“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.
CHAPTER 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