The Rainbow Trail

by Zane Grey

  IV. NEW FRIENDS

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  "Withers, take me to the village."

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

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

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

  "I'll risk anything."

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

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

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

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

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

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

  "What?" ejaculated Shefford.

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

  Withers appeared to be recalling something half forgotten.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  "You had no gun," replied the Indian.

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

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

  "Yes," replied the Indian.

  "You won't betray me?"

  "I am a Navajo."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  "Indeed I will."

  They unclasped hands and turned toward the trading-post.

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

  "No."

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

  The Indian maintained silence.

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

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

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

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

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

  . . . . . . . . . . .

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

  . . . . . . .
. . . .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  "Reckon Nack-yal bucked you off."

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

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

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

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

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