XI. AFTER THE TRIAL
Shefford might have leaped over the railing but for Withers'srestraining hand, and when there appeared to be some sign of kindness inthose other women for the unconscious girl Shefford squeezed through thecrowd and got out of the hall.
The gang outside that had been denied admittance pressed upon Shefford,with jest and curious query, and a good nature that jarred upon him. Hewas far from gentle as he jostled off the first importuning fellows; theothers, gaping at him, opened a lane for him to pass through.
Then there was a hand laid on his shoulder that he did not shake off.Nas Ta Bega loomed dark and tall beside him. Neither the trader nor JoeLake nor any white man Shefford had met influenced him as this Navajo.
"Nas Ta Bega! you here, too. I guess the whole country is here. Wewaited at Kayenta. What kept you so long?"
The Indian, always slow to answer, did not open his lips till he drewShefford apart from the noisy crowd.
"Bi Nai, there is sorrow in the hogan of Hosteen Doetin," he said.
"Glen Naspa!" exclaimed Shefford.
"My sister is gone from the home of her brother. She went away alone inthe summer."
"Blue Canyon! She went to the missionary. Nas Ta Bega, I thought I sawher there. But I wasn't sure. I didn't want to make sure. I was afraidit might be true."
"A brave who loved my sister trailed her there."
"Nas Ta Bega, will you--will we go find her, take her home?"
"No. She will come home some day."
What bitter sadness and wisdom in his words!
"But, my friend, that damned missionary--" began Shefford, passionately.The Indian had met him at a bad hour.
"Willetts is here. I saw him go in there," interrupted Nas Ta Bega, andhe pointed to the hall.
"Here! He gets around a good deal," declared Shefford. "Nas Ta Bega,what are you going to do to him?"
The Indian held his peace and there was no telling from his inscrutableface what might be in his mind. He was dark, impassive. He seemed a wiseand bitter Indian, beyond any savagery of his tribe, and the sufferingShefford divined was deep.
"He'd better keep out of my sight," muttered Shefford, more to himselfthan to his companion.
"The half-breed is here," said Nas Ta Bega.
"Shadd? Yes, we saw him. There! He's still with his gang. Nas Ta Bega,what are they up to?"
"They will steal what they can."
"Withers says Shadd is friendly with the Mormons."
"Yes, and with the missionary, too."
"With Willetts?"
"I saw them talk together--strong talk."
"Strange. But maybe it's not so strange. Shadd is known well inMonticello and Bluff. He spends money there. They are afraid of him, buthe's welcome just the same. Perhaps everybody knows him. It'd be likehim to ride into Kayenta. But, Nas Ta Bega, I've got to look out forhim, because Withers says he's after me."
"Bi Nai wears a scar that is proof," said the Indian.
"Then it must be he found out long ago I had a little money."
"It might be. But, Bi Nai, the half-breed has a strange step on yourtrail."
"What do you mean?" demanded Shefford.
"Nas Ta Bega cannot tell what he does not know," replied the Navajo."Let that be. We shall know some day. Bi Nai, there is sorrow to tellthat is not the Indian's.... Sorrow for my brother!"
Shefford lifted his eyes to the Indian's, and if he did not see sadnessthere he was much deceived.
"Bi Nai, long ago you told a story to the trader. Nas Ta Bega sat beforethe fire that night. You did not know he could understand your language.He listened. And he learned what brought you to the country of theIndian. That night he made you his brother.... All his lonely rides intothe canyon have been to find the little golden-haired child, the lostgirl--Fay Larkin.... Bi Nai, I have found the girl you wanted for yoursweetheart."
Shefford was bereft of speech. He could not see steadily, and the lastsolemn words of the Indian seemed far away.
"Bi Nai, I have found Fay Larkin," repeated Nas Ta Bega.
"Fay Larkin!" gasped Shefford, shaking his head. "But--she's dead."
"It would be less sorrow for Bi Nai if she were dead."
Shefford clutched at the Indian. There was something terrible to berevealed. Like an aspen-leaf in the wind he shook all over. He divinedthe revelation--divined the coming blow--but that was as far as his mindgot.
"She's in there," said the Indian, pointing toward hall.
"Fay Larkin?" whispered Shefford.
"Yes, Bi Nai."
"My God! HOW do you know? Oh, I could have seen. I've been blind. ...Tell me, Indian. Which one?"
"Fay Larkin is the Sago Lily."
. . . . . . . . . .
Shefford strode away into a secluded corner of the Square, where inthe shade and quiet of the trees he suffered a storm of heart and mind.During that short or long time--he had no idea how long--the Indianremained with him. He never lost the feeling of Nas Ta Bega close besidehim. When the period of acute pain left him and some order beganto replace the tumult in his mind he felt in Nas Ta Bega the samequality--silence or strength or help--that he had learned to feel in thedeep canyon and the lofty crags. He realized then that the Indian wasindeed a brother. And Shefford needed him. What he had to fight was morefatal than suffering and love--it was hate rising out of the unsuspecteddark gulf of his heart--the instinct to kill--the murder in his soul.Only now did he come to understand Jane Withersteen's tragic story andthe passion of Venters and what had made Lassiter a gun-man. The deserthad transformed Shefford. The elements had entered into his muscle andbone, into the very fiber of his heart. Sun, wind, sand, cold, storm,space, stone, the poison cactus, the racking toil, the terribleloneliness--the iron of the desert man, the cruelty of the desertsavage, the wildness of the mustang, the ferocity of hawk and wolf, thebitter struggle of every surviving thing--these were as if they had beenmelted and merged together and now made a dark and passionate streamthat was his throbbing blood. He realized what he had become and gloriedin it, yet there, looking on with grave and earnest eyes, was his oldself, the man of reason, of intellect, of culture, who had been a goodman despite the failure and shame of his life. And he gave heed to thevoice of warning, of conscience. Not by revengefully seeking the Mormonwho had ruined Fay Larkin and blindly dealing a wild justice could hehelp this unfortunate girl. This fierce, newborn strength and passionmust be tempered by reason, lest he become merely elemental, a mananswering wholly to primitive impulses. In the darkness of that hour hemined deep into his heart, understood himself, trembled at the thing hefaced, and won his victory. He would go forth from that hour a man. Hemight fight, and perhaps there was death in the balance, but hate wouldnever overthrow him.
Then when he looked at future action he felt a strange, unalterablepurpose to save Fay Larkin. She was very young--seventeen or eighteen,she had said--and there could be, there must be some happinessbefore her. It had been his dream to chase a rainbow--it had been hisdetermination to find her in the lost Surprise Valley. Well, he hadfound her. It never occurred to him to ask Nas Ta Bega how he haddiscovered that the Sago Lily was Fay Larkin. The wonder was, Sheffordthought, that he had so long been blind himself. How simply everythingworked out now! Every thought, every recollection of her was proof. Herstrange beauty like that of the sweet and rare lily, her low voice thatshowed the habit of silence, her shapely hands with the clasp strong asa man's, her lithe form, her swift step, her wonderful agility upon thesmooth, steep trails, and the wildness of her upon the heights, andthe haunting, brooding shadow of her eyes when she gazed across thecanyon--all these fitted so harmoniously the conception of a childlost in a beautiful Surprise Valley and growing up in its wildness andsilence, tutored by the sad love of broken Jane and Lassiter. Yes, tosave her had been Shefford's dream, and he had loved that dream. Hehad loved the dream and he had loved the child. The secret of herhiding-place as revealed by the story told him and his slow growth fromdream to action--these
had strangely given Fay Larkin to him. Thenhad come the bitter knowledge that she was dead. In the light of thissubsequent revelation how easy to account for his loving Mary, too.Never would she be Mary again to him! Fay Larkin and the Sago Lily wereone and the same. She was here, near him, and he was powerless for thepresent to help her or to reveal himself. She was held back there inthat gloomy hall among those somber Mormons, alien to the women, boundin some fatal way to one of the men, and now, by reason of her weaknessin the trial, surely to be hated. Thinking of her past and her present,of the future, and that secret Mormon whose face she had never seen,Shefford felt a sinking of his heart, a terrible cold pang in hisbreast, a fainting of his spirit. She had sworn she was no sealed wife.But had she not lied? So, then, how utterly powerless he was!
But here to save him, to uplift him, came that strange mystic insightwhich had been the gift of the desert to him. She was not dead. He hadfound her. What mattered obstacles, even that implacable creed to whichshe had been sacrificed, in the face of this blessed and overwhelmingtruth? It was as mighty as the love suddenly dawning upon him. A strongand terrible and deathly sweet wind seemed to fill his soul with thelove of her. It was her fate that had drawn him; and now it was heragony, her innocence, her beauty, that bound him for all time. Patienceand cunning and toil, passion and blood, the unquenchable spirit of aman to save--these were nothing to give--life itself were little, couldhe but free her.
Patience and cunning! His sharpening mind cut these out as his greatestassets for the present. And his thoughts flashed like light through hisbrain.... Judge Stone and his court would fail to convict any Mormonin Stonebridge, just the same as they had failed in the northern towns.They would go away, and Stonebridge would fall to the slow, sleepy tenorof its former way. The hidden village must become known to all men,honest and outlawed, in that country, but this fact would hardly makeany quick change in the plans of the Mormons. They did not soon change.They would send the sealed wives back to the canyon and, after theexcitement had died down, visit them as usual. Nothing, perhaps, wouldever change these old Mormons but death.
Shefford resolved to remain in Stonebridge and ingratiate himself deeperinto the regard of the Mormons. He would find work there, if the sealedwives were not returned to the hidden village. In case the women wentback to the valley Shefford meant to resume his old duty of drivingWithers's pack-trains. Wanting that opportunity, he would find someother work, some excuse to take him there. In due time he would revealto Fay Larkin that he knew her. How the thought thrilled him! She mightdeny, might persist in her fear, might fight to keep her secret. But hewould learn it--hear her story--hear what had become of Jane Withersteenand Lassiter--and if they were alive, which now he believed he wouldfind them--and he would take them and Fay out of the country.
The duty, the great task, held a grim fascination for him. He had aforeboding of the cost; he had a dark realization of the force he meantto oppose. There were duty here and pity and unselfish love, but thesealone did not actuate Shefford. Mystically fate seemed again to comelike a gleam and bid him follow.
When Shefford and Nas Ta Bega returned to the town hall the trial hadbeen ended, the hall was closed, and only a few Indians and cowboysremained in the square, and they were about to depart. On the street,however, and the paths and in the doorways of stores were knots ofpeople, talking earnestly. Shefford walked up and down, hoping to meetWithers or Joe Lake. Nas Ta Bega said he would take the horses to waterand feed and then return.
There were indications that Stonebridge might experience some of theexcitement and perhaps violence common to towns like Monticello andDurango. There was only one saloon in Stonebridge, and it was fullof roystering cowboys and horse-wranglers. Shefford saw the bunch ofmustangs, in charge of the same Indian, that belonged to Shadd andhis gang. The men were inside, drinking. Next door was a tavern calledHopewell House, a stone structure of some pretensions. There wereIndians lounging outside. Shefford entered through a wide door andfound himself in a large bare room, boarded like a loft, with noceiling except the roof. The place was full of men and noise. Here heencountered Joe Lake talking to Bishop Kane and other Mormons. Sheffordgot a friendly greeting from the bishop, and then was well received bythe strangers, to whom Joe introduced him.
"Have you seen Withers?" asked Shefford.
"Reckon he's around somewhere," replied Joe. "Better hang up here, forhe'll drop in sooner or later."
"When are you going back to Kayenta?" went on Shefford.
"Hard to say. We'll have to call off our hunt. Nas Ta Bega is here,too."
"Yes, I've been with him."
The older Mormons drew aside, and then Joe mentioned the fact that hewas half starved. Shefford went with him into another clapboard room,which was evidently a dining-room. There were half a dozen men at thelong table. The seat at the end was a box, and scarcely large enough orsafe enough for Joe and Shefford, but they risked it.
"Saw you in the hall," said Joe. "Hell--wasn't it?"
"Joe, I never knew how much I dared say to you, so I don't talk much.But, it was hell," replied Shefford.
"You needn't be so scared of me," spoke up Joe, testily.
That was the first time Shefford had heard the Mormon speak that way.
"I'm not scared, Joe. But I like you--respect you. I can't say so muchof--of your people."
"Did you stick out the whole mix?" asked Joe.
"No. I had enough when--when they got through with Mary." Shefford spokelow and dropped his head. He heard the Mormon grind his teeth. There wassilence for a little space while neither man looked at the other.
"Reckon the judge was pretty decent," presently said Joe.
"Yes, I thought so. He might have--" But Shefford did not finish thatsentence. "How'd the thing end?"
"It ended all right."
"Was there no conviction--no sentence?" Shefford felt a curiouseagerness.
"Naw," he snorted. "That court might have saved its breath."
"I suppose. Well, Joe, between you and me, as old friends now, thattrial established one fact, even if it couldn't be proved.... Thosewomen are sealed wives."
Joe had no reply for that. He looked gloomy, and there was a stern linein his lips. To-day he seemed more like a Mormon.
"Judge Stone knew that as well as I knew," went on Shefford. "Any man ofpenetration could have seen it. What an ordeal that was for good womento go through! I know they're good. And there they were swearing to--"
"Didn't it make me sick?" interrupted Joe in a kind of growl. "Reckonit made Judge Stone sick, too. After Mary went under he conducted thattrial like a man cuttin' out steers at a round-up. He wanted to get itover. He never forced any question.... Bad job to ride down Stonebridgeway! It's out of creation. There's only six men in the party, with apoor lot of horses. Really, government officers or not, they're notsafe. And they've taken a hunch."
"Have they left already?" inquired Shefford.
"Were packed an hour ago. I didn't see them go, but somebody said theywent. Took the trail for Bluff, which sure is the only trail they couldtake, unless they wanted to go to Colorado by way of Kayenta. That mighthave been the safest trail."
"Joe, what might happen to them?" asked Shefford, quietly, with eyes onthe Mormon.
"Aw, you know that rough trail. Bad on horses. Weatheredslopes--slipping ledges--a rock might fall on you any time. Then Shadd'shere with his gang. And bad Piutes."
"What became of the women?" Shefford asked, 'presently.
"They're around among friends."
"Where are their children?"
"Left over there with the old women. Couldn't be fetched over. But thereare some pretty young babies in that bunch--need their mothers."
"I should--think so," replied Shefford, constrainedly. "When will theirmothers get back to them?"
"To-night, maybe, if this mob of cow-punchers and wranglers get out oftown.... It's a bad mix, Shefford, here's a hunch on that. These fellowswill get full of whisky. And trouble might come if t
hey--approach thewomen."
"You mean they might get drunk enough to take the oaths of those poorwomen--take the meaning literally--pretend to believe the women whatthey swore they were?"
"Reckon you've got the hunch," replied Joe, gloomily.
"My God! man, that would be horrible!" exclaimed Shefford.
"Horrible or not, it's liable to happen. The women can be kept here yetawhile. Reckon there won't be any trouble here. It'll be over there inthe valley. Shefford, getting the women over there safe is a job that'sbeen put to me. I've got a bunch of fellows already. Can I count on you?I'm glad to say you're well thought of. Bishop Kane liked you, and whathe says goes."
"Yes, Joe, you can count on me," replied Shefford.
They finished their meal then and repaired to the big office-room ofthe house. Several groups of men were there and loud talk was goingon outside. Shefford saw Withers talking to Bishop Kane and two otherMormons, both strangers to Shefford. The trader appeared to be speakingwith unwonted force, emphasizing his words with energetic movements ofhis hands.
"Reckon something's up," whispered Joe, hoarsely. "It's been in the airall day."
Withers must have been watching for Shefford.
"Here's Shefford now," he said to the trio of Mormons, as Joe andShefford reached the group. "I want you to hear him speak for himself."
"What's the matter?" asked Shefford.
"Give me a hunch and I'll put in my say-so," said Joe Lake.
"Shefford, it's the matter of a good name more than a job," replied thetrader. "A little while back I told the bishop I meant to put you on thepack job over to the valley--same as when you first came to me. Well,the bishop was pleased and said he might put something in your way.Just now I ran in here to find you--not wanted. When I kicked I got thestraight hunch. Willetts has said things about you. One of them--the onethat sticks in my craw--was that you'd do anything, even pretend tobe inclined toward Mormonism, just to be among those Mormon women overthere. Willetts is your enemy. And he's worse than I thought. Now I wantyou to tell Bishop Kane why this missionary is bitter toward you."
"Gentlemen, I knocked him down," replied Shefford, simply.
"What for?" inquired the bishop, in surprise and curiosity.
Shefford related the incident which had occurred at Red Lake and thatnow seemed again to come forward fatefully.
"You insinuate he had evil intent toward the Indian girl?" queried Kane.
"I insinuate nothing. I merely state what led to my acting as I did."
"Principles of religion, sir?"
"No. A man's principles."
Withers interposed in his blunt way, "Bishop, did you ever see GlenNaspa?"
"No."
"She's the prettiest Navajo in the country. Willetts was after her,that's all."
"My dear man, I can't believe that of a Christian missionary. We'veknown Willetts for years. He's a man of influence. He has money back ofhim. He's doing a good work. You hint of a love relation."
"No, I don't hint," replied Withers, impatiently. "I know. It's not thefirst time I've known a missionary to do this sort of thing. Nor is itthe first time for Willetts. Bishop Kane, I live among the Indians. Isee a lot I never speak of. My work is to trade with the Indians, that'sall. But I'll not have Willetts or any other damned hypocrite run downmy friend here. John Shefford is the finest young man that ever came tome in the desert. And he's got to be put right before you all or I'llnot set foot in Stonebridge again.... Willetts was after Glen Naspa.Shefford punched him. And later threw him out of the old Indian's hoganup on the mountain. That explains Willetts's enmity. He was after thegirl."
"What's more, gentlemen, he GOT her," added Shefford. "Glen Naspa hasnot been home for six months. I saw her at Blue Canyon.... I would liketo face this Willetts before you all."
"Easy enough," replied Withers, with a grim chuckle. "He's justoutside."
The trader went out; Joe Lake followed at his heels and the threeMormons were next; Shefford brought up the rear and lingered in the doorwhile his eye swept the crowd of men and Indians. His feeling was indirect contrast to his movements. He felt the throbbing of fierce anger.But it seemed a face came between him and his passion--a sweet andtragic face that would have had power to check him in a vastly morecritical moment than this. And in an instant he had himself in hand,and, strangely, suddenly felt the strength that had come to him.
Willetts stood in earnest colloquy with a short, squat Indian--thehalf-breed Shadd. They leaned against a hitching-rail. Other Indianswere there, and outlaws. It was a mixed group, rough and hard-looking.
"Hey, Willetts!" called the trader, and his loud, ringing voice, notpleasant, stilled the movement and sound.
When Willetts turned, Shefford was half-way across the wide walk. Themissionary not only saw him, but also Nas Ta Bega, who was stridingforward. Joe Lake was ahead of the trader, the Mormons followed withdecision, and they all confronted Willetts. He turned pale. Shadd hadcautiously moved along the rail, nearer to his gang, and then they, withthe others of the curious crowd, drew closer.
"Willetts, here's Shefford. Now say it to his face!" declared thetrader. He was angry and evidently wanted the fact known, as well as thesituation.
Willetts had paled, but he showed boldness. For an instant Sheffordstudied the smooth face, with its sloping lines, the dark, wine-coloredeyes.
"Willetts, I understand you've maligned me to Bishop Kane and others,"began Shefford, curtly.
"I called you an atheist," returned the missionary, harshly.
"Yes, and more than that. And I told these men WHY you vented your spiteon me."
Willetts uttered a half-laugh, an uneasy, contemptuous expression ofscorn and repudiation.
"The charges of such a man as you are can't hurt me," he said.
The man did not show fear so much as disgust at the meeting. He seemedto be absorbed in thought, yet no serious consideration of the situationmade itself manifest. Shefford felt puzzled. Perhaps there was no fireto strike from this man. The desert had certainly not made him flint. Hehad not toiled or suffered or fought.
"But _I_ can hurt you," thundered Shefford, with startling suddenness."Here! Look at this Indian! Do you know him? Glen Naspa's brother. Lookat him. Let us see you face him while I accuse you.... You made love toGlen Naspa--took her from her home!"
"Harping infidel!" replied Willetts, hoarsely. "So that's your game.Well, Glen Naspa came to my school of her own accord and she will sayso."
"Why will she? Because you blinded the simple Indian girl.... Willetts,I'll waste little more time on you."
And swift and light as a panther Shefford leaped upon the man and,fastening powerful hands round the thick neck, bore him to his kneesand bent back his head over the rail. There was a convulsive struggle,a hard flinging of arms, a straining wrestle, and then Willetts was in adreadful position. Shefford held him in iron grasp.
"You damned, white-livered hypocrite--I'm liable to kill you!" criedShefford. "I watched you and Glen Naspa that day up on the mountain.I saw you embrace her. I saw that she loved you. Tell THAT, you liar!That'll be enough."
The face of the missionary turned purple as Shefford forced his headback over the rail.
"I'll kill you, man," repeated Shefford, piercingly. "Do you want to goto your God unprepared? Say you made love to Glen Naspa--tell that youpersuaded her to leave her home. Quick!"
Willetts raised a shaking hand and then Shefford relaxed the paralyzinggrip and let his head come forward. The half-strangled man gasped out afew incoherent words that his livid, guilty face made unnecessary.
Shefford gave him a shove and he fell into the dust at the feet of theNavajo.
"Gentlemen, I leave him to Nas Ta Bega," said Shefford, with a strangechange from passion to calmness.
Late that night, when the roystering visitors had gone or were deepin drunken slumber, a melancholy and strange procession filed out ofStonebridge. Joe Lake and his armed comrades were escorting the Mormonwomen back to the
hidden valley. They were mounted on burros andmustangs, and in all that dark and somber line there was only one figurewhich shone white under the pale moon.
At the starting, until that white-clad figure had appeared, Shefford'sheart had seemed to be in his throat; and thereafter its beat wasmuffled and painful in his breast. Yet there was some sad sweetness inthe knowledge that he could see her now, be near her, watch over her.
By and by the overcast clouds drifted and the moon shone bright. Thenight was still; the great dark mountain loomed to the stars; thenumberless waves of rounded rock that must be crossed and circled laydeep in shadow. There was only a steady pattering of light hoofs.
Shefford's place was near the end of the line, and he kept well back,riding close to one woman and then another. No word was spoken. Thesesealed wives rode where their mounts were led or driven, as blind intheir hoods as veiled Arab women in palanquins. And their heads droopedwearily and their shoulders bent, as if under a burden. It took an hourof steady riding to reach the ascent to the plateau, and here, with thebeginning of rough and smooth and shadowed trail, the work of the escortbegan. The line lengthened out and each man kept to the several womenassigned to him. Shefford had three, and one of them was the girl heloved. She rode as if the world and time and life were naught to her.As soon as he dared trust his voice and his control he meant to let herknow the man whom perhaps she had not forgotten was there with her, afriend. Six months! It had been a lifetime to him. Surely eternity toher! Had she forgotten? He felt like a coward who had basely desertedher. Oh--had he only known!
She rode a burro that was slow, continually blocking the passage forthose behind, and eventually it became lame. Thus the other women forgedahead. Shefford dismounted and stopped her burro. It was a moment beforeshe noted the halt, and twice in that time Shefford tried to speak andfailed. What poignant pain, regret, love made his utterance fail!
"Ride my horse," he finally said, and his voice was not like his own.
Obediently and wearily she dismounted from the burro and got up onNack-yal. The stirrups were long for her and he had to change them. Hisfingers were all thumbs as he fumbled with the buckles.
Suddenly he became aware that there had been a subtle change in her. Heknew it without looking up and he seemed to be unable to go on with histask. If his life had depended upon keeping his head lowered he couldnot have done it. The listlessness of her drooping form was no longermanifest. The peak of the dark hood pointed toward him. He knew thenthat she was gazing at him.
Never so long as he lived would that moment be forgotten! They werealone. The others had gotten so far ahead that no sound came back. Thestillness was so deep it could be felt. The moon shone with white, coldradiance and the shining slopes of smooth stone waved away, crossed byshadows of pinyons.
Then she leaned a little toward him. One swift hand flew up to tear theblack hood back so that she could see. In its place flashed her whiteface. And her eyes were like the night.
"YOU!" she whispered.
His blood came leaping to sting neck and cheek and temple. What daredhe interpret from that single word? Could any other word have meant somuch?
"No--one--else," he replied, unsteadily.
Her white hand flashed again to him, and he met it with his own. Hefelt himself standing cold and motionless in the moonlight. He saw her,wonderful, with the deep, shadowy eyes, and a silver sheen on her hair.And as he looked she released her hand and lifted it, with the other,to her hood. He saw the shiny hair darken and disappear--and then thelovely face with its sad eyes and tragic lips.
He drew Nack-yal's bridle forward, and led him up the moonlit trail.