g Uncle Jim and leave Mother Jane alone there to starve."

"Fay, Lassiter and Jane both will starve--at least they will die there
if we do not save them. You have been terribly wronged. You're a slave.
You're not a wife."

"They--said I'll be burned in hell if I don't marry him.... Mother Jane
never taught me about God. I don't know. But HE--he said God was there.
I dare not break it."

"Fay, you have been deceived by old men. Let them have their creed. But
YOU mustn't accept it."

"John, what is God to you?"

"Dear child, I--I am not sure of that myself," he replied, huskily.
"When all this trouble is behind us, surely I can help you to understand
and you can help me. The fact that you are alive--that Lassiter and Jane
are alive--that I shall save you all--that lifts me up. I tell you--Fay
Larkin will be my salvation."

"Your words trouble me. Oh, I shall be torn one way and another.... But,
John, I daren't run away. I will not tell you where to find Lassiter and
Mother Jane."

"I shall find them--I have the Indian. He found you for me. Nas Ta Bega
will find Surprise Valley."

"Nas Ta Bega!... Oh, I remember. There was an Indian with the Mormons
who found us. But he was a Piute."

"Nas Ta Bega never told me how he learned about you. That he learned was
enough. And, Fay, he will find Surprise Valley. He will save Uncle Jim
and Mother Jane."

Fay's hands clasped Shefford's in strong, trembling pressure; the tears
streamed down her white cheeks; a tragic and eloquent joy convulsed her
face.

"Oh, my friend, save them! But I can't go.... Let them keep me! Let him
kill me!"

"Him! Fay--he shall not harm you," replied Shefford in passionate
earnestness.

She caught the hand he had struck out with.

"You talk--you look like Uncle Jim when he spoke of the Mormons," she
said. "Then I used to be afraid of him. He was so different. John, you
must not do anything about me. Let me be. It's too late. He--and his
men--they would hang you. And I couldn't bear that. I've enough to bear
without losing my friend. Say you won't watch and wait--for--for him."

Shefford had to promise her. Like an Indian she gave expression to
primitive feeling, for it certainly never occurred to her that, whatever
Shefford might do, he was not the kind of man to wait in hiding for an
enemy. Fay had faltered through her last speech and was now weak and
nervous and frightened. Shefford took her back to the cabin.

"Fay, don't be distres