n an impertinence--I am deeply serious.... Are you a
Mormon?"

"Indeed I'm not," replied the trader, instantly.

"Are you for the Mormons or against them?"

"Neither. I get along with them. I know them. I believe they are a
misunderstood people."

"That's for them."

"No. I'm only fair-minded."

Shefford paused, trying to curb his thrilling impulse, but it was too
strong.

"You said there used to be another village.... Was the name of
it--Cottonwoods?"

Withers gave a start and faced round to stare at Shefford in blank
astonishment.

"Say, did you give me a straight story about yourself?" he queried,
sharply.

"So far as I went," replied Shefford.

"You're no spy on the lookout for sealed wives?"

"Absolutely not. I don't even know what you mean by sealed wives."

"Well, it's damn strange that you'd know the name Cottonwoods.... Yes,
that's the name of the village I meant--the one that used to be. It's
gone now, all except a few stone walls."

"What became of it?"

"Torn down by Mormons years ago. They destroyed it and moved away. I've
heard Indians talk about a grand spring that was there once. It's gone,
too. Its name was--let me see--"

"Amber Spring," interrupted Shefford.

"By George, you're right!" rejoined the trader, again amazed. "Shefford,
this beats me. I haven't heard that name for ten years. I can't help
seeing what a tenderfoot--stranger--you are to the desert. Yet, here you
are--speaking of what you should know nothing of.... And there's more
behind this."

Shefford rose, unable to conceal his agitation.

"Did you ever hear of a rider named Venters?"

"Rider? You mean a cowboy? Venters. No, I never heard that name."

"Did you ever hear of a gunman named Lassiter?" queried Shefford, with
increasing emotion.

"No."

"Did you ever hear of a Mormon woman named--Jane Withersteen?"

"No."

Shefford drew his breath sharply. He had followed a gleam--he had caught
a fleeting glimpse of it.

"Did you ever hear of a child--a girl--a woman--called Fay Larkin?"

Withers rose slowly with a paling face.

"If you're a spy it'll go hard with you--though I'm no Mormon," he said,
grimly.

Shefford lifted a shaking hand.

"I WAS a clergyman. Now I'm nothing--a wanderer--least of all a spy."

Withers leaned closer to see into the other man's eyes; he looked long
and then appeared satisfied.

"I've heard the name Fay Larkin," he said, slowly. "I reckon that's all
I'll say till you