weather-beaten, and appeared young in activity rather than face. A
gun swung at his hip and a row of brass-tipped cartridges showed in
his belt. Shefford looked into a face that he thought he had seen
before, until he realized the similarity was only the bronze and hard
line and rugged cast common to desert men. The gray searching eyes
went right through him.

"Glad to see you. Get down and come in. Just heard from an Indian
that you were coming. I'm the trader Withers," he said to Shefford.
His voice was welcoming and the grip of his hand made Shefford's ache.

Shefford told his name and said he was as glad as he was lucky to
arrive at Kayenta.

"Hello! Nas Ta Bega!" exclaimed Withers. His tone expressed a
surprise his face did not show. "Did this Indian bring you in?"

Withers shook hands with the Navajo while Shefford briefly related
what he owed to him. Then Withers looked at Nas Ta Bega and spoke
to him in the Indian tongue.

"Shadd," said Nas Ta Bega. Withers let out a dry little laugh and his
strong hand tugged at his mustache.

"Who's Shadd?" asked Shefford.

"He's a half-breed Ute--bad Indian, outlaw, murderer. He's in with a
gang of outlaws who hide in the San Juan country. . . . Reckon you're
lucky. How'd you come to be there in the Sagi alone?"