ther horses and
riders were descending into the canyon. They had been the cause of his
deliverance, and in the relaxation of feeling he almost fainted. Then he
sat there, slowly recovering, slowly ceasing to tremble, divining that
this situation was somehow to change his attitude toward life.

Three horses, two with riders, moved in dark shapes across the skyline
above the ridge, disappeared as had Shefford's first visitor, and then
rode into the light. Shefford saw two Indians--a man and a woman; then
with surprise recognized the latter to be the Indian girl he had met at
Red Lake. He was still more surprised to recognize in the third horse
the one he had lost at the last camp. Shefford rose, a little shaky on
his legs, to thank these Indians for a double service. The man slipped
from his saddle and his moccasined feet thudded lightly. He was tall,
lithe, erect, a singularly graceful figure, and as he advanced Shefford
saw a dark face and sharp, dark eyes. The Indian was bareheaded, with
his hair bound in a band. He resembled the girl, but appeared to have a
finer face.

"How do?" he said, in a voice low and distinct. He extended his hand,
and Shefford felt a grip of steel. He returned the greeting. Then
the Indian gave Shefford the bridle of the horse, and made signs that
appeared to indicate the horse had broken his hobbles and strayed.
Shefford thanked him. Thereupon the Indian unsaddled and led the horses
away, evidently to water them. The girl remained behind. Shefford
addressed her, but she was shy and did not respond. He then set about
cooking a meal for his visitors, and was busily engaged at this when the
Indian returned without the horses. Presently Shefford resumed his seat
by the fire and watched the two eat what he had prepared. They certainly
were hungry and soon had the pans and cups empty. Then the girl drew
back a little into the shadow, while the man sat with his legs crossed
and his feet tucked under him.

His dark face was smooth, yet it seemed to have lines under the surface.
Shefford was impressed. He had never seen an Indian who interested him
as this one. Looked at superficially, he appeared young, wild, silent,
locked in his primeval apathy, just a healthy savage; but looked at more
attentively, he appeared matured, even old, a strange, sad, brooding
figure, with a burden on his shoulders. Shefford found himself growing
curious.

"What place?" asked Shefford, waving his hand toward the dark