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