated, but not
+as recently as the last six months. There was a scant shock of corn and
+many meager standing stalks. He became aware of a low, whining hum and a
+fragrance overpowering in its sweetness. And there round another corner
+of wall he came upon an orchard all pink and white in blossom and
+melodious with the buzz and hum of innumerable bees.
+
+He crossed a little stream that had been dammed, went along a pond, down
+beside an irrigation-ditch that furnished water to orchard and vineyard,
+and from there he strode into a beautiful cove between two jutting
+corners of red wall. It was level and green and the spruces stood
+gracefully everywhere. Beyond their dark trunks he saw caves in the
+wall.
+
+Suddenly the fragrance of blossom was overwhelmed by the stronger
+fragrance of smoke from a wood fire. Swiftly he strode under the
+spruces. Quail fluttered before him as tame as chickens. Big gray
+rabbits scarcely moved out of his way. The branches above him were full
+of mockingbirds. And then--there before him stood three figures.
+
+Fay Larkin was held close to the side of a magnificent woman,
+barbarously clad in garments made of skins and pieces of blanket. Her
+face worked in noble emotion. Shefford seemed to see the ghost of that
+fair beauty Venters had said was Jane Withersteen's. Her hair was
+gray. Near her stood a lean, stoop-shouldered man whose long hair was
+perfectly white. His gaunt face was bare of beard. It had strange,
+sloping, sad lines. And he was staring with mild, surprised eyes.
+
+The moment held Shefford mute till sight of Fay Larkin's tear-wet face
+broke the spell. He leaped forward and his strong hands reached for the
+woman and the man.
+
+"Jane Withersteen!... Lassiter! I have found you!"
+
+"Oh, sir, who are you?" she cried, with rich and deep and quivering
+voice. "This child came running--screaming. She could not speak. We
+thought she had gone mad--and escaped to come back to us."
+
+"I am John Shefford," he replied, swiftly. "I am a friend of Bern
+Venters--of his wife Bess. I learned your story. I came west. I've
+searched a year. I found Fay. And we've come to take you away."
+
+"You found Fay? But that masked Mormon who forced her to sacrifice
+herself to save us!... What of him? It's not been so many long years--I
+remember what my father was--and Dyer and Tull--all those cruel
+churchmen."
+
+"Waggoner is dead," replied Shefford.
+
+"Dead? She is free! Oh, what--how did he die?"
+
+"He was killed."
+
+"Who did it?"
+
+"That's no matter," replied Shefford, stonily, and he met her gaze with
+steady eyes. "He's out of the way. Fay was never his wife. Fay's free.
+We've come to take you out of the country. We must hurry. We'll be
+tracked--pursued. But we've horses and an Indian guide. We'll get
+away.... I think it better to leave here at once. There's no telling how
+soon we'll be hunted. Get what things you want to take with you."
+
+"Oh--yes--Mother Jane, let us hurry!" cried Fay. "I'm so full--I can't
+talk--my heart hurts so!"
+
+Jane Withersteen's face shone with an exceedingly radiant light, and a
+glory blended with a terrible fear in her eyes.
+
+"Fay! my little Fay!"
+
+Lassiter had stood there with his mild, clear blue eyes upon Shefford.
+
+"I shore am glad to see you--all," he drawled, and extended his hand as
+if the meeting were casual. "What'd you say your name was?"
+
+Shefford repeated it as he met the proffered hand.
+
+"How's Bern an' Bess?" Lassiter inquired.
+
+"They were well, prosperous, happy when last I saw them.... They had a
+baby."
+
+"Now ain't thet fine?... Jane, did you hear? Bess has a baby. An', Jane,
+didn't I always say Bern would come back to get us out? Shore it's just
+the same."
+
+How cool, easy, slow, and mild this Lassiter seemed! Had the man grown
+old, Shefford wondered? The past to him manifestly was only yesterday,
+and the danger of the present was as nothing. Looking in Lassiter's
+face, Shefford was baffled. If he had not remembered the greatness of
+this old gun-man he might have believed that the lonely years in the
+valley had unbalanced his mind. In an hour like this coolness seemed
+inexplicable--assuredly would have been impossible in an ordinary man.
+Yet what hid behind that drawling coolness? What was the meaning of
+those long, sloping, shadowy lines of the face? What spirit lay in the
+deep, mild, clear eyes? Shefford experienced a sudden check to what had
+been his first growing impression of a drifting, broken old man.
+
+"Lassiter, pack what little you can carry--mustn't be much--and we'll
+get out of here," said Shefford.
+
+"I shore will. Reckon I ain't a-goin' to need a pack-train. We saved the
+clothes we wore in here. Jane never thought it no use. But I figgered we
+might need them some day. They won't be stylish, but I reckon they'll do
+better 'n these skins. An' there's an old coat thet was Venters's."
+
+The mild, dreamy look became intensified in Lassiter's eyes.
+
+"Did Venters have any hosses when you knowed him?" he asked.
+
+"He had a farm full of horses," replied Shefford, with a smile. "And
+there were two blacks--the grandest horses I ever saw. Black Star and
+Night! You remember, Lassiter?"
+
+"Shore. I was wonderin' if he got the blacks out. They must be growin'
+old by now.... Grand hosses, they was. But Jane had another hoss, a big
+devil of a sorrel. His name was Wrangle. Did Venters ever tell you about
+him--an' thet race with Jerry Card?"
+
+"A hundred times!" replied Shefford.
+
+"Wrangle run the blacks off their legs. But Jane never would believe
+thet. An' I couldn't change her all these years.... Reckon mebbe we'll
+get to see them blacks?"
+
+"Indeed, I hope--I believe you will," replied Shefford, feelingly.
+
+"Shore won't thet be fine. Jane, did you hear? Black Star an' Night are
+livin' an' we'll get to see them."
+
+But Jane Withersteen only clasped Fay in her arms, and looked at
+Lassiter with wet and glistening eyes.
+
+Shefford told them to hurry and come to the cliff where the ascent from
+the valley was to be made. He thought best to leave them alone to make
+their preparations and bid farewell to the cavern home they had known
+for so long.
+
+Then he strolled back along the wall, loitering here to gaze into a
+cave, and there to study crude red paintings in the nooks. And sometimes
+he halted thoughtfully and did not see anything. At length he rounded
+a corner of cliff to espy Nas Ta Bega sitting upon the ledge, reposeful
+and watchful as usual. Shefford told the Indian they would be climbing
+out soon, and then he sat down to wait and let his gaze rove over the
+valley.
+
+He might have sat there a long while, so sad and reflective and
+wondering was his thought, but it seemed a very short time till Fay came
+in sight with her free, swift grace, and Lassiter and Jane some distance
+behind. Jane carried a small bundle and Lassiter had a sack over his
+shoulder that appeared no inconsiderable burden.
+
+"Them beans shore is heavy," he drawled, as he deposited the sack upon
+the ground.
+
+Shefford curiously took hold of the sack and was amazed to find that a
+second and hard muscular effort was required to lift it.
+
+"Beans?" he queried.
+
+"Shore," replied Lassiter.
+
+"That's the heaviest sack of beans I ever saw. Why--it's not possible
+it can be.... Lassiter, we've a long, rough trail. We've got to pack
+light--"
+
+"Wal, I ain't a-goin' to leave this here sack behind. Reckon I've been
+all of twelve years in fillin' it," he declared, mildly.
+
+Shefford could only stare at him.
+
+"Fay may need them beans," went on Lassiter.
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Because they're gold."
+
+"Gold!" ejaculated Shefford.
+
+"Shore. An' they represent some work. Twelve years of diggin' an'
+washin'!"
+
+Shefford laughed constrainedly. "Well, Lassiter, that alters the case
+considerably. A sack of gold nuggets or grains, or beans, as you call
+them, certainly must not be left behind.... Come, now, we'll tackle this
+climbing job."
+
+He called up to the Indian and, grasping the rope, began to walk up the
+first slant, and then by dint of hand-over-hand effort and climbing
+with knees and feet he succeeded, with Nas Ta Bega's help, in making the
+ledge. Then he let down the rope to haul up the sack and bundle. That
+done, he directed Fay to fasten the noose round her as he had fixed it
+before. When she had complied he called to her to hold herself out from
+the wall while he and Nas Ta Bega hauled her up.
+
+"Hold the rope tight," replied Fay, "I'll walk up."
+
+And to Shefford's amaze and admiration, she virtually walked up that
+almost perpendicular wall by slipping her hands along the rope and
+stepping as she pulled herself up. There, if never before, he saw the
+fruit of her years of experience on steep slopes. Only such experience
+could have made the feat possible.
+
+Jane had to be hauled up, and the task was a painful one for her.
+Lassiter's turn came then, and he showed more strength and agility than
+Shefford had supposed him capable of. From the ledge they turned their
+attention to the narrow crack with its ladder of sticks. Fay had already
+ascended and now hung over the rim, her white face and golden hair
+framed vividly in the narrow stream of blue sky above.
+
+"Mother Jane! Uncle Jim! You are so slow," she called.
+
+"Wal, Fay, we haven't been second cousins to a canyon squirrel all these
+years," replied Lassiter.
+
+This upper half of the climb bid fair to be as difficult for Jane, if
+not so painful, as the lower. It was necessary for the Indian to go
+up and drop the rope, which was looped around her, and then, with him
+pulling from above and Shefford assisting Jane as she climbed, she was
+finally gotten up without mishap. When Lassiter reached the level they
+rested a little while and then faced the great slide of jumbled rocks.
+Fay led the way, light, supple, tireless, and Shefford never ceased
+looking at her. At last they surmounted the long slope and, winding
+along the rim, reached the point where Fay had led out of the cedars.
+
+Nas Ta Bega, then, was the one to whom Shefford looked for every
+decision or action of the immediate future. The Indian said he had seen
+a pool of water in a rocky hole, that the day was spent, that here was a
+little grass for the mustangs, and it would be well to camp right there.
+So while Nas Ta Bega attended to the mustangs Shefford set about such
+preparations for camp and supper as their light pack afforded. The
+question of beds was easily answered, for the mats of soft needles under
+pinyon and cedar would be comfortable places to sleep.
+
+When Shefford felt free again the sun was setting. Lassiter and Jane
+were walking under the trees. The Indian had returned to camp. But Fay
+was missing. Shefford imagined he knew where to find her, and upon
+going to the edge of the forest he saw her sitting on the promontory.
+He approached her, drawn in spite of a feeling that perhaps he ought to
+stay away.
+
+"Fay, would you rather be alone?" he asked.
+
+His voice startled her.
+
+"I want you," she replied, and held out her hand.
+
+Taking it in his own, he sat beside her.
+
+The red sun was at their backs. Surprise Valley lay hazy, dusky, shadowy
+beneath them. The opposite wall seemed fired by crimson flame, save far
+down at its base, which the sun no longer touched. And the dark line
+of red slowly rose, encroaching upon the bright crimson. Changing,
+transparent, yet dusky veils seemed to float between the walls; long,
+red rays, where the sun shone through notch or crack in the rim, split
+the darker spaces; deep down at the floor the forest darkened, the strip
+of aspen paled, the meadow turned gray; and all under the shelves and in
+the great caverns a purple gloom deepened. Then the sun set. And swiftly
+twilight was there below while day lingered above. On the opposite wall
+the fire died and the stone grew cold.
+
+A canyon night-hawk voiced his lonely, weird, and melancholy cry, and it
+seemed to pierce and mark the silence.
+
+A pale star, peering out of a sky that had begun to turn blue, marked
+the end of twilight. And all the purple shadows moved and hovered and
+changed till, softly and mysteriously, they embraced black night.
+
+Beautiful, wild, strange, silent Surprise Valley! Shefford saw it before
+and beneath him, a dark abyss now, the abode of loneliness. He imagined
+faintly what was in Fay Larkin's heart. For the last time she had seen
+the sun set there and night come with its dead silence and sweet mystery
+and phantom shadows, its velvet blue sky and white trains of stars.
+
+He, who had dreamed and longed and searched, found that the hour had
+been incalculable for him in its import.
+
+
+
+
+XVII. THE TRAIL TO NONNEZOSHE
+
+
+When Shefford awoke next morning and sat up on his bed of pinyon boughs
+the dawn had broken cold with a ruddy gold brightness under the trees.
+Nas Ta Bega and Lassiter were busy around a camp-fire; the mustangs were
+haltered near by; Jane Withersteen combed out her long, tangled tresses
+with a crude wooden comb; and Fay Larkin was not in sight. As she
+had been missing from the group at sunset, so she was now at sunrise.
+Shefford went out to take his last look at Surprise Valley.
+
+On the evening before the valley had been a place of dusky red veils and
+purple shadows, and now it was pink-walled, clear and rosy and green
+and white, with wonderful shafts of gold slanting down from the notched
+eastern rim. Fay stood on the promontory, and Shefford did not break the
+spell of her silent farewell to her wild home. A strange emotion abided
+with him and he knew he would always, all his life, regret leaving
+Surprise Valley.
+
+Then the Indian called.
+
+"Come, Fay," said Shefford, gently.
+
+And she turned away with dark, haunted eyes and a white, still face.
+
+The somber Indian gave a silent gesture for Shefford to make haste.
+While they had breakfast the mustangs were saddled and packed. And soon
+all was in readiness for the flight. Fay was given Nack-yal, Jane the
+saddled horse Shefford had ridden, and Lassiter the Indian's roan.
+Shefford and Nas Ta Bega were to ride the blanketed mustangs, and the
+sixth and last one bore the pack. Nas Ta Bega set off, leading this
+horse; the others of the party lined in behind, with Shefford at the
+rear.
+
+Nas Ta Bega led at a brisk trot, and sometimes, on level stretches of
+ground, at an easy canter; and Shefford had a grim realization of
+what this flight was going to be for these three fugitives, now so
+unaccustomed to riding. Jane and Lassiter, however, needed no watching,
+and showed they had never forgotten how to manage a horse. The Indian
+back-trailed yesterday's path for an hour, then headed west to the left,
+and entered a low pass. All parts of this plateau country looked alike,
+and Shefford was at some pains to tell the difference of this strange
+ground from that which he had been over. In another hour they got out
+of the rugged, broken rock to the wind-worn and smooth, shallow canyon.
+Shefford calculated that they were coming to the end of the plateau.
+The low walls slanted lower; the canyon made a turn; Nas Ta Bega
+disappeared; and then the others of the party. When Shefford turned the
+corner of wall he saw a short strip of bare, rocky ground with only sky
+beyond. The Indian and his followers had halted in a group. Shefford
+rode to them, halted himself, and in one sweeping glance realized the
+meaning of their silent gaze. But immediately Nas Ta Bega started
+down; and the mustangs, without word or touch, followed him. Shefford,
+however, lingered on the promontory.
+
+His gaze seemed impelled and held by things afar--the great
+yellow-and-purple corrugated world of distance, now on a level with
+his eyes. He was drawn by the beauty and the grandeur of that scene and
+transfixed by the realization that he had dared to venture to find a
+way through this vast, wild, and upflung fastness. He kept looking afar,
+sweeping the three-quartered circle of horizon till his judgment of
+distance was confounded and his sense of proportion dwarfed one moment
+and magnified the next. Then he withdrew his fascinated gaze to adopt
+the Indian's method of studying unlimited spaces in the desert--to look
+with slow, contracted eyes from near to far.
+
+His companions had begun to zigzag down a long slope, bare of rock, with
+yellow gravel patches showing between the scant strips of green, and
+here and there a scrub-cedar. Half a mile down, the slope merged into
+green level. But close, keen gaze made out this level to be a rolling
+plain, growing darker green, with blue lines of ravines, and thin,
+undefined spaces that might be mirage. Miles and miles it swept and
+relied and heaved to lose its waves in apparent darker level. A round,
+red rock stood isolated, marking the end of the barren plain, and
+farther on were other round rocks, all isolated, all of different shape.
+They resembled huge grazing cattle. But as Shefford gazed, and his sight
+gained strength from steadily holding it to separate features these
+rocks were strangely magnified. They grew and grew into mounds, castles,
+domes, crags--great, red, wind-carved buttes. One by one they drew his
+gaze to the wall of upflung rock. He seemed to see a thousand domes of a
+thousand shapes and colors, and among them a thousand blue clefts, each
+one a little mark in his sight, yet which he knew was a canyon. So far
+he gained some idea of what he saw. But beyond this wide area of curved
+lines rose another wall, dwarfing the lower, dark red, horizon--long,
+magnificent in frowning boldness, and because of its limitless deceiving
+surfaces, breaks, and lines, incomprehensible to the sight of man. Away
+to the eastward began a winding, ragged, blue line, looping back upon
+itself, and then winding away again, growing wider and bluer. This
+line was the San Juan Canyon. Where was Joe Lake at that moment? Had he
+embarked yet on the river--did that blue line, so faint, so deceiving,
+hold him and the boat? Almost it was impossible to believe. Shefford
+followed the blue line all its length, a hundred miles, he fancied, down
+toward the west where it joined a dark, purple, shadowy cleft. And this
+was the Grand Canyon of the Colorado. Shefford's eye swept along with
+that winding mark, farther and farther to the west, round to the left,
+until the cleft, growing larger and coming closer, losing its deception,
+was seen to be a wild and winding canyon. Still farther to the left, as
+he swung in fascinated gaze, it split the wonderful wall--a vast plateau
+now with great red peaks and yellow mesas. The canyon was full of purple
+smoke. It turned, it gaped, it lost itself and showed again in that
+chaos of a million cliffs. And then farther on it became again a cleft,
+a purple line, at last to fail entirely in deceiving distance.
+
+Shefford imagined there was no scene in all the world to equal that. The
+tranquillity of lesser spaces was not here manifest. Sound, movement,
+life, seemed to have no fitness here. Ruin was there and desolation
+and decay. The meaning of the ages was flung at him, and a man became
+nothing. When he had gazed at the San Juan Canyon he had been appalled
+at the nature of Joe Lake's Herculean task. He had lost hope, faith.
+The thing was not possible. But when Shefford gazed at that sublime and
+majestic wilderness, in which the Grand Canyon was only a dim line, he
+strangely lost his terror and something else came to him from across the
+shining spaces. If Nas Ta Bega led them safely down to the river, if
+Joe Lake met them at the mouth of Nonnezoshe Boco, if they survived the
+rapids of that terrible gorge, then Shefford would have to face his soul
+and the meaning of this spirit that breathed on the wind.
+
+He urged his mustang to the descent of the slope, and as he went down,
+slowly drawing nearer to the other fugitives, his mind alternated
+between this strange intimation of faith, this subtle uplift of 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
+canyon.
+
+"Nonnezoshe Boco!" said the Indian.
+
+"Nas Ta Bega, go on!" replied Shefford. "When Shadd comes out on that
+slope above he can't see you--where you go down. Hurry on with the
+horses and women. Lassiter, you go with them. And if Shadd passes me and
+comes up with you--do your best.... I'm going to ambush that Piute and
+his gang!"
+
+"Shore you've picked out a good place," replied Lassiter.
+
+In another moment Shefford was alone. He heard the light, soft pat and
+slide of the hoofs of the mustangs as they went down. Presently that
+sound ceased.
+
+He looked at the red stain on his hands--from the blood of the girl he
+loved. And he had to stifle a terrible wrath that shook his frame. In
+regard to Shadd's pursuit, it had not been blood that he had feared, but
+capture for Fay. He and Nas Ta Bega might have expected a shot if they
+resisted, but to wound that unfortunate girl--it made a tiger out of
+him. When he had stilled the emotions that weakened and shook him and
+reached cold and implacable control of himself, he crawled under the
+cedars to the rim and, well hidden, he watched and waited.
+
+Shadd appeared to be slow for the first time since he had been sighted.
+With keen eyes Shefford watched the corner where he and the others had
+escaped from that murderous volley. But Shadd did not come.
+
+The sun had lost its warmth and was tipping the lofty mesa to his
+right. Soon twilight would make travel on those walls more perilous
+and darkness would make it impossible. Shadd must hurry or abandon the
+pursuit for that day. Shefford found himself grimly hopeful.
+
+Suddenly he heard the click of hoofs. It came, faint yet clear, on the
+still air. He glued his sight upon that corner where he expected the
+pursuers to appear. More cracks of hoofs pierced his ear, clearer and
+sharper this time. Presently he gathered that they could not possibly
+come from beyond the corner he was watching. So he looked far to the
+left of that place, seeing no one, then far to the right. Out over a
+bulge of stone he caught sight of the bobbing head of a horse--then
+another--and still another.
+
+He was astounded. Shadd had gone below that place where the attack had
+been made and he had come up this steep slope. More horses appeared--to
+the number of eight. Shefford easily recognized a low, broad, squat
+rider to be Shadd. Assuredly the Piute did not know this country.
+Possibly, however, he had feared an ambush. But Shefford grew convinced
+that Shadd had not expected an ambush, or at least did not fear it, and
+had mistaken the Indian's course. Moreover, if he led his gang a few
+rods farther up that slope he would do worse than make a mistake--he
+would be facing a double peril.
+
+What fearless horsemen these Indians were! Shadd was mounted, as were
+three others of his gang. Evidently the white men, the outlaws, were the
+ones on foot. Shefford thrilled and his veins stung when he saw these
+pursuers come passing what he considered the danger mark. But manifestly
+they could not see their danger. Assuredly they were aware of the chasm;
+however, the level upon which they were advancing narrowed gradually,
+and they could not tell that very soon they could not go any farther nor
+could they turn back. The alternative was to climb the slope, and that
+was a desperate chance.
+
+They came up, now about on a level with Shefford, and perhaps three
+hundred yards distant. He gripped his rifle with a fatal assurance that
+he could kill one of them now. Still he waited. Curiosity consumed
+him because every foot they advanced heightened their peril. Shefford
+wondered if Shadd would have chosen that course if he had not supposed
+the Navajo had chosen it first. It was plain that one of the walking
+Piutes stooped now and then to examine the rock. He was looking for some
+faint sign of a horse track.
+
+Shadd halted within two hundred yards of where Shefford lay hidden. His
+keen eye had caught the significance of the narrowing level before he
+had reached the end. He pointed and spoke. Shefford heard his voice.
+The others replied. They all looked up at the steep slope, down into
+the chasm right below them, and across into the cedars. The Piute in the
+rear succeeded in turning his horse, went back, and began to circle
+up the slope. The others entered into an argument and they became more
+closely grouped upon the narrow bench. Their mustangs were lean, wiry,
+wild, vicious, and Shefford calculated grimly upon what a stampede might
+mean in that position.
+
+Then Shadd turned his mustang up the slope. Like a goat he climbed.
+Another Indian in the rear succeeded in pivoting his steed and started
+back, apparently to circle round and up. The others of the gang appeared
+uncertain. They yelled hoarsely at Shadd, who halted on the steep slant
+some twenty paces above them. He spoke and made motions that evidently
+meant the climb was easy enough. It looked easy for him. His dark face
+flashed red in the rays of the sun.
+
+At this critical moment Shefford decided to fire. He meant to kill
+Shadd, hoping if the leader was gone the others would abandon the
+pursuit. The rifle wavered a little as he aimed, then grew still. He
+fired. Shadd never flinched. But the fiery mustang, perhaps wounded,
+certainly terrified, plunged down with piercing, horrid scream. Shadd
+fell under him. Shrill yells rent the air. Like a thunderbolt the
+sliding horse was upon men and animals below.
+
+A heavy shock, wild snorts, upflinging heads and hoofs, a terrible
+tramping, thudding, shrieking melee, then a brown, twisting, tangled
+mass shot down the slant over the rim!
+
+Shefford dazedly thought he saw men running. He did see plunging horses.
+One slipped, fell, rolled, and went into the chasm.
+
+Then up from the depths came a crash, a long, slipping roar. In another
+instant there was a lighter crash and a lighter sliding roar.
+
+Two horses, shaking, paralyzed with fear, were left upon the narrow
+level. Beyond them a couple of men were crawling along the stone. Up
+on the level stood the two Indians, holding down frightened horses, and
+staring at the fatal slope.
+
+And Shefford lay there under the cedar, in the ghastly grip of the
+moment, hardly comprehending that his ill-aimed shot had been a
+thunderbolt.
+
+He did not think of shooting at the Piutes; they, however, recovering
+from their shock, evidently feared the ambush, for they swiftly drew up
+the slope and passed out of sight. The frightened horses below whistled
+and tramped along the lower level, finally vanishing. There was nothing
+left on the bare wall to prove to Shefford that it had been the scene
+of swift and tragic death. He leaned from his covert and peered over the
+rim. Hundreds of feet below he saw dark growths of pinyons. There was no
+sign of a pile of horses and men, and then he realized that he could not
+tell the number that had perished. The swift finale had been as stunning
+to him as if lightning had struck near him.
+
+Suddenly it flashed over him what state of suspense and torture Fay and
+Jane must be in at that very moment. And, leaping up, he ran out of the
+cedars to the slope behind and hurried down at risk of limb. The sun had
+set by this time. He hoped he could catch up with the party before dark.
+He went straight down, and the end of the slope was a smooth, low wall.
+The Indian must have descended with the horses at some other point. The
+canyon was about fifty yards wide and it headed under the great slope of
+Navajo Mountain. These smooth, rounded walls appeared to end at its low
+rim.
+
+Shefford slid down upon a grassy bank, and finding the tracks of the
+horses, he followed them. They led along the wall. As soon as he had
+assured himself that Nas Ta Bega had gone down the canyon he abandoned
+the tracks and pushed ahead swiftly. He heard the soft rush of running
+water. In the center of the canyon wound heavy lines of bright-green
+foliage, bordering a rocky brook. The air was close, warm, and sweet
+with perfume of flowers. The walls were low and shelving, and soon lost
+that rounded appearance peculiar to the wind-worn slopes above. Shefford
+came to where the horses had plowed down a gravelly bank into the clear,
+swift water of the brook. The little pools of water were still muddy.
+Shefford drank, finding the water cold and sweet, without the bitter
+bite of alkali. He crossed and pushed on, running on the grassy levels.
+Flowers were everywhere, but he did not notice them particularly. The
+canyon made many leisurely turns, and its size, if it enlarged at all,
+was not perceptible to him yet. The rims above him were perhaps fifty
+feet high. Cottonwood-trees began to appear along the brook, and
+blossoming buck-brush in the corners of wall.
+
+He had traveled perhaps a mile when Nas Ta Bega, appearing to come out
+of the thicket, confronted him.
+
+"Hello!" called Shefford. "Where're Fay--and the others?"
+
+The Indian made a gesture that signified the rest of the party were
+beyond a little way. Shefford took Nas Ta Bega's arm, and as they
+walked, and he panted for breath, he told what had happened back on the
+slopes.
+
+The Indian made one of his singular speaking sweeps of hand, and he
+scrutinized Shefford's face, but he received the news in silence. They
+turned a corner of wall, crossed a wide, shallow, boulder-strewn place
+in the brook, and mounted the bank to a thicket. Beyond this, from a
+clump of cottonwoods, Lassiter strode out with a gun in each hand. He
+had been hiding.
+
+"Shore I'm glad to see you," he said, and the eyes that piercingly fixed
+on Shefford were now as keen as formerly they had been mild.
+
+"Gone! Lassiter--they're gone," broke out Shefford. "Where's Fay--and
+Jane?"
+
+Lassiter called, and presently the women came out of the thick brake,
+and Fay bounded forward with her swift stride, while Jane followed with
+eager step and anxious face. Then they all surrounded Shefford.
+
+"It was Shadd--and his gang," panted Shefford. "Eight in all. Three or
+four Piutes--the others outlaws. They lost track of us. Went below the
+place--where they shot at us. And they came up--on a bad slope."
+
+Shefford described the slope and the deep chasm and how Shadd led up to
+the point where he saw his mistake and then how the catastrophe fell.
+
+"I shot--and missed," repeated Shefford, with the sweat in beads on
+his pale face. "I missed Shadd. Maybe I hit the horse. He
+plunged--reared--fell back--a terrible fall--right upon that bunch of
+horses and men below.... In a horrible, wrestling, screaming tangle they
+slid over the rim! I don't know how many. I saw some men running along.
+I saw three other horses plunging. One slipped and went over. ... I have
+no idea how many, but Shadd and some of his gang went to destruction."
+
+"Shore thet's fine!" said Lassiter. "But mebbe I won't get to use them
+guns, after all."
+
+"Hardly on that gang," laughed Shefford. "The two Piutes and what others
+escaped turned back. Maybe they'll meet a posse of Mormons--for of
+course the Mormons will track us, too--and come back to where Shadd
+lost his life. That's an awful place. Even the Piute got lost--couldn't
+follow Nas Ta Bega. It would take any pursuers some time to find how we
+got in here. I believe we need not fear further pursuit. Certainly not
+to-night or to-morrow. Then we'll be far down the canyon."
+
+When Shefford concluded his earnest remarks the faces of Fay and Jane
+had lost the signs of suppressed dread.
+
+"Nas Ta Bega, make camp here," said Shefford. "Water--wood--grass--why,
+this 's something like.... Fay, how's your arm?"
+
+"It hurts," she replied, simply.
+
+"Come with me down to the brook and let me wash and bind it properly."
+
+They went, and she sat upon a stone while he knelt beside her and untied
+his scarf from her arm. As the blood had hardened, it was necessary to
+slit her sleeve to the shoulder. Using his scarf, he washed the blood
+from the wound, and found it to be merely a cut, a groove, on the
+surface.
+
+"That's nothing," Shefford said, lightly. "It'll heal in a day. But
+there'll always be a scar. And when we--we get back to civilization,
+and you wear a pretty gown without sleeves, people will wonder what made
+this mark on your beautiful arm."
+
+Fay looked at him with wonderful eyes. "Do women wear gowns without
+sleeves?" she asked.
+
+"They do."
+
+"Have I a--beautiful arm?"
+
+She stretched it out, white, blue-veined, the skin fine as satin, the
+lines graceful and flowing, a round, firm, strong arm.
+
+"The most beautiful I ever saw," he replied.
+
+But the pleasure his compliment gave her was not communicated to him.
+His last impression of that right arm had been of its strength, and
+his mind flashed with lightning swiftness to a picture that haunted
+him--Waggoner lying dead on the porch with that powerfully driven knife
+in his breast. Shefford shuddered through all his being. Would this
+phantom come often to him like that? Hurriedly he bound up her arm with
+the scarf and did not look at her, and was conscious that she felt a
+subtle change in him.
+
+The short twilight ended with the fugitives comfortable in a camp that
+for natural features could not have been improved upon. Darkness found
+Fay and Jane asleep on a soft mossy bed, a blanket tucked around them,
+and their faces still and beautiful in the flickering camp-fire light.
+Lassiter did not linger long awake. Nas Ta Bega, seeing Shefford's
+excessive fatigue, urged him to sleep. Shefford demurred, insisting that
+he share the night-watch. But Nas Ta Bega, by agreeing that Shefford
+might have the following night's duty, prevailed upon him.
+
+Shefford seemed to shut his eyes upon darkness and to open them
+immediately to the light. The stream of blue sky above, the gold tints
+on the western rim, the rosy, brightening colors down in the canyon,
+were proofs of the sunrise. This morning Nas Ta Bega proceeded
+leisurely, and his manner was comforting. When all was in readiness
+for a start he gave the mustang he had ridden to Shefford, and walked,
+leading the pack-animal.
+
+The mode of travel here was a selection of the best levels, the best
+places to cross the brook, the best banks to climb, and it was a process
+of continual repetition. As the Indian picked out the course and the
+mustangs followed his lead there was nothing for Shefford to do but take
+his choice between reflection that seemed predisposed toward gloom and
+an absorption in the beauty, color, wildness, and changing character of
+Nonnezoshe Boco.
+
+Assuredly his experience in the desert did not count in it a trip down
+into a strange, beautiful, lost canyon such as this. It did not widen,
+though the walls grew higher. They began to lean and bulge, and the
+narrow strip of sky above resembled a flowing blue river. Huge caverns
+had been hollowed out by some work of nature, what, he could not tell,
+though he was sure it could not have been wind. And when the brook ran
+close under one of these overhanging places the running water made a
+singular, indescribable sound. A crack from a hoof on a stone rang like
+a hollow bell and echoed from wall to wall. And the croak of a frog--the
+only living creature he had so far noted in the canyon--was a weird and
+melancholy thing.
+
+Fay rode close to him, and his heart seemed to rejoice when she spoke,
+when she showed how she wanted to be near him, yet, try as he might,
+he could not respond. His speech to her--what little there was--did
+not come spontaneously. And he suffered a remorse that he could not be
+honestly natural to her. Then he would drive away the encroaching gloom,
+trusting that a little time would dispel it.
+
+"We are deeper down than Surprise Valley," said Fay.
+
+"How do you know?" he asked.
+
+"Here are the pink and yellow sago-lilies. You remember we went once to
+find the white ones? I have found white lilies in Surprise Valley, but
+never any pink or yellow."
+
+Shefford had seen flowers all along the green banks, but he had not
+marked the lilies. Here he dismounted and gathered several. They were
+larger than the white ones of higher altitudes, of the same exquisite
+beauty and fragility, of such rare pink and yellow hues as he had never
+seen. He gave the flowers to Fay.
+
+"They bloom only where it's always summer," she said.
+
+That expressed their nature. They were the orchids of the summer canyon.
+They stood up everywhere starlike out of the green. It was impossible
+to prevent the mustangs treading them under hoof. And as the canyon
+deepened, and many little springs added their tiny volume to the
+brook, every grassy bench was dotted with lilies, like a green sky
+star-spangled. And this increasing luxuriance manifested itself in the
+banks of purple moss and clumps of lavender daisies and great clusters
+of yellow violets. The brook was lined by blossoming buck-rush; the
+rocky corners showed the crimson and magenta of cactus; ledges were
+green with shining moss that sparkled with little white flowers. The hum
+of bees filled the air.
+
+But by and by this green and colorful and verdant beauty, the almost
+level floor of the canyon, the banks of soft earth, the thickets and
+the clumps of cotton-woods, the shelving caverns and the bulging
+walls--these features gradually were lost, and Nonnezoshe Boco began to
+deepen in bare red and white stone steps, the walls sheered away from
+one another, breaking into sections and ledges, and rising higher and
+higher, and there began to be manifested a dark and solemn concordance
+with the nature that had created this rent in the earth.
+
+There was a stretch of miles where steep steps in hard red rock
+alternated with long levels of round boulders. Here one by one the
+mustangs went lame. And the fugitives, dismounting to spare the faithful
+beasts, slipped and stumbled over these loose and treacherous stones.
+Fay was the only one who did not show distress. She was glad to be on
+foot again and the rolling boulders were as stable as solid rock for
+her.
+
+The hours passed; the toil increased; the progress diminished; one
+of the mustangs failed entirely and was left; and all the while the
+dimensions of Nonnezoshe Boco magnified and its character changed. It
+became a thousand-foot walled canyon, leaning, broken, threatening, with
+great yellow slides blocking passage, with huge sections split off from
+the main wall, with immense dark and gloomy caverns. Strangely, it had
+no intersecting canyon. It jealously guarded its secret. Its unusual
+formations of cavern and pillar and half-arch led the mind to expect any
+monstrous stone-shape left by an avalanche or cataclysm.
+
+Down and down the fugitives toiled. And now the stream-bed was bare of
+boulders, and the banks of earth. The floods that had rolled down that
+canyon had here borne away every loose thing. All the floor was bare red
+and white stone, polished, glistening, slippery, affording treacherous
+foothold. And the time came when Nas Ta Bega abandoned the stream-bed to
+take to the rock-strewn and cactus-covered ledges above.
+
+Jane gave out and had to be assisted upon the weary mustang. Fay was
+persuaded to mount Nack-yal again. Lassiter plodded along. The Indian
+bent tired steps far in front. And Shefford traveled on after him,
+footsore and hot.
+
+The canyon widened ahead into a great, ragged, iron-hued amphitheater,
+and from there apparently turned abruptly at right angles. Sunset rimmed
+the walls. Shefford wondered dully when the 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 canyon veered. Something in Nas Ta
+Bega's pose quickened Shefford's pulse and then his steps. He reached
+the Indian and the point where he, too, could see beyond that vast
+jutting wall that had obstructed his view.
+
+A mile beyond all was bright with the colors of sunset, and spanning
+the canyon in the graceful shape arid beautiful hues of a rainbow was a
+magnificent stone bridge.
+
+"Nonnezoshe!" exclaimed the Navajo, with a deep and sonorous roll in his
+voice.
+
+
+
+
+XVIII. AT THE FOOT OF THE RAINBOW
+
+
+The rainbow bridge was the one great natural phenomenon, the one grand
+spectacle, which Shefford had ever seen that did not at first give vague
+disappointment, a confounding of reality, a disenchantment of contrast
+with what the mind had conceived.
+
+But this thing was glorious. It silenced him, yet did not awe or stun.
+His body and brain, weary and dull from the toil of travel, received a
+singular and revivifying freshness. He had a strange, mystic perception
+of this rosy-hued stupendous arch of stone, as if in a former life
+it had been a goal he could not reach. This wonder of nature, though
+all-satisfying, all-fulfilling to his artist's soul, could not be a
+resting-place for him, a destination where something awaited him, a
+height he must scale to find peace, the end of his strife. But it seemed
+all these. He could not understand his perception or his emotion. Still,
+here at last, apparently, was the rainbow of his boyish dreams and of
+his manhood--a rainbow magnified even beyond those dreams, no longer
+transparent and ethereal, but solidified, a thing of ages, sweeping up
+majestically from the red walls, its iris-hued arch against the blue
+sky.
+
+Nas Ta Bega led on down the ledge and Shefford plodded thoughtfully
+after him. The others followed. A jutting corner of wall again hid the
+canyon. The Indian was working round to circle the huge amphitheater. It
+was slow, irritating, strenuous toil, for the way was on a steep slant,
+rough and loose and dragging. The rocks were as hard and jagged as
+lava. And the cactus further hindered progress. When at last the long
+half-circle had been accomplished the golden and rosy lights had faded.
+
+Again the canyon opened to view. All the walls were pale and steely and
+the stone bridge loomed dark. Nas Ta Bega said camp would be made at
+the bridge, which was now close. Just before they reached it the Navajo
+halted with one of his singular actions. Then he stood motionless.
+Shefford realized that Nas Ta Bega was saying his prayer to this great
+stone god. Presently the Indian motioned for Shefford to lead the others
+and the horses on under the bridge. Shefford did so, and, upon turning,
+was amazed to see the Indian climbing the steep and difficult slope on
+the other side. All the party watched him until he disappeared behind
+the huge base of cliff that supported the arch. Shefford selected a
+level place for camp, some few rods away, and here, with Lassiter,
+unsaddled and unpacked the lame, drooping mustangs. When this was done
+twilight had fallen. Nas Ta Bega appeared, coming down the steep slope
+on this side of the bridge. Then Shefford divined why the Navajo had
+made that arduous climb. He would not go under the bridge. Nonnezoshe
+was a Navajo god. And Nas Ta Bega, though educated as a white man, was
+true to the superstition of his ancestors.
+
+Nas Ta Bega turned the mustangs loose to fare for what scant grass grew
+on bench and slope. Firewood was even harder to find than grass. When
+the camp duties had been performed and the simple meal eaten there was
+gloom gathering in the canyon and the stars had begun to blink in the
+pale strip of blue above the lofty walls. The place was oppressive and
+the fugitives mostly silent. Shefford spread a bed of blankets for
+the women, and Jane at once lay wearily down. Fay stood beside the
+flickering fire, and Shefford felt her watching him. He was conscious of
+a desire to get away from her haunting gaze. To the gentle good-night he
+bade her she made no response.
+
+Shefford moved away into a strange dark shadow cast by the bridge
+against the pale starlight. It was a weird, black belt, where he
+imagined he was invisible, but out of which he could see. There was a
+slab of rock near the foot of the bridge, and here Shefford composed
+himself to watch, to feel, to think the unknown thing that seemed to be
+inevitably coming to him.
+
+A slight stiffening of his neck made him aware that he had been
+continually looking up at the looming arch. And he found that insensibly
+it had changed and grown. It had never seemed the same any two moments,
+but that was not what he meant. Near at hand it was too vast a thing for
+immediate comprehension. He wanted to ponder on what had formed it--to
+reflect upon its meaning as to age and force of nature, yet all he could
+do at each moment was to see. White stars hung along the dark curved
+line. The rim of the arch seemed to shine. The moon must be up there
+somewhere. The far side of the canyon was now a blank, black wall. Over
+its towering rim showed a pale glow. It brightened. The shades in the
+canyon lightened, then a white disk of moon peered over the dark line.
+The bridge turned to silver, and the gloomy, shadowy belt it had cast
+blanched and vanished.
+
+Shefford became aware of the presence of Nas Ta Bega. Dark, silent,
+statuesque, with inscrutable eyes uplifted, with all that was spiritual
+of the Indian suggested by a somber and tranquil knowledge of his place
+there, he represented the same to Shefford as a solitary figure of
+human life brought out the greatness of a great picture. Nonnezoshe Boco
+needed life, wild life, life of its millions of years--and here stood
+the dark and silent Indian.
+
+There was a surge in Shefford's heart and in his mind a perception of a
+moment of incalculable change to his soul. And at that moment Fay Larkin
+stole like a phantom to his side and stood there with her uncovered head
+shining and her white face lovely in the moonlight.
+
+"May I stay with you--a little?" she asked, wistfully. "I can't sleep."
+
+"Surely you may," he replied. "Does your arm hurt too badly, or are you
+too tired to sleep?"
+
+"No--it's this place. I--I--can't tell you how I feel."
+
+But the feeling was there in her eyes for Shefford to read. Had he too
+great an emotion--did he read too much--did he add from his soul? For
+him the wild, starry, haunted eyes mirrored all that he had seen and
+felt under Nonnezoshe. And for herself they shone eloquently of courage
+and love.
+
+"I need to talk--and I don't know how," she said.
+
+He was silent, but he took her hands and drew her closer.
+
+"Why are you so--so different?" she asked, bravely.
+
+"Different?" he echoed.
+
+"Yes. You are kind--you speak the same to me as you used to. But since
+we started you've been different, somehow."
+
+"Fay, think how hard and dangerous the trip's been! I've been
+worried--and sick with dread--with--Oh, you can't imagine the strain I'm
+under! How could I be my old self?"
+
+"It isn't worry I mean."
+
+He was too miserable to try to find out what she did mean; besides, he
+believed, if he let himself think about it, he would know what troubled
+her.
+
+"I--I am almost happy," she said, softly.
+
+"Fay!... Aren't you at all afraid?"
+
+"No. You'll take care of me.... Do--do you love me--like you did
+before?"
+
+"Why, child! Of course--I love you," he replied, brokenly, and he drew
+her closer. He had never embraced her, never kissed her. But there was
+a whiteness about her then--a wraith--a something from her soul, and he
+could only gaze at her.
+
+"I love you," she whispered. "I thought I knew it that--that night. But
+I'm only finding it out now.... And somehow I had to tell you here."
+
+"Fay, I haven't said much to you," he said, hurriedly, huskily. "I
+haven't had a chance. I love you. I--I ask you--will you be my wife?"
+
+"Of course," she said, simply, but the white, moon-blanched face colored
+with a dark and leaping blush.
+
+"We'll be married as soon as we get out of the desert," he went on. "And
+we'll forget--all--all that's happened. You're so young. You'll forget."
+
+"I'd forgotten already, till this difference came in you. And pretty
+soon--when I can say something more to you--I'll forget all except
+Surprise Valley--and my evenings in the starlight with you."
+
+"Say it then--quick!"
+
+She was leaning against him, holding his hands in her strong clasp,
+soulful, tender, almost passionate.
+
+"You couldn't help it.... I'm to blame.... I remember what I said."
+
+"What?" he queried in amaze.
+
+"'YOU CAN KILL HIM!'... I said that. I made you kill him."
+
+"Kill--whom?" cried Shefford.
+
+"Waggoner. I'm to blame.... That must be what's made you different.
+And, oh, I've wanted you to know it's all my fault.... But I wouldn't be
+sorry if you weren't.... I'm glad he's dead."
+
+"YOU--THINK--I--" Shefford's gasping whisper failed in the shock of
+the revelation that Fay believed he had killed Waggoner. Then with the
+inference came the staggering truth--her guiltlessness; and a paralyzing
+joy held him stricken.
+
+A powerful hand fell upon Shefford's shoulder, startling him. Nas Ta
+Bega stood there, looking down upon him and Fay. Never had the Indian
+seemed so dark, inscrutable of face. But in his magnificent bearing, in
+the spirit that Shefford sensed in him, there were nobility and power
+and a strange pride.
+
+The Indian kept one hand on Shefford's shoulder, and with the other
+he struck himself on the breast. The action was that of an Indian,
+impressive and stern, significant of an Indian's prowess.
+
+"My God!" breathed Shefford, very low.
+
+"Oh, what does he mean?" cried Fay.
+
+Shefford held her with shaking hands, trying to speak, to fight a way
+out of these stultifying emotions.
+
+"Nas Ta Bega--you heard. She thinks--I killed Waggoner!"
+
+All about the Navajo then was dark and solemn disproof of her belief.
+He did not need to speak. His repetition of that savage, almost boastful
+blow on his breast added only to the dignity, and not to the denial, of
+a warrior.
+
+"Fay, he means he killed the Mormon," said Shefford. "He must have, for
+_I_ did not!"
+
+"Ah!" murmured Fay, and she leaned to him with passionate, quivering
+gladness. It was the woman--the human--the soul born in her that came
+uppermost then; now, when there was no direct call to the wild and
+elemental in her nature, she showed a heart above revenge, the instinct
+of a saving right, of truth as Shefford knew them. He took her into his
+arms and never had he loved her so well.
+
+"Nas Ta Bega, you killed the Mormon," declared Shefford, with a voice
+that had gained strength. No silent Indian suggestion of a deed would
+suffice in that moment. Shefford needed to hear the Navajo speak--to
+have Fay hear him speak. "Nas Ta Bega, I know I understand. But tell
+her. Speak so she will know. Tell it as a white man would!"
+
+"I heard her cry out," replied the Indian, in his slow English. "I
+waited. When he came I killed him."
+
+A poignant why was wrenched from Shefford. Nas Ta Bega stood silent.
+
+"BI NAI!" And when that sonorous Indian name rolled in dignity from his
+lips he silently stalked away into the gloom. That was his answer to the
+white man.
+
+Shefford bent over Fay, and as the strain on him broke he held her
+closer and closer and his tears streamed down and his voice broke in
+exclamations of tenderness and thanksgiving. It did not matter what she
+had thought, but she must never know what he had thought. He clasped
+her as something precious he had lost and regained. He was shaken with
+a passion of remorse. How could he have believed Fay Larkin guilty of
+murder? Women less wild and less justified than she had been driven to
+such a deed, yet how could he have believed it of her, when for two days
+he had been with her, had seen her face, and deep into her eyes? There
+was mystery in his very blindness. He cast the whole thought from him
+for ever. There was no shadow between Fay and him. He had found her.
+He had saved her. She was free. She was innocent. And suddenly, as he
+seemed delivered from contending tumults within, he became aware that it
+was no unresponsive creature he had folded to his breast.
+
+He became suddenly alive to the warm, throbbing contact of her bosom, to
+her strong arms clinging round his neck, to her closed eyes, to the rapt
+whiteness of her face. And he bent to cold lips that seemed to receive
+his first kisses as new and strange; but tremulously changed, at last to
+meet his own, and then to burn with sweet and thrilling fire.
+
+"My darling, my dream's come true," he said. "You are my treasure. I
+found you here at the foot of the rainbow!... What if it is a stone
+rainbow--if all is not as I had dreamed? I followed a gleam. And it's
+led me to love and faith!"
+
+. . . . . . . . . . .
+
+Hours afterward Shefford walked alone to and fro under the bridge. His
+trouble had given place to serenity. But this night of nights he must
+live out wide-eyed to its end.
+
+The moon had long since crossed the streak of star-fired blue above and
+the canyon was black in shadow. At times a current of wind, with all the
+strangeness of that strange country in its hollow moan, rushed through
+the great stone arch. At other times there was silence such as Shefford
+imagined dwelt deep under this rocky world. At still other times an owl
+hooted, and the sound was nameless. But it had a mocking echo that
+never ended. An echo of night, silence, gloom, melancholy death, age,
+eternity!
+
+The Indian lay asleep with his dark face upturned, and the other
+sleepers lay calm and white in the starlight.
+
+Shefford saw in them the meaning of life and the past--the illimitable
+train of faces that had shone the stars. There was a spirit in the
+canyon, and whether or not it was what the Navajo embodied in the great
+Nonnezoshe, or the life of this present, or the death of the ages, or
+the nature so magnificently manifested in those silent, dreaming waiting
+walls--the truth for Shefford was that this spirit was God.
+
+Life was eternal. Man's immortality lay in himself. Love of a woman was
+hope--happiness. Brotherhood--that mystic and grand "Bi Nai!" of the
+Navajo--that was religion.
+
+
+
+
+XIX. THE GRAND CANYON OF THE COLORADO
+
+
+The night passed, the gloom turned gray, the dawn stole cool and pale
+into the canyon. When Nas Ta Bega drove the mustangs into camp the
+lofty ramparts of the walls were rimmed with gold and the dark arch of
+Nonnezoshe began to lose its steely gray.
+
+The women had rested well and were in better condition to travel. Jane
+was cheerful and Fay radiant one moment and in a dream the next. She was
+beginning to live in that wonderful future. They talked more than usual
+at breakfast, and Lassiter made droll remarks. Shefford, with his great
+and haunting trouble ended for ever, with now only danger to face ahead,
+was a different man, but thoughtful and quiet.
+
+This morning the Indian leisurely made preparations for the start. For
+all the concern he showed he might have known every foot of the canyon
+below Nonnezoshe. But, for Shefford, with the dawn had returned anxiety,
+a restless feeling of the need of hurry. What obstacles, what impassable
+gorges, might lie between this bridge and the river! The Indian's
+inscrutable serenity and Fay's trust, her radiance, the exquisite glow
+upon her face, sustained Shefford and gave him patience to endure and
+conceal his dread.
+
+At length the flight was resumed, with Nas Ta Bega leading on foot, and
+Shefford walking in the rear. A quarter of a mile below camp the Indian
+led down a declivity into the bottom of the narrow gorge, where the
+stream ran. He did not gaze backward for a last glance at Nonnezoshe;
+nor did Jane or Lassiter. Fay, however, checked Nack-yal at the rim of
+the descent and turned to look behind. Shefford contrasted her tremulous
+smile, her half-happy good-by to this place, with the white stillness
+of her face when she had bade farewell to Surprise Valley. Then she rode
+Nack-yal down into the gorge.
+
+Shefford knew that this would be his last look at the rainbow bridge. As
+he gazed the tip of the great arch lost its cold, dark stone color and
+began to shine. The sun had just arisen high enough over some low break
+in the wall to reach the bridge. Shefford watched. Slowly, in wondrous
+transformation, the gold and blue and rose and pink and purple blended
+their hues, softly, mistily, cloudily, until once again the arch was a
+rainbow.
+
+Ages before life had evolved upon the earth it had spread its grand arch
+from wall to wall, black and mystic at night, transparent and rosy in
+the sunrise, at sunset a flaming curve limned against the heavens. When
+the race of man had passed it would, perhaps, stand there still. It was
+not for many eyes to see. Only by toil, sweat, endurance, blood, could
+any man ever look at Nonnezoshe. So it would always be alone, grand,
+silent, beautiful, unintelligible.
+
+Shefford bade Nonnezoshe a mute, reverent farewell. Then plunging down
+the weathered slope of the gorge to the stream below, he hurried forward
+to join the others. They had progressed much farther than he imagined
+they would have, and this was owing to the fact that the floor of the
+gorge afforded easy travel. It was gravel on rock bottom, tortuous, but
+open, with infrequent and shallow downward steps. The stream did not now
+rush and boil along and tumble over rock-encumbered ledges. In corners
+the water collected in round, green, eddying pools. There were patches
+of grass and willows and mounds of moss. Shefford's surprise equaled his
+relief, for he believed that the violent descent of Nonnezoshe Boco had
+been passed. Any turn now, he imagined, might bring the party out upon
+the river. When he caught up with them he imparted this conviction,
+which was received with cheer. The hopes of all, except the Indian,
+seemed mounting; and if he ever hoped or despaired it was never
+manifest.
+
+Shefford's anticipation, however, was not soon realized. The fugitives
+traveled miles farther down Nonnezoshe Boco, and the only changes were
+that the walls of the lower gorge heightened and merged into those above
+and that these upper ones towered ever loftier. Shefford had to throw
+his head straight back to look up at the rims, and the narrow strip of
+sky was now indeed a flowing stream of blue.
+
+Difficult steps were met, too, yet nothing compared to those of the
+upper canyon. Shefford calculated that this day's travel had advanced
+several hours; and more than ever now he was anticipating the mouth
+of Nonnezoshe Boco. Still another hour went by. And then came striking
+changes. The canyon narrowed till the walls were scarcely twenty paces
+apart; the color of stone grew dark red above and black down low; the
+light of day became shadowed, and the floor was a level, gravelly,
+winding lane, with the stream meandering slowly and silently.
+
+Suddenly the Indian halted. He turned his ear down the canyon lane. He
+had heard something. The others grouped round him, but did not hear a
+sound except the soft flow of water and the heave of the mustangs. Then
+the Indian went on. Presently he halted again. And again he listened.
+This time he threw up his head and upon his dark face shone a light
+which might have been pride.
+
+"Tse ko-n-tsa-igi," he said.
+
+The others could not understand, but they were impressed.
+
+"Shore he means somethin' big," drawled Lassiter.
+
+"Oh, what did he say?" queried Fay in eagerness.
+
+"Nas Ta Bega, tell us," said Shefford. "We are full of hope."
+
+"Grand Canyon," replied the Indian.
+
+"How do you know?" asked Shefford.
+
+"I hear the roar of the river."
+
+But Shefford, listen as he might, could not hear it. They traveled on,
+winding down the wonderful lane. Every once in a while Shefford lagged
+behind, let the others pass out of hearing, and then he listened. At
+last he was rewarded. Low and deep, dull and strange, with some quality
+to incite dread, came a roar. Thereafter, at intervals, usually at turns
+in the canyon, and when a faint stir of warm air fanned his cheeks, he
+heard the sound, growing clearer and louder.
+
+He rounded an abrupt corner to have the roar suddenly fill his ears, to
+see the lane extend straight to a ragged vent, and beyond that, at some
+distance, a dark, ragged, bulging wall, like iron. As he hurried forward
+he was surprised to find that the noise did not increase. Here it kept
+a strange uniformity of tone and volume. The others of the party passed
+out of the mouth of Nonnezoshe Boco in advance of Shefford, and when
+he reached it they were grouped upon a bank of sand. A dark-red canyon
+yawned before them, and through it slid the strangest river Shefford had
+ever seen. At first glance he imagined the strangeness consisted of the
+dark-red color of the water, but at the second he was not so sure. All
+the others, except Nas Ta Bega, eyed the river blankly, as if they did
+not know what to think. The roar came from round a huge bulging wall
+downstream. Up the canyon, half a mile, at another turn, there was a
+leaping rapid of dirty red-white waves and the sound of this, probably,
+was drowned in the unseen but nearer rapid.
+
+"This is the Grand Canyon of the Colorado," said Shefford. "We've come
+out at the mouth of Nonnezoshe Boco.... And now to wait for Joe Lake!"
+
+They made camp on a dry, level sand-bar under a shelving wall. Nas Ta
+Bega collected a pile of driftwood to be used for fire, and then he took
+the mustangs back up the side canyon to find grass for them. Lassiter
+appeared unusually quiet, and soon passed from weary rest on the sand
+to deep slumber. Fay and Jane succumbed to an exhaustion that manifested
+itself the moment relaxation set in, and they, too, fell asleep.
+Shefford patrolled the long strip of sand under the wall, and watched
+up the river for Joe Lake. The Indian returned and went along the river,
+climbed over the jutting, sharp slopes that reached into the water, and
+passed out of sight up-stream toward the rapid.
+
+Shefford had a sense that the river and the canyon were too magnificent
+to be compared with others. Still, all his emotions and sensations had
+been so wrought upon, he seemed not to have any left by which he might
+judge of what constituted the difference. He would wait. He had a grim
+conviction that before he was safely out of this earth-riven crack
+he would know. One thing, however, struck him, and it was that up the
+canyon, high over the lower walls, hazy and blue, stood other walls,
+and beyond and above them, dim in purple distance, upreared still other
+walls. The haze and the blue and the purple meant great distance, and,
+likewise, the height seemed incomparable.
+
+The red river attracted him most. Since this was the medium by which he
+must escape with his party, it was natural that it absorbed him, to
+the neglect of the gigantic cliffs. And the more he watched the
+river, studied it, listened to it, imagined its nature, its power, its
+restlessness, the more he dreaded it. As the hours of the afternoon
+wore away, and he strolled along and rested on the banks, his first
+impressions, and what he realized might be his truest ones, were
+gradually lost. He could not bring them back. The river was changing,
+deceitful. It worked upon his mind. The low, hollow roar filled his ears
+and seemed to mock him. Then he endeavored to stop thinking about it,
+to confine his attention to the gap up-stream where sooner or later
+he prayed that Joe Lake and his boat would appear. But, though he
+controlled his gaze, he could not his thought, and his strange,
+impondering dread of the river augmented.
+
+The afternoon waned. Nas Ta Bega came back to camp and said any
+likelihood of Joe's arrival was past for that day. Shefford could not
+get over an impression of strangeness--of the impossibility of the
+reality presented to his naked eyes. These lonely fugitives in the
+huge-walled canyon waiting for a boatman to come down that river!
+Strange and wild--those were the words which, inadequately at best,
+suited this country and the situations it produced.
+
+After supper he and Fay walked along the bars of smooth, red sand. There
+were a few moments when the distant peaks and domes and turrets were
+glorified in changing sunset hues. But the beauty was fleeting. Fay
+still showed lassitude. She was quiet, yet cheerful, and the sweetness
+of her smile, her absolute trust in him, stirred and strengthened anew
+his spirit. Yet he suffered torture when he thought of trusting Fay's
+life, her soul, and her beauty to this strange red river.
+
+Night brought him relief. He could not see the river; only the low roar
+made its presence known out there in the shadows. And, there being no
+need to stay awake, he dropped at once into heavy slumber. He was
+roused by hands dragging at him. Nas Ta Bega bent over him. It was
+broad daylight. The yellow wall high above was glistening. A fire
+was crackling and pleasant odors were wafted to him. Fay and Jane and
+Lassiter sat around the tarpaulin at breakfast. After the meal suspense
+and strain were manifested in all the fugitives, even the imperturbable
+Indian being more than usually watchful. His eyes scarcely ever left
+the black gap where the river slid round the turn above. Soon, as on the
+preceding day, he disappeared up the ragged, iron-bound shore. There was
+scarcely an attempt at conversation. A controlling thought bound that
+group into silence--if Joe Lake was ever going to come he would come
+to-day.
+
+Shefford asked himself a hundred times if it were possible, and his
+answer seemed to be in the low, sullen, muffled roar of the river. And
+as the morning wore on toward noon his dread deepened until all chance
+appeared hopeless. Already he had begun to have vague and unformed
+and disquieting ideas of the only avenue of escape left--to return up
+Nonnezoshe Boco--and that would be to enter a trap.
+
+Suddenly a piercing cry pealed down the canyon. It was followed by
+echoes, weird and strange, that clapped from wall to wall in mocking
+concatenation. Nas Ta Bega appeared high on the ragged slope. The cry
+had been the Indian's. He swept an arm out, pointing up-stream, and
+stood like a statue on the iron rocks.
+
+Shefford's keen gaze sighted a moving something in the bend of the
+river. It was long, low, dark, and flat, with a lighter object upright
+in the middle. A boat and a man!
+
+"Joe! It's Joe!" yelled Shefford, madly. "There!... Look!"
+
+Jane and Fay were on their knees in the sand, clasping each other, pale
+faces toward that bend in the river.
+
+Shefford ran up the shore toward the Indian. He climbed the jutting
+slant of rock. The boat was now full in the turn--it moved faster--it
+was nearing the smooth incline above the rapid. There! it glided
+down--heaved darkly up--settled back--and disappeared in the frothy,
+muddy roughness of water. Shefford held his breath and watched. A dark,
+bobbing object showed, vanished, showed again to enlarge--to take the
+shape of a big flatboat--and then it rode the swift, choppy current out
+of the lower end of the rapid.
+
+Nas Ta Bega began to make violent motions, and Shefford, taking his cue,
+frantically waved his red scarf. There was a five-mile-an-hour current
+right before them, and Joe must needs see them so that he might sheer
+the huge and clumsy craft into the shore before it drifted too far down.
+
+Presently Joe did see them. He appeared to be half-naked; he raised
+aloft both arms, and bellowed down the canyon. The echoes boomed from
+wall to wall, every one stronger with the deep, hoarse triumph in the
+Mormon's voice, till they passed on, growing weaker, to die away in the
+roar of the river below. Then Joe bent to a long oar that appeared to
+be fastened to the stern of the boat, and the craft drifted out of the
+swifter current toward the shore. It reached a point opposite to where
+Shefford and the Indian waited, and, though Joe made prodigious efforts,
+it slid on. Still, it also drifted shoreward, and half-way down to the
+mouth of Nonnezoshe Boco Joe threw the end of a rope to the Indian.
+
+"Ho! Ho!" yelled the Mormon, again setting into motion the fiendish
+echoes. He was naked to the waist; he had lost flesh; he was haggard,
+worn, dirty, wet. While he pulled on a shirt Nas Ta Bega made the rope
+fast to a snag of a log of driftwood embedded in the sand, and the boat
+swung to shore. It was perhaps thirty feet long by half as many wide,
+crudely built of rough-hewn boards. The steering-gear was a long pole
+with a plank nailed to the end. The craft was empty save for another
+pole and plank, Joe's coat, and a broken-handled shovel. There were
+water and sand on the flooring. Joe stepped ashore and he was gripped
+first by Shefford and then by the Indian. He was an unkempt and gaunt
+giant, yet how steadfast and reliable, how grimly strong to inspire
+hope!
+
+"Reckon most of me's here," he said in reply to greetings. "I've had
+water aplenty. My God! I've had WATER!" He rolled out a grim laugh. "But
+no grub for three days.... Forgot to fetch some!"
+
+How practical he was! He told Fay she looked good for sore eyes, but
+he needed a biscuit most of all. There was just a second of singular
+hesitation when he faced Lassiter, and then the big, strong hand of the
+young Mormon went out to meet the old gunman's. While they fed him and
+he ate like a starved man Shefford told of the flight from the village,
+the rescuing of Jane and Lassiter from Surprise Valley, the descent from
+the plateau, the catastrophe to Shadd's gang--and, concluding, Shefford,
+without any explanation, told that Nas Ta Bega had killed the Mormon
+Waggoner.
+
+"Reckon I had that figured," replied Joe. "First off. I didn't think
+so.... So Shadd went over the cliff. That's good riddance. It beats me,
+though. Never knew that Piute's like with a horse. And he had some grand
+horses in his outfit. Pity about them."
+
+Later when Joe had a moment alone with Shefford he explained that during
+his ride to Kayenta he had realized Fay's innocence and who had been
+responsible for the tragedy. He took Withers, the trader, into his
+confidence, and they planned a story, which Withers was to carry to
+Stonebridge, that would exculpate Fay and Shefford of anything more
+serious than flight. If Shefford got Fay safely out of the country at
+once that would end the matter for all concerned.
+
+"Reckon I'm some ferry-boatman, too--a FAIRY boatman. Haw! Haw!" he
+added. "And we're going through.... Now I want you to help me rig this
+tarpaulin up over the bow of the boat. If we can fix it up strong it'll
+keep the waves from curling over. They filled her four times for me."
+
+They folded the tarpaulin three times, and with stout pieces of split
+plank and horseshoe nails from Shefford's saddle-bags and pieces of rope
+they rigged up a screen around bow and front corners.
+
+Nas Ta Bega put the saddles in the boat. The mustangs were far up
+Nonnezoshe Boco and would work their way back to green and luxuriant
+canyons. The Indian said they would soon become wild and would never
+be found. Shefford regretted Nack-yal, but was glad the faithful little
+mustang would be free in one of those beautiful canyons.
+
+"Reckon we'd better be off," called Joe. "All aboard!" He placed Fay
+and Jane in a corner of the bow, where they would be spared sight of the
+rapids. Shefford loosed the rope and sprang aboard. "Pard," said Joe,
+"it's one hell of a river! And now with the snow melting up in the
+mountains it's twenty feet above normal and rising fast. But that's well
+for us. It covers the stones in the rapids. If it hadn't been in flood
+Joe would be an angel now!"
+
+The boat cleared the sand, lazily wheeled in the eddying water, and
+suddenly seemed caught by some powerful gliding force. When it swept
+out beyond the jutting wall Shefford saw a quarter of a mile of sliding
+water that appeared to end abruptly. Beyond lengthened out the gigantic
+gap between the black and frowning cliffs.
+
+"Wow!" ejaculated Joe. "Drops out of sight there. But that one
+ain't much. I can tell by the roar. When you see my hair stand up
+straight--then watch out!... Lassiter, you look after the women.
+Shefford, you stand ready to bail out with the shovel, for we'll sure
+ship water. Nas Ta Bega, you help here with the oar."
+
+The roar became a heavy, continuous rumble; the current quickened;
+little streaks and ridges seemed to race along the boat; strange
+gurglings rose from under the bow. Shefford stood on tiptoe to see the
+break in the river below. Swiftly it came into sight--a wonderful, long,
+smooth, red slant of water, a swelling mound, a huge back-curling wave,
+another and another, a sea of frothy, uplifting crests, leaping and
+tumbling and diminishing down to the narrowing apex of the rapid. It was
+a frightful sight, yet it thrilled Shefford. Joe worked the steering-oar
+back and forth and headed the boat straight for the middle of the
+incline. The boat reached the round rim, gracefully dipped with a heavy
+sop, and went shooting down. The wind blew wet in Shefford's face. He
+stood erect, thrilling, fascinated, frightened. Then he seemed to feel
+himself lifted; the curling wave leaped at the boat; there was a shock
+that laid him flat; and when he rose to his knees all about him was roar
+and spray and leaping, muddy waves. Shock after shock jarred the boat.
+Splashes of water stung his face. And then the jar and the motion, the
+confusion and roar, gradually lessened until presently Shefford rose to
+see smooth water ahead and the long, trembling rapid behind.
+
+"Get busy, bailer," yelled Joe. "Pretty soon you'll be glad you have to
+bail--so you can't see!"
+
+There were several inches of water in the bottom of the boat and
+Shefford learned for the first time the expediency of a shovel in the
+art of bailing.
+
+"That tarpaulin worked powerful good," went on Joe. "And it saves the
+women. Now if it just don't bust on a big wave! That one back there was
+little."
+
+When Shefford had scooped out all the water he went forward to see how
+Fay and Jane and Lassiter had fared. The women were pale, but composed.
+They had covered their heads.
+
+"But the dreadful roar!" exclaimed Fay.
+
+Lassiter looked shaken for once.
+
+"Shore I'd rather taken a chance meetin' them Mormons on the way out,"
+he said.
+
+Shefford spoke with an encouraging assurance which he did not himself
+feel. Almost at the moment he marked a silence that had fallen into the
+canyon; then it broke to a low, dull, strange roar.
+
+"Aha! Hear that?" The Mormon shook his shaggy head. "Reckon we're in
+Cataract Canyon. We'll be standing on end from now on. Hang on to her,
+boys!"
+
+Danger of this unusual kind had brought out a peculiar levity in the
+somber Mormon--a kind of wild, gay excitement. His eyes rolled as he
+watched the river ahead and he puffed out his cheek with his tongue.
+
+The rugged, overhanging walls of the canyon grew sinister in Shefford's
+sight. They were jaws. And the river--that made him shudder to look down
+into it. The little whirling pits were eyes peering into his, and they
+raced on with the boat, disappeared, and came again, always with the
+little, hollow gurgles.
+
+The craft drifted swiftly and the roar increased. Another rapid seemed
+to move up into view. It came at a bend in the canyon. When the breeze
+struck Shefford's cheeks he did not this time experience exhilaration.
+The current accelerated its sliding motion and bore the flatboat
+straight for the middle of the curve. Shefford saw the bend, a long,
+dark, narrow, gloomy canyon, and a stretch of contending waters,
+then, crouching low, he waited for the dip, the race, the shock.
+They came--the last stopping the boat--throwing it aloft--letting
+it drop--and crests of angry waves curled over the side. Shefford,
+kneeling, felt the water slap around him, and in his ears was a
+deafening roar. There were endless moments of strife and hell and flying
+darkness of spray all about him, and under him the rocking boat. When
+they lessened--ceased in violence--he stood ankle-deep in water, and
+then madly he began to bail.
+
+Another roar deadened his ears, but he did not look up from his toil.
+And when he had to get down to avoid the pitch he closed his eyes. That
+rapid passed and with more water to bail, he resumed his share in the
+manning of the crude craft. It was more than a share--a tremendous
+responsibility to which he bent with all his might. He heard Joe
+yell--and again--and again. He heard the increasing roars one after
+another till they seemed one continuous bellow. He felt the shock, the
+pitch, the beating waves, and then the lessening power of sound and
+current. That set him to his task. Always in these long intervals of
+toil he seemed to see, without looking up, the growing proportions
+of the canyon. And the river had become a living, terrible thing. The
+intervals of his tireless effort when he scooped the water overboard
+were fleeting, and the rides through rapid after rapid were endless
+periods of waiting terror. His spirit and his hope were overwhelmed by
+the rush and roar and fury.
+
+Then, as he worked, there came a change--a rest to deafened ears--a
+stretch of river that seemed quiet after chaos--and here for the first
+time he bailed the boat clear of water.
+
+Jane and Fay were huddled in a corner, with the flapping tarpaulin now
+half fallen over them. They were wet and muddy. Lassiter crouched like
+a man dazed by a bad dream, and his white hair hung, stained and
+bedraggled, over his face. The Indian and the Mormon, grim, hard, worn,
+stood silent at the oar.
+
+The afternoon was far advanced and the sun had already descended below
+the western ramparts. A cool breeze blew up the canyon, laden with a
+sound that was the same, yet not the same, as those low, dull roars
+which Shefford dreaded more and more.
+
+Joe Lake turned his ear to the breeze. A stronger puff brought a heavy,
+quivering rumble. This time he did not vent his gay and wild defiance to
+the river. He bent lower--listened. Then as the rumble became a strange,
+deep, reverberating roll, as if the monstrous river were rolling huge
+stones down a subterranean canyon, Shefford saw with dilating eyes that
+the Mormon's hair was rising stiff upon his head.
+
+"Hear that!" said Joe, turning an ashen face to Shefford. "We'll
+drop off the earth now. Hang on to the girl, so if we go you can go
+together.... And, pard, if you've a God--pray!"
+
+Nas Ta Bega faced the bend from whence that rumble came, and he was the
+same dark, inscrutable, impassive Indian as of old. What was death to
+him?
+
+Shefford felt the strong, rushing love of life surge in him, and it was
+not for himself he thought, but for Fay and the happiness she merited.
+He went to her, patted the covered head, and tried with words choking in
+his throat to give hope. And he leaned with hands gripping the gunwale,
+with eyes wide open, ready for the unknown.
+
+The river made a quick turn and from round the bend rumbled a terrible
+uproar. The current racing that way was divided or uncertain, and it
+gave strange motion to the boat. Joe and Nas Ta Bega shoved desperately
+upon the oar, all to no purpose. The currents had their will. The bow of
+the boat took the place of the stern. Then swift at the head of a curved
+incline it shot beyond the bulging wall.
+
+And Shefford saw an awful place before them. The canyon had narrowed to
+half its width, and turned almost at right angles. The huge clamor of
+appalling sound came from under the cliff where the swollen river had to
+pass and where there was not space. The rapid rushed in gigantic swells
+right upon the wall, boomed against it, climbed and spread and fell
+away, to recede and gather new impetus, to leap madly on down the
+canyon.
+
+Shefford went to his knees, clasped Fay, and Jane, too. But facing this
+appalling thing he had to look. Courage and despair came to him at the
+last. This must be the end. With long, buoyant swing the boat sailed
+down, shot over the first waves, was caught and lifted upon the great
+swell and impelled straight toward the cliff. Huge whirlpools raced
+alongside, and from them came a horrible, engulfing roar. Monstrous
+bulges rose on the other side. All the stupendous power of that mighty
+river of downward-rushing silt swung the boat aloft, up and up, as the
+swell climbed the wall. Shefford, with transfixed eyes and harrowed
+soul, watched the wet black wall. It loomed down upon him. The stern of
+the boat went high. Then when the crash that meant doom seemed imminent
+the swell spread and fell back from the wall and the boat never struck
+at all. By some miraculous chance it had been favored by a strange
+and momentary receding of the huge spent swell. Then it slid back, was
+caught and whirled by the current into a red, frothy, up-flung rapids
+below. Shefford bowed his head over Fay and saw no more, nor felt nor
+heard. What seemed a long time after that the broken voice of the Mormon
+recalled him to his labors.
+
+The boat was half full of water. Nas Ta Bega scooped out great sheets
+of it with his hands. Shefford sprang to aid him, found the shovel, and
+plunged into the task. Slowly but surely they emptied the boat. And then
+Shefford saw that twilight had fallen. Joe was working the craft toward
+a narrow bank of sand, to which, presently, they came, and the Indian
+sprang out to moor to a rock.
+
+The fugitives went ashore and, weary and silent and drenched, they
+dropped in the warm sand.
+
+But Shefford could not sleep. The river kept him awake. In the distance
+it rumbled, low, deep, reverberating, and near at hand it was a thing of
+mutable mood. It moaned, whined, mocked, and laughed. It had the soul of
+a devil. It was a river that had cut its way to the bowels of the earth,
+and its nature was destructive. It harbored no life. Fighting its way
+through those dead walls, cutting and tearing and wearing, its heavy
+burden of silt was death, destruction, and decay. A silent river, a
+murmuring, strange, fierce, terrible, thundering river of the desert!
+Even in the dark it seemed to wear the hue of blood.
+
+All night long Shefford heard it, and toward the dark hours before dawn,
+when a restless, broken sleep came to him, his dreams were dreams of a
+river of sounds.
+
+All the beautiful sounds he knew and loved he heard--the sigh of the
+wind in the pines, the mourn of the wolf, the cry of the laughing-gull,
+the murmur of running brooks, the song of a child, the whisper of a
+woman. And there were the boom of the surf, the roar of the north wind
+in the forest, the roll of thunder. And there were the sounds not of
+earth--a river of the universe rolling the planets, engulfing the stars,
+pouring the sea of blue into infinite space.
+
+Night with its fitful dreams passed. Dawn lifted the ebony gloom out
+of the canyon and sunlight far up on the ramparts renewed Shefford's
+spirit. He rose and awoke the others. Fay's wistful smile still held its
+faith. They ate of the gritty, water-soaked food. Then they embarked.
+The current carried them swiftly down and out of hearing of the last
+rapid. The character of the river and the canyon changed. The current
+lessened to a slow, smooth, silent, eddying flow. The walls grew
+straight, sheer, gloomy, and vast. Shefford noted these features, but
+he was listening so hard for the roar of the next rapid that he scarcely
+appreciated them. All the fugitives were listening. Every bend in the
+canyon--and now the turns were numerous--might hold a rapid. Shefford
+strained his ears. He imagined the low, dull, strange rumble. He had it
+in his ears, yet there was the growing sensation of silence.
+
+"Shore this 's a dead place," muttered Lassiter.
+
+"She's only slowed up for a bigger plunge," replied Joe. "Listen! Hear
+that?"
+
+But there was no true sound, Joe only imagined what he expected and
+hated and dreaded to hear.
+
+Mile after mile they drifted through the silent gloom between those
+vast and magnificent walls. After the speed, the turmoil, the whirling,
+shrieking, thundering, the never-ceasing sound and change and motion
+of the rapids above, this slow, quiet drifting, this utter, absolute
+silence, these eddying stretches of still water below, worked strangely
+upon Shefford's mind and he feared he was going mad.
+
+There was no change to the silence, no help for the slow drift, no
+lessening of the strain. And the hours of the day passed as moments,
+the sun crossed the blue gap above, the golden lights hung on the upper
+walls, the gloom returned, and still there was only the dead, vast,
+insupportable silence.
+
+There came bends where the current quickened, ripples widened, long
+lanes of little waves roughened the surface, but they made no sound.
+
+And then the fugitives turned through a V-shaped vent in the canyon.
+The ponderous walls sheered away from the river. There was space and
+sunshine, and far beyond this league-wide open rose vermilion-colored
+cliffs. A mile below the river disappeared in a dark, boxlike passage
+from which came a rumble that made Shefford's flesh creep.
+
+The Mormon flung high his arms and let out the stentorian yell that had
+rolled down to the fugitives as they waited at the mouth of Nonnezoshe
+Boco. But now it had a wilder, more exultant note. Strange how he
+shifted his gaze to Fay Larkin!
+
+"Girl! Get up and look!" he called. "The Ferry! The Ferry!"
+
+Then he bent his brawny back over the steering-oar, and the clumsy craft
+slowly turned toward the left-hand shore, where a long, low bank of
+green willows and cottonwoods gave welcome relief to the eyes. Upon the
+opposite side of the river Shefford saw a boat, similar to the one he
+was in, moored to the bank.
+
+"Shore, if I ain't losin' my eyes, I seen an Injun with a red blanket,"
+said Lassiter.
+
+"Yes, Lassiter," cried Shefford. "Look, Fay! Look, Jane! See!
+Indians--hogans--mustangs--there above the green bank!"
+
+The boat glided slowly shoreward. And the deep, hungry, terrible rumble
+of the remorseless river became something no more to dread.
+
+
+
+
+XX. WILLOW SPRINGS
+
+
+Two days' travel from the river, along the saw-toothed range of Echo
+Cliffs, stood Presbrey's trading-post, a little red-stone square house
+in a green and pretty valley called Willow Springs.
+
+It was nearing the time of sunset--that gorgeous hour of color in the
+Painted Desert--when Shefford and his party rode down upon the post.
+
+The scene lacked the wildness characteristic of Kayenta or Red Lake.
+There were wagons and teams, white men and Indians, burros, sheep,
+lambs, mustangs saddled and unsaddled, dogs, and chickens. A young,
+sweet-faced woman stood in the door of the post and she it was who first
+sighted the fugitives. Presbrey was weighing bags of wool on a scale,
+and when she called he lazily turned, as if to wonder at her eagerness.
+
+Then he flung up his head, with its shock of heavy hair, in a start of
+surprise, and his florid face lost its lazy indolence to become wreathed
+in a huge smile.
+
+"Haven't seen a white person in six months!" was his extraordinary
+greeting.
+
+An hour later Shefford, clean-shaven, comfortably clothed once more,
+found himself a different man; and when he saw Fay in white again, with
+a new and indefinable light shining through that old, haunting shadow in
+her eyes, then the world changed and he embraced perfect happiness.
+
+There was a dinner such as Shefford had not seen for many a day, and
+such as Fay had never seen, and that brought to Jane Withersteen's eyes
+the dreamy memory of the bountiful feasts which, long years ago, had
+been her pride. And there was a story told to the curious trader and
+his kind wife--a story with its beginning back in those past years, of
+riders of the purple sage, of Fay Larkin as a child and then as a wild
+girl in Surprise Valley, of the flight down Nonnezoshe Boco an the
+canyon, of a great Mormon and a noble Indian.
+
+Presbrey stared with his deep-set eyes and wagged his tousled head and
+stared again; then with the quick perception of the practical desert man
+he said:
+
+"I'm sending teamsters in to Flagstaff to-morrow. Wife and I will go
+along with you. We've light wagons. Three days, maybe--or four--and
+we'll be there.... Shefford, I'm going to see you marry Fay Larkin!"
+
+Fay and Jane and Lassiter showed strangely against this background
+of approaching civilization. And Shefford realized more than ever the
+loneliness and isolation and wildness of so many years for them.
+
+When the women had retired Shefford and the men talked a while. Then Joe
+Lake rose to stretch his big frame.
+
+"Friends, reckon I'm all in," he said. "Good night." In passing he laid
+a heavy hand on Shefford's shoulder. "Well, you got out. I've only a
+queer notion how. But SOME ONE besides an Indian and a Mormon guided you
+out!... Be good to the girl.... Good-by, pard!"
+
+Shefford grasped the big hand and in the emotion of the moment did not
+catch the significance of Joe's last words.
+
+Later Shefford stepped outside into the starlight for a few moments'
+quiet walk and thought before he went to bed. It was a white night. The
+coyotes were yelping. The stars shone steadfast, bright, cold. Nas Ta
+Bega stalked out of the shadow of the house and joined Shefford. They
+walked in silence. Shefford's heart was too full for utterance and the
+Indian seldom spoke at any time. When Shefford was ready to go in Nas Ta
+Bega extended his hand.
+
+"Good-by--Bi Nai!" he said, strangely, using English and Navajo in what
+Shefford supposed to be merely good night. The starlight shone full upon
+the dark, inscrutable face of the Indian. Shefford bade him good night
+and then watched him stride away in the silver gloom.
+
+But next morning Shefford understood. Nas Ta Bega and Joe Lake were
+gone. It was a shock to Shefford. Yet what could he have said to either?
+Joe had shirked saying good-by to him and Fay. And the Indian had gone
+out of Shefford's life as he had come into it.
+
+What these two men represented in Shefford's uplift was too great for
+the present to define, but they and the desert that had developed them
+had taught him the meaning of life. He might fail often, since failure
+was the lot of his kind, but could he ever fail again in faith in man or
+God while he had mind to remember the Indian and the Mormon?
+
+Still, though he placed them on a noble height and loved them well,
+there would always abide with him a sorrow for the Mormon and a
+sleepless and eternal regret for that Indian on his lonely cedar slope
+with the spirits of his vanishing race calling him.
+
+. . . . . . . . . . .
+
+Willow Springs appeared to be a lively place that morning. Presbrey was
+gay and his sweet-faced wife was excited. The teamsters were a jolly,
+whistling lot. And the lean mustangs kicked and bit at one another. The
+trader had brought out two light wagons for the trip, and, after the
+manner of desert men, desired to start at sunrise.
+
+Far across the Painted Desert towered the San Francisco peaks,
+black-timbered, blue-canyoned, purple-hazed, with white snow, like the
+clouds, around their summits.
+
+Jane Withersteen looked at the radiant Fay and lived again in her
+happiness. And at last excitement had been communicated to the old
+gun-man.
+
+"Shore we're goin' to live with Fay an' John, an' be near Venters an'
+Bess, an' see the blacks again, Jane.... An' Venters will tell you, as
+he did me, how Wrangle run Black Star off his legs!"
+
+All connected with that early start was sweet, sad, hopeful.
+
+And so they rode away from Willow Springs, through the green fields of
+alfalfa and cotton wood, down the valley with its smoking hogans and
+whistling mustangs and scarlet-blanketed Indians, and out upon the bare,
+ridgy, colorful desert toward the rosy sunrise.
+
+
+
+
+EPILOGUE
+
+
+On the outskirts of a little town in Illinois there was a farm of
+rolling pasture-land. And here a beautiful meadow, green and red in
+clover, merged upon an orchard in the midst of which a brown-tiled roof
+showed above the trees.
+
+One afternoon in May a group of people, strangely agitated, walked down
+a shady lane toward the meadow.
+
+"Wal, Jane, I always knew we'd get a look at them hosses again--I shore
+knew," Lassiter was saying in the same old, cool, careless drawl. But
+his clawlike hands shook a little.
+
+"Oh! will they know me?" asked Jane Withersteen, turning to a stalwart
+man--no other than the dark-faced Venters, her rider of other days.
+
+"Know you? I'll bet they will," replied Venters. "What do you say,
+Bess?"
+
+The shadow brightened in Bess's somber blue eyes, as if his words had
+recalled her from a sad and memorable past.
+
+"Black Star will know her, surely," replied Bess. "Sometimes he points
+his nose toward the west and watches as if he saw the purple slopes and
+smelt the sage of Utah! He has never forgotten. But Night has grown deaf
+and partly blind of late. I doubt if he'd remember."
+
+Shefford and Fay walked arm in arm in the background.
+
+Out in the meadow two horses were grazing. They were sleek, shiny,
+long-maned, long-tailed, black as coal, and, though old, still splendid
+in every line.
+
+"Do you remember them?" whispered Shefford.
+
+"Oh, I only needed to see Black Star," murmured Fay, her voice
+quivering. "I can remember being lifted on his back.... How strange! It
+seems so long ago.... Look! Mother Jane is going out to them."
+
+Jane Withersteen advanced alone through the clover, and it was with
+unsteady steps. Presently she halted. What glorious and bitter memories
+were expressed in her strange, poignant call!
+
+Black Star started and swept up his noble head and looked. But Night
+went on calmly grazing. Then Jane called again--the same strange call,
+only louder, and this time broken. Black Star raised his head higher
+and he whistled a piercing blast. He saw Jane; he knew her as he had
+remembered the call; and he came pounding toward her. She met him,
+encircled his neck with her arms, and buried her face in his mane.
+
+"Shore I reckon I'd better never say any more about Wrangle runnin' the
+blacks off their legs thet time," muttered Lassiter, as if to himself.
+
+"Lassiter, you only dreamed that race," replied Venters, with a smile.
+
+"Oh, Bern, isn't it good that Black Star remembered her--that she'll
+have him--something left of her old home?" asked Bess, wistfully.
+
+"Indeed it is good. But, Bess, Jane Withersteen will find a new spirit
+and new happiness here."
+
+Jane came toward them, leading both horses. "Dear friends, I am happy.
+To-day I bury all regrets. Of the past I shall remember only--my riders
+of the purple sage."
+
+Venters smiled his gladness. "And you--Lassiter--what shall you
+remember?" he queried.
+
+The old gun-man looked at Jane and then at his clawlike hands and then
+at Fay. His eyes lost their shadow and began to twinkle.
+
+"Wal, I rolled a stone once, but I reckon now thet time Wrangle--"
+
+"Lassiter, I said you dreamed that race. Wrangle never beat the blacks,"
+interrupted Venters.... "And you, Fay, what shall you remember?"
+
+"Surprise Valley," replied Fay, dreamily.
+
+"And you--Shefford?"
+
+Shefford shook his head. For him there could never be one memory only.
+In his heart there would never change or die memories of the wild
+uplands, of the great towers and walls, of the golden sunsets on the
+canyon ramparts, of the silent, fragrant valleys where the cedars and
+the sago-lilies grew, of those starlit nights when his love and faith
+awoke, of grand and lonely Nonnezoshe, of that red, sullen, thundering,
+mysterious Colorado River, of a wonderful Indian and a noble Mormon--of
+all that was embodied for him in the meaning of the rainbow trail.
+
+
+THE END
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Rainbow Trail, by Zane Grey
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