tell your story."

. . . . . . . . . . .

Shefford stood with his back to the fire and he turned the palms of
his hands to catch the warmth. He felt cold. Withers had affected him
strangely. What was the meaning of the trader's somber gravity? Why was
the very mention of Mormons attended by something austere and secret?

"My name is John Shefford. I am twenty-four," began Shefford. "My
family--"

Here a knock on the door interrupted Shefford.

"Come in," called Withers.

The door opened and like a shadow Nas Ta Bega slipped in. He said
something in Navajo to the trader.

"How," he said to Shefford, and extended his hand. He was stately, but
there was no mistaking his friendliness. Then he sat down before the
fire, doubled his legs under him after the Indian fashion, and with dark
eyes on the blazing logs seemed to lose himself in meditation.

"He likes the fire," explained Withers. "Whenever he comes to Kayenta he
always visits me like this.... Don't mind him. Go on with your story."

"My family were plain people, well-to-do, and very religious," went on
Shefford. "When I was a boy we moved from the country to a town called
Beaumont, Illinois. There was a college in Beaumont and eventually I was
sent to it to study for the ministry. I wanted to be---- But never mind
that.... By the time I was twenty-two I was ready for my career as a
clergyman. I preached for a year around at different places and then got
a church in my home town of Beaumont. I became exceedingly good friends
with a man named Venters, who had recently come to Beaumont. He was a
singular man. His wife was a strange, beautiful woman, very reserved,
and she had wonderful dark eyes. They had money and were devoted to each
other, and perfectly happy. They owned the finest horses ever seen in
Illinois, and their particular enjoyment seemed to be riding. They were
always taking long rides. It was something worth going far for to see
Mrs. Venters on a horse.

"It was through my own love of horses that I became friendly with
Venters. He and his wife attended my church, and as I got to see more
of them, gradually we grew intimate. And it was not until I did get
intimate with them that I realized that both seemed to be haunted by the
past. They were sometimes sad even in their happiness. They drifted
off into dreams. They lived back in another world. They seemed to be
listening. Indeed, they were a singularly interesting couple, and I grew
genuinely