hisner or any Mormon character that
Shefford had naturally conceived. His costume was that of the cowboy on
active service; and he packed a gun at his hip. The hand-shake he gave
Shefford was an ordeal for that young man and left him with his whole
right side momentarily benumbed.

"I sure am glad to meet you," he said in a lazy, mild voice. And he
was taking friendly stock of Shefford when the bay mustang reached
with vicious muzzle to bite at him. Lake gave a jerk on the bridle that
almost brought the mustang to his knees. He reared then, snorted, and
came down to plant his forefeet wide apart, and watched his master with
defiant eyes. This mustang was the finest horse Shefford had ever seen.
He appeared quite large for his species, was almost red in color, had a
racy and powerful build, and a fine thoroughbred head with dark, fiery
eyes. He did not look mean, but he had spirit.

"Navvy, you've sure got bad manners," said Lake, shaking the mustang's
bridle. He spoke as if he were chiding a refractory little boy. "Didn't
I break you better'n that? What's this gentleman goin' to think of you?
Tryin' to bite my ear off!"

Lake had arrived about the middle of the forenoon, and Withers announced
his intention of packing at once for the trip. Indians were sent out on
the ranges to drive in burros and mustangs. Shefford had his thrilling
expectancy somewhat chilled by what he considered must have been Lake's
reception of the trader's plan. Lake seemed to oppose him, and evidently
it took vehemence and argument on Withers's part to make the Mormon
tractable. But Withers won him over, and then he called Shefford to his
side.

"You fellows got to be good friends," he said. "You'll have charge of my
pack-trains. Nas Ta Bega wants to go with you. I'll feel safer about my
supplies and stock than I've ever been.... Joe, I'll back this stranger
for all I'm worth. He's square.... And, Shefford, Joe Lake is a Mormon
of the younger generation. I want to start you right. You can trust
him as you trust me. He's white clean through. And he's the best
horse-wrangler in Utah."

It was Lake who first offered his hand, and Shefford made haste to meet
it with his own. Neither of them spoke. Shefford intuitively felt
an alteration in Lake's regard, or at least a singular increase of
interest. Lake had been told that Shefford had been a clergyman, was now
a wanderer, without any religion. Again it seemed to Shefford that he
owed a forming