n by stones, and the overflow made a shallow stream meandering
away between its borders of alkali, like a crust of salt. Shefford
tasted the water. It bit, but it was good.

Shefford had no trouble in making friends with the lazy sleepy-eyed
burros. They let him pull their long ears and rub their noses, but the
mustangs standing around were unapproachable. They had wild eyes; they
raised long ears and looked vicious. He let them alone.

Evidently this trading-post was a great deal busier than Red Lake.
Shefford counted a dozen Indians lounging outside, and there were others
riding away. Big wagons told how the bags of wool were transported out
of the wilds and how supplies were brought in. A wide, hard-packed road
led off to the east, and another, not so clearly defined, wound away to
the north. And Indian trails streaked off in all directions.

Shefford discovered, however, when he had walked off a mile or so across
the valley to lose sight of the post, that the feeling of wildness
and loneliness returned to him. It was a wonderful country. It held
something for him besides the possible rescue of an imprisoned girl from
a wild canyon.

. . . . . . . . . . .

That night after supper, when Withers and Shefford sat alone before
the blazing logs in the huge fireplace, the trader laid his hand on
Shefford's and said, with directness and force:

"I've lived my life in the desert. I've met many men and have been a
friend to most.... You're no prospector or trader or missionary?"

"No," replied Shefford.

"You've had trouble?"

"Yes."

"Have you come in here to hide? Don't be afraid to tell me. I won't give
you away."

"I didn't come to hide."

"Then no one is after you? You've done no wrong?"

"Perhaps I wronged myself, but no one else," replied Shefford, steadily.

"I reckoned so. Well, tell me, or keep your secret--it's all one to me."

Shefford felt a desire to unburden himself. This man was strong,
persuasive, kindly. He drew Shefford.

"You're welcome in Kayenta," went on Withers. "Stay as long as you like.
I take no pay from a white man. If you want work I have it aplenty."

"Thank you. That is good. I need to work. We'll talk of it later. ...
But just yet I can't tell you why I came to Kayenta, what I want to
do, how long I shall stay. My thoughts put in words would seem so
like dreams. Maybe they are dreams. Perhaps I'm only chasing a
phantom--perhaps I'm only hunting the treasure at the foot of t