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different from Whisner or any Mormon character that Shefford had naturally
conceived. His costume was that of the cowboy on active service; and he packed
a gun at his hip. The hand-shake he gave Shefford was an ordeal for that young
man and left him with his whole right side momentarily benumbed.
"I sure am glad to meet you," he said in a lazy, mild voice. And he was
taking friendly stock of Shefford when the bay mustang reached with vicious
muzzle to bite at him. Lake gave a jerk on the bridle 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 meet it
with his own. Neither of them spoke. Shefford intuitively felt an alteration
in Lake's regard, or at least a singular increase of interest. Lake had been
told that Shefford had been a clergyman, was now a wanderer, without any
religion. Again it seemed to Shefford that he owed a forming of friendship to
this singular fact. And it hurt him. But strangely it came to him that he had
taken a liking to a Mormon.
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About one o'clock the pack-train left Kayenta. Nas Ta Bega led the way up the
slope. Following him climbed half a dozen patient, plodding, heavily laden
burros. Withers came next, and he turned in his saddle to wave good-by to his
wife. Joe Lake appeared to be busy keeping a red mule and a wild gray mustang
and a couple of restive blacks in the trail. Shefford brought up in the rear.
His mount was a beautiful black mustang with three white feet, a white spot
on his nose, and a mane that swept to his knees. "His name's Nack-yal,"
Withers had said. "It means two bits, or twenty-five cents. He ain't worth
more." To look at Nack-yal had pleased Shefford very much indeed, but, once
upon his back, he grew dubious. The mustang acted queer. He actually looked
back at Shefford, and it was a look of speculation and disdain. Shefford took
exception to Nack-yal's manner and to his reluctance to go, and especially to
a habit the mustang had of turning off the trail to the left. Shefford had
managed some rather spirited horses back in Illinois; and though he was
willing and eager to learn all over again, he did not enjoy the prospect of
Lake and Withers seeing this black mustang make a novice of him. And he
guessed that was just what Nack-yal intended to do. However, once up over the
hill, with Kayenta out of sight, Nack-yal trotted along fairly well, needing
only now and then to be pulled back from his strange swinging to the left off
the trail.
The pack-train traveled steadily and soon crossed the upland plain to descend
into the valley again. Shefford saw the jagged red peaks with an emotion he
could not name. The canyon between them were purple in the shadows, the great
walls and slopes brightened to red, and the tips were gold in the sun.
Shefford forgot all about his mustang and the trail.
Suddenly with a pound of hoofs Nack-yal seemed to rise. He leaped sidewise
out of the trail, came down stiff-legged. Then Shefford shot out of the
saddle. He landed so hard that he was stunned for an instant. Sitting up, he
saw the mustang bent down, eyes and ears showing fight, and his forefeet
spread. He appeared to be looking at something in the trail. Shefford got up
and soon saw what had been the trouble. A long, crooked stick, rather thick
and black and yellow, lay in the trail, and any mustang looking for an excuse
to jump might have mistaken it for a rattlesnake. Nack-yal appeared disposed
to be satisfied, and gave Shefford no trouble in mounting. The incident
increased Shefford's dubiousness. These Arizona mustangs were unknown
quantities.
Thereafter Shefford had an eye for the trail rather than the scenery, and
this continued till the pack-train entered the mouth of the Sagi. Then those
wonderful lofty cliffs, with their peaks and towers and spires, loomed so
close and so beautiful that he did not care if Nack- yal did throw him. Along
here, however, the mustang behaved well, and presently Shefford decided that
if it had been otherwise he would have walked. The trail suddenly stood on end
and led down into the deep wash, where some days before he had seen the stream
of reddish water. This day there appeared to be less water and it was not so
red. Nack- yal sank deep as he took short and careful steps down. The burros
and other mustangs were drinking, and Nack-yal followed suit. The Indian, with
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