the Indian, and Joe tarried at the
camp-fire, where he raked out some red embers and put one upon the bowl
of his pipe. He puffed clouds of white smoke, then found a seat beside
the others.

"Shefford, go ahead. Talk. It'll take a deal of talk. I'll listen. Then
I'll talk. It'll be Nas Ta Bega who makes the plan out of it all."

Shefford launched himself so swiftly that he scarcely talked coherently.
But he made clear the points that he must save Fay, get her away from
the village, let her lead him to Surprise Valley, rescue Lassiter and
Jane Withersteen, and take them all out of the country.

Joe Lake dubiously shook his head. Manifestly the Surprise Valley part
of the situation presented a new and serious obstacle. It changed the
whole thing. To try to take the three out by way of Kayenta and Durango
was not to be thought of, for reasons he briefly stated. The Red Lake
trail was the only one left, and if that were taken the chances were
against Shefford. It was five days over sand to Red Lake--impossible to
hide a trail--and even with a day's start Shefford could not escape the
hard-riding men who would come from Stonebridge. Besides, after reaching
Red Lake, there were days and days of desert-travel needful to avoid
places like Blue Canyon, Tuba, Moencopie, and the Indian villages.

"We'll have to risk all that," declared Shefford, desperately.

"It's a fool risk," retorted Joe. "Listen. By tomorrow noon all of
Stonebridge, more or less, will be riding in here. You've got to get
away to-night with the girl--or never! And to-morrow you've got to find
that Lassiter and the woman in Surprise Valley. This valley must be
back, deep in the canyon country. Well, you've got to come out this
way again. No trail through here would be safe. Why, you'd put all your
heads in a rope!... You mustn't come through this way. It'll have to be
tried across country, off the trails, and that means hell--day-and-night
travel, no camp, no feed for horses--maybe no water. Then you'll have
the best trackers in Utah like hounds on your trail."

When the Mormon ceased his forceful speech there was a silence fraught
with hopeless meaning. He bowed his head in gloom. Shefford, growing
sick again to his marrow, fought a cold, hateful sense of despair.

"Bi Nai!" In his extremity he called to the Indian.

"The Navajo has heard," replied Nas Ta Bega, strangely speaking in his
own language.

With a long, slow heave of breast Shefford felt h