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Updated: June 15, 2025
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.
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.
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.
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.
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."
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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