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