"I saw your pack. That's no pack to travel with in this country. Your
horse won't last, either. Have you any money?"

"Yes, plenty of money."

"Well, that's good. Not that a white man out here would ever take a
dollar from you. But you can buy from the Indians as you go. Where
are you making for, anyhow?"

Shefford hesitated, debating in mind whether to tell his purpose or
not. His host did not press the question.

"I see. Just foot-loose and wandering around," went on Presbrey. "I
can understand how the desert appeals to you. Preachers lead easy,
safe, crowded, bound lives. They're shut up in a church with a Bible
and good people. When once in a lifetime they get loose--they break
out."

"Yes, I've broken out--beyond all bounds," replied Shefford, sadly.
He seemed retrospective for a moment, unaware of the trader's keen
and sympathetic glance, and then he caught himself. "I want to see
some wild life. Do you know the country north of here?"

"Only what the Navajos tell me. And they're not much to talk. There's
a trail goes north, but I've never traveled it. It's a new trail every
time an Indian goes that way, for here the sand blows and covers old
tracks. But few Navajos ride in from the north. My trade is mostly
with Indians up and down the valley."