the cedar branches changed the shape of the bright
patches on the grass where shadow and light met. The walls of the valley
waved upward, dark below and growing paler, to shine faintly at the
rounded rims. And there was a tiny, silvery tinkle of running water over
stones.

Here was a little nook of the vast world. Here were tranquillity,
beauty, music, loneliness, life. Shefford wondered--did he alone keep
watchful? Did he feel that he could see dark, wide eyes peering into
the gloom? And it came to him after a time that he was not alone in his
vigil, nor was Fay Larkin alone in her agony. There was some one else in
the valley, a great and breathing and watchful spirit. It entered
into Shefford's soul and he trembled. What had come to him? And he
answered--only added pain and new love, and a strange strength from the
firmament and the peaks and the silence and the shadows.

The bright belt with its three radiant stars sank behind the western
wall and there was a paler gloom upon the valley.

Then a few lights twinkled in the darkness that enveloped the cabins; a
woman's laugh strangely broke the silence, profaning it, giving the lie
to that somber yoke which seemed to consist of the very shadows; the
voices of men were heard, and then the slow clip-clop of trotting horses
on the hard trail.

Shefford saw the Mormons file out into the paling starlight, ride down
the valley, and vanish in the gray gloom. He was aware that the Indian
sat up to watch the procession ride by, and that Joe turned over, as if
disturbed.

One by one the stars went out. The valley became a place of gray
shadows. In the east a light glowed. Shefford sat there, haggard and
worn, watching the coming of the dawn, the kindling of the light; and
had the power been his the dawn would never have broken and the rose and
gold never have tipped the lofty peaks.

. . . . . . . . . . .

Shefford attended to his camp chores as usual. Several times he was
aware of Joe's close scrutiny, and finally, without looking at him,
Shefford told of the visit of the Mormons. A violent expulsion of breath
was Joe's answer and it might have been a curse. Straightway Joe ceased
his cheery whistling and became as somber as the Indian. The camp was
silent; the men did not look at one another. While they sat at breakfast
Shefford's back was turned toward the village--he had not looked in that
direction since dawn.

"Ugh!" suddenly exclaimed Nas Ta Bega.

Joe Lake m