never relaxed, never changed. When the meal was finished Presbrey
declined assistance, had a generous thought of the Indian girl, who,
he said, could have a place to eat and sleep down-stairs, and then
with the skill and despatch of an accomplished housewife cleared the
table, after which work he filled a pipe and evidently prepared to
listen.

It took only one question for Shefford to find that the trader was
starved for news of the outside world; and for an hour Shefford fed
that appetite, even as he had been done by. But when he had talked
himself out there seemed indication of Presbrey being more than a
good listener.

"How'd you come in?" he asked, presently.

"By Flagstaff--across the Little Colorado--and through Moencopie."

"Did you stop at Moen Ave?"

"No. What place is that?"

"A missionary lives there. Did you stop at Tuba?"

"Only long enough to drink and water my horse. That was a wonderful
spring for the desert."

"You said you were a wanderer. . . . Do you want a job? I'll give
you one."

"No, thank you, Presbrey."