his life! Had that anything to do with a something almost like peace
which seemed to hover near in the shadows, trying to come to him? He
had befriended an Indian girl, and now her brother had paid back the
service. Both the giving and receiving were somehow sweet to Shefford.
They opened up hitherto vague channels of thought. For years he had
imagined he was serving people, when he had never lifted a hand. A
blow given in the defense of an Indian girl had somehow operated to
make a change in John Shefford's existence. It had liberated a spirit
in him. Moreover, it had worked its influence outside his mind. The
Indian girl and her brother had followed his trail to return his horse,
perhaps to guide him safely, but, unknowingly perhaps, they had done
infinitely more than that for him. As Shefford's eye wandered over
the dark, still figures of the sleepers he had a strange, dreamy
premonition, or perhaps only a fancy, that there was to be more come
of this fortunate meeting.

For the rest, it was good to be there in the speaking silence, to feel
the heat on his outstretched palms and the cold wind on his cheek, to
see the black wall lifting its bold outline and the crags reaching for
the white stars.




III. KAYENTA


The stamping of horses awoke Shefford. He A saw a towering crag, rosy
in the morning light, like a huge red spear splitting the clear blue
of sky. He got up, feeling cramped and sore, yet with unfamiliar