ot long.
Shefford's sweeping eyes appeared to take in everything at once--the
crude stone structures with their earthen roofs, the piles of dirty
wool, the Indians lolling around, the tents, and wagons, and horses,
little lazy burros and dogs, and scattered everywhere saddles, blankets,
guns, and packs.

Then a white man came out of the door. He waved a hand and shouted.
Dust and wool and flour were thick upon him. He was muscular and
weather-beaten, and appeared young in activity rather than face. A gun
swung at his hip and a row of brass-tipped cartridges showed in his
belt. Shefford looked into a face that he thought he had seen before,
until he realized the similarity was only the bronze and hard line and
rugged cast common to desert men. 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. His tone expressed a surprise
his face did not show. "Did this Indian bring you in?"

Withers shook hands with the Navajo while Shefford briefly related what
he owed to him. Then Withers looked at Nas Ta Bega and spoke to him in
the Indian tongue.

"Shadd," said Nas Ta Bega. Withers let out a dry little laugh and his
strong hand tugged at his mustache.

"Who's Shadd?" asked Shefford.

"He's a half-breed Ute--bad Indian, outlaw, murderer. He's in with
a gang of outlaws who hide in the San Juan country.... Reckon you're
lucky. How'd you come to be there in the Sagi alone?"

"I traveled from Red Lake. Presbrey, the trader there, advised against
it, but I came anyway."

"Well." Withers's gray glance was kind, if it did express the
foolhardiness of Shefford's act. "Come into the house.... Never mind the
horse. My wife will sure be glad to see you."

Withers led Shefford by the first stone house, which evidently was the
trading-store, into the second. The room Shefford entered was large,
with logs smoldering in a huge open fireplace, blankets covering every
foot of floor space, and Indian baskets and silver ornaments everywhere,
and strange Indian designs painted upon the whitewashed walls. Withers
called his wife and made her acquainted with Shefford. She was a slight,
comely little woman, with ke