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Updated: May 16, 2025
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.
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.
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.
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 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.
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 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.
"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.
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.
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.
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