Classic Audiobook Collection - The Rainbow Trail by Zane Grey ~ Full Audiobook [adventure]

Episode Date: October 24, 2022

The Rainbow Trail by Zane Grey audiobook. Genre: adventure The Rainbow Trail is a sequel to The Riders of the Purple Sage. Both novels are notable for their protagonists' mild opposition to Mormon polygamy, but in The Rainbow Trail this theme is treated more explicitly. The plots of both books revolve around the victimization of women in the Mormon culture: events in Riders of the Purple Sage are centered on the struggle of a Mormon woman who sacrifices her wealth and social status to avoid becoming a junior wife of the head of a local church, while The Rainbow Trail contrasts the older Mormons with the rising generation of Mormon women who will not tolerate polygamy and Mormon men who do not seek it. For ad-free listening try our premium subscription Chapters (Approximate) (00:00:00) Chapter 01 (00:31:18) Chapter 02 (01:05:13) Chapter 03 (01:33:36) Chapter 04 (01:54:17) Chapter 05 (02:10:57) Chapter 06 (02:42:29) Chapter 07 (03:14:43) Chapter 08 (03:37:38) Chapter 09 (03:59:00) Chapter 10 (04:15:20) Chapter 11 (04:36:47) Chapter 12 (04:43:32) Chapter 13 (05:02:44) Chapter 14 (05:23:45) Chapter 15 (05:45:23) Chapter 16 (05:59:49) Chapter 17 (06:21:11) Chapter 18 (06:41:00) Chapter 19 (07:00:21) Chapter 20 (07:28:01) Chapter 21 (07:44:19) Chapter 22 (08:12:19) Chapter 23 (08:36:47) Chapter 24 (09:08:59) Chapter 25 (09:34:33) Chapter 26 (10:03:31) Chapter 27 (10:20:38) Chapter 28 (10:42:52) Chapter 29 (11:00:58) Chapter 30 (11:08:08) Chapter 31 Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

The Rainbow Trail by Zane Gray Red Lake Shefford halted his tired horse and gazed with slowly realizing eyes. A league-long slope of sage rolled and billowed down to Red Lake, a dry red basin, denuded and glistening, a hollow in the desert,

a lonely and desolate door to the vast wild and broken upland beyond. All day, Shepard has, had plotted onward, with a clear horizon line a thing unattainable, and for days before he had ridden the wild-bear flats and climbed the rocky desert benches. The great colored reaches and steps had led endlessly onward and upward through dim and deceiving distance. A hundred miles of desert travel, with its mistakes and lessons and intimations, had not prepared him for what he now saw.

He beheld what seemed a world That knew only magnitude Wonder and awe Fixed his gaze And thought remained aloof Then that dark and unknown Northland Flung a menace at him

An irresistible call Had drawn him To the seamed and peak border of Arizona This broken battlement wilderness Of Utah upland And at first sight They had frowned upon him As if to warn him

not to search for what lay hidden beyond the ranges. But Shefford thrilled with both fear and exaltation. This was the country which had been described to him. Far across the Red Valley, far beyond the ragged line of Black Mesa and Yellow Range, lay the wild canyon with its haunting secret. Red Lake must be his Rubicon. Either he must enter the unknown to seek,

to strive, to find, or turn back and fail. and never know and be always haunted. A friend's strange story had prompted his singular journey. A beautiful rainbow with its mystery and promise had decided him. Once in his life he had answered a wild call to the kingdom of adventure within him, and once in his life he had been happy. But here in the horizon-wide face of that upflung and cloven desert he grew cold, he faltered even while he felt more fatally drawn.

As if impelled, Shepard started his horse down the sandy trail, but he checked his former far-reaching gaze. It was the month of April, and the waning sun lost heat and brightness. Long shadows crept down the slope ahead of him, and the scant sage deepened its gray. He watched the lizards shoot like brown streaks across the sand, leaving their slender tracks. He heard the rustle of pack rats as they darted,

into their brushy homes. The whir of a low-sailing hawk startled his horse. Like ocean waves the slope rose and fell. Its hollows choked with sand, its ridget tops, showing scantier growth of sage and grass and weed. The last ridge was a sand-dune,

beautifully ribbed and scalloped and lined by the wind, and from its knife-sharp crest, a thin, wavering sheet of sand-blue, almost like smoke. Shefford wondered why the sand looked red at a distance, for here it seemed almost white. It rippled everywhere, clean and glisting, always leading down. Suddenly, Shefford became aware of a house looming out of the barrenness of the slope.

It dominated that long white incline, grim, lonely, forbidding, how strangely it harmonized with the surroundings. The structure was octagon-shaped, built of uncut stone. and resembled a fort. There was no door on the sides exposed to Shepard's gaze, but small apertures, two-thirds of the way up, probably served as windows and port-holes. The roof appeared to be made of poles covered with red earth. Like a huge cold rock on a wide plain,

this house stood there on the windy slope. It was the outpost of the traitor, Presby, of whom Shepard had heard at Flagstaff and Tuba. No living thing appeared in the limit of Shefford's vision. He gazed shudderingly at the unwelcoming habitation, and at the dark eye-like windows, at the sweep of barren slope merging into the vast red valley, at the bold, bleak bluffs.

Could anyone live here? The nature of that sinister valley forbade a home there, and the spirit of the place hovered in the silence and space. Shefford thought, irresistibly, of how his enemies would have consigned him to just such a hell. He thought bitterly and mockingly of the narrow congregation that had proved him a failure in the ministry, that had repudiated his ideas of religion and immortality and God, that had driven him, at the age of twenty-four, from the calling forced upon him by his people. As a boy, he had yearned to make himself an artist,

his family had made him a clergyman. Fate had made him a failure. A failure only so far in his life, something urged him to add, for in the lonely days and silent nights of the desert, he had experienced a strange birth of hope. Adventure had called him, but it was a vague and spiritual hope, a dream of promise, a nameless attainment that fortified his wilder impulse. As he rode around the corner of the stone house, his horse snorted and stopped. A lean, shaggy pony jumped at the sight of him, almost displacing a red, long-haired blanket that covered an Indian saddle. Quick thuds of hoofs and sand drew Shepard's attention to a corral made of peeled poles,

and here he saw another pony. Shefford heard subdued voices, he dismounted, and walked to you. to an open door. In the dark interior he dimly described a high counter, a stairway, a pile of bags of flower, blankets, and silver ornamented objects. But the persons he had heard were not in that part of the house. Around another corner of the octagon-shaped wall, he found another open door, and through it saw goat-skins and a mound of dirty sheep-wool, black and brown and white. It was light in this part of the door. the building. When he crossed the threshold, he was astounded to see a man struggling with a girl,

an Indian girl. She was straining back from him, panting and uttering low, guttural sounds. The man's face was corded and dark with passion. The scene affected Shepard strangely. Primitive emotions were new to him. Before Shepard could speak, the girl broke loose and turned to flee. She was an Indian, and this place was the uncivilized desert, but Shefford knew terror when he saw it. Like a dog the man rushed after her. It was instinct that made Shefford strike, and his blow laid the man flat. He lay stunned a moment, then raised himself to a sitting posture, his hand to his face, and the gaze he fixed upon Shefford seemed to combine astonishment and rage. I hope you're not press me, said Shepard slowly.

He felt awkward, not sure of himself. The man appeared about to burst into speech, but repressed it. There was blood on his mouth and his hand. Hastily, he scrambled to his feet. Shepard saw this man's amaze and rage change the shame. He was tall and rather stout. He had a smooth, tan face, soft of outline, with a weak chin. his eyes were dark.

The look of him in his quatoroyce and his soft shoes gave Shepard an impression that he was not a man who worked hard. By contrast, with a few other worn and rugged desert men, Shefford had met this stranger stood out strikingly. He stooped to pick up a soft felt hat and, jamming it on his head, he hurried out. Shepard followed him and watched him from the door.

He went directly to the corral, mounted the pony, and rode out to turn down the slope toward the south. When he reached the level of the basin, where evidently the sand was hard, he put the pony to elope and gradually drew away. Well, ejaculated Shefford, he did not know what to make of this adventure. Presently, he became aware that the Indian girl was sitting on a roll of blankets near the wall. With curious interest, Shefford studied her appearance.

She had long, raven black hair, tangled and disheveled. She wore a soiled white band of cord above her brow. The color of her face struck him. It was dark, but not red nor bronzed. It almost had a tinge of gold. Her profile was clear-cut, bold, almost stern. Long black eyelashes hit her eyes. She wore a tight-fitting waist garment of material,

resembling velveteen. It was ripped along her side, exposing a skin still more richly gold than that of her face. A string of silver ornaments and turquoise and white beads encircled her neck, and it moved gently up and down with the heaving of her full bosom.

Her skirt was some gaudy print goods, torn and stained and dusty. She had little feet, encased in brown moccasins, fitting like gloves, muttoning over the ankles with silver coins. Who was that man, did he hurt you? inquired Shefford, turning to gaze down the valley where a moving black object showed on the bare sand.

No savvy, replied the Indian girl. Where's the traitor, Presby? asked Shefford. She pointed straight down into the red valley. To, she said. In the center of the basin lay a small pool of water, shining brightly into sunset that glow. Small objects moved around it, so small, that Shepard thought he saw several dogs led by a child. But it was the distance that deceived him. There was a man down there, watering his horses. That reminded Shepard of a duty owing to his own tired and thirsty beast,

whereupon he untied his pack, took off the saddle, and was about ready to start down, when the Indian girl grasped the bridle from his hand. me go she said he saw her eyes then and they made her look different they were as black as her hair he was puzzled to decide whether or not he thought her handsome thanks but i'll go he replied and taking the bridle again he started down the slope at every step he sank into the deep soft sand down a little way he came upon a pile of tin cans they were everywhere bare half-buried, and lying loose, and these gave evidence of how the traitor lived. Presently, Shefford discovered that the Indian girl was following him with her own pony. Looking upward at her against the light, he thought her slender, light, picturesque. At a distance he liked her.

He plodded on, at length, glad to get out of the drifts of sand, to the hard, level floor of the valley. This, too, was sand, but dried and baked hard and red in color. At some season of the year, this immense flat must be covered with water. How wide it was and empty, Shepard experienced again a feeling that had been novel to him, and it was that he was loose, free, unanchored, ready to veer with the wind. From the foot of the slope, the waterhole had appeared to be a few hundred rods out in the valley, But the small size of the figures made Shefford doubt, and he had to travel many times a few hundred rods before those figures began to grow. Then Shepard made out that they were approaching him.

Thereafter, they rapidly increased the normal proportions of man and beast. When Shepard met them, he saw a powerful, heavily built young man, leading two ponies. You're Mr. Presby, the traitor, inquired Shefford. Yes, I'm Presby, without the mister, he replied. My name's Shefford, I'm knocking about on the desert, rode from beyond tuba today. Glad to see you, said Presby. He offered his hand. He was a stalwart man, clad in gray shirt, overalls and boots.

A shock of tumbled light hair covered his massive head. He was tanned, but not darkly. and there was red in his cheeks. Under his shaggy eyebrows were deep, keen eyes. His lips were hard and set, as if occasion for a smile or words was rare, and his big strong jaw seemed locked. Wish more travelers came knocking around Red Lake, he added,

reckon here's the jumping-off place. It's pretty lonesome, said Shepard, hesitating as if at a loss for words. Then the Indian girl came up. Presby, addressed her in her own language, which Shefford did not understand. She seemed shy and would not answer. She stood with downcast face and eyes.

Presby spoke again, at which she pointed down the valley, and then moved on with her pony toward the waterhole. Presby's keen eyes, fixed on the receding black dot, far down that oval expanse. That fellow left rather abruptly, said Shefford, constrained, Who was he? His name's Willets. He's a missionary.

He rode in today with this Navajo girl. He was taking her to Blue Canyon, where he lives, and teaches the Indians. I've met him only a few times. You see, not many white men ride in here. He's the first white man I've seen in six months, and you're the second, both the same day. Red Lakes, getting popular. It's queer, though, is leaving. He expected to stay.

all night. There's no other place to stay. Blue Canyon is fifty miles away. I'm sorry to say. No, I'm not sorry either, but I must tell you I was the cause of Mr. Willits leaving, replied Shepard. How so, inquired the other. Then Shepard related the incident following his arrival. Perhaps my action was hasty, he concluded, apologetically. I didn't think. Indeed, I'm surprised at my myself." Presby made no comment, and his face was as hard to read as one of the distant bluffs. "'But what did that man mean?' asked Shepard, conscious of a little heat.

"'I'm a stranger out here. I'm ignorant of Indians. How they're controlled. Still I'm no fool. If Willits didn't mean evil, at least he was brutal.' He was teaching her religion, replied Presby. His tone held faint scorn and implied a joke, but his face did not change in the slightest. Without understanding just why, Shefford felt his conviction justified and his action approved.

Then he was sensible of a slight shock of wonder and disgust. I am. I was a minister of the gospel, he said the Presby. What you hint seems impossible. I can't believe it. i didn't hint replied presby bluntly and it was evident that he was a sincere but closed-mouthed man sheffered so you're a preacher did you come out here to try to convert the indians no i said i was a minister i am no longer i'm just a wanderer i see well the desert's no place for missionaries but it's good for wanderers go water your horse and take him up to the corral you'll find some hay for her for him, I'll get grub ready." Shepard went on with his horse to the pool. The water appeared thick, green, murky, and there was a line of salty crust extending

around the margin of the pool. The thirsty horse splashed in and eagerly bent his head, but he did not like the taste. Many times he refused to drink, yet always lowered his nose again. Finally he drank, though not his fill. Shefford saw the Indian girl drink from her hand. He scooped up a handful and found it too sour to swallow. When he turned to retrace his steps, she mounted her pony and followed him. A golden flare lit up the western sky, and silhouetted dark and lonely, against it stood the trading post.

Upon his return, Shepard found the wind rising and it chilled him. When he reached the slope, thin, gray shrewd. sheets of sand were blowing low, rising, whipping, falling, sweeping along with soft silken rustle. Sometime the gray veils hit his boots. It was a long, toilsome climb, up that yielding, dragging a scent, and he had already been lame and tired. By the time he had put his horse away, twilight was everywhere, except in the west. The Indian girl left her pony in the corral and came like a shadow toward the house. Shepard had difficulty in finding the foot of the stairway.

He climbed to enter a large loft, lighted by two lamps. Presby was there, kneading biscuit dough in a pan. Make yourself comfortable, he said. The huge loft was a shape of a half-octagon. A door opened upon the valley side, and here too there were windows. How attractive the place was, in comparison with the impressions gained from the outside.

The furnishings consisted of Indian blankets on the floor, two beds, a desk and table, several chairs and a couch, a gun rack full of rifles, innumerable silver ornamented belts, bridles, and other Indian articles upon the walls, and in one corner a wood-burning stove with tea-cettle steaming, and a great cupboard with shelves packed full of canned food. food. Shepard leaned in the doorway and looked out.

Beneath him, on a roll of blankets sat the Indian girl, silent and motionless. He wondered what was in her mind, what she would do, how the traitor would treat her. The slope now was a long slant of sheeted, moving shadows of sand. Dusk had gathered in the valley. The bluffs loomed beyond. A pale star twinkled above. Efford suddenly became aware of the intense nature of the stillness about him. Yet as he listened to this silence, he heard an intermittent and immeasurably low moan,

a fitful, mournful murmur. Assuredly, it was only the wind, nevertheless, it made his blood run cold. It was a different wind from that which had made music under the eaves of his Illinois home. This was a lonely haunting wind, with desert hunger in it, and more which he could not name. Shepard listened to this spirit-brooding sound while he watched night enveloped the valley. How black, how thick the mantle, yet it brought no comforting sense of close folded protection, of walls of soft sleep of a home. Instead, there was a feeling of space of emptiness, of an infinite hall,

down which a mournful wind swept streams of murmuring sand. Well grub's about ready, said Presby. Got any water? asked Shepard. Sure, there in the bucket. It's rainwater. I have a tank here. Shepard's sore and blistered face felt better after he had washed off the sand and alkali dust. Better not wash your face often while you're in the desert. Bad plan, went on Presby, noting how gingerly his visitor had gone about his ablutions. Well, come and eat.

Shepard marked that if the traitor did live a lonely life, he fared well. There was more on the table than twice two men could have eaten. It was the first time in four days that Shepard had sat at a table, and he made up for lost opportunity. His host's actions indicated pleasure, yet the strain. hard face, never relaxed, never changed. When the meal was finished, Presby declined assistance. He had a generous thought of the Indian girl, who he said could have a place to eat and

sleep downstairs, and then, with a skill and dispatch of an accomplished housewife, cleared the table, after which work, he filled a pipe and evidently prepared to listen. It took only one question for Shepard to find that. that the traitor was starved for news of the outside world, and for an hour, Shefford, fed that appetite, even as he had been done by. But when he had talked himself out, there seemed indication of Presby being more than a good listener.

How'd you come in, he asked presently. By Flagstaff, across the little Colorado, and through Moen Copee. Did you stop at Moanave? No, what place is that? A missionary lives there. Did you stop at Tuba? Only long enough to drink and water my horse. That was a wonderful spring for the desert.

You said you were a wanderer. Do you want a job? I'll give you one. No thank you, Presby. I saw your pack. That's no pack to travel with in this country. Your horse won't last either. Have you any money? He asks plenty of money. Well, that's good. Not that a white man out here would ever take a a dollar from you, but you can buy from the Indians as you go. Where are you making for, anyhow? Shepard hesitated, debating in mind, whether to tell his purpose or not. His host did not

press the question. I see, just foot loose and wandering around when on Presby, I can understand how the desert appeals to you. Preachers lead easy, safe, crowded, bound lives. They're shut up in a church with a Bible and good people. When once in a lifetime they get loose, they break out. Yes, I've broken out. Beyond all bounds, replied Shepard, sadly. He seemed retrospective for a moment, unaware of the trader's keen and sympathetic glance,

and then he caught himself. I want to see some wildlife. Do you know the country north of here? Only what the Navajos tell me, and they're not much to talk. There's a trail goes north, but I've never traveled it. It's a new trail every time an Indian goes that way, for here the sand blows and covers old tracks.

But few Navajos ride in from the north. My trade is mostly with Indians up and down the valley. How about water and grass? We've had rain and snow. They're sure to be water. Can't say about grass, though the sheep and ponies from the north are always fat. But say, Shefford, if you'll excuse me for advising you, don't go north. Why? asked Shepard.

And it was certain that he thrilled. It's unknown country, terribly broken, as you can see from here, and there are bad Indians biting in the canyon. I've never met a man who had been over the pass between here and Cayenta. The trip's been made, so there must be a trail. But it's a dangerous trip for any man. let alone a tenderfoot, you're not even packing a gun. What is this place, Cagnenta? asked Shepard.

It's a spring. Cayenta means bottomless spring. There's a little trading post, the last and the wildest, in northern Arizona. Withers, the trader who keeps it, hauls his supplies in from Colorado and New Mexico. He's never come down this way. I never saw him, know nothing of him, except hearsay. Reckon he's a nervy and strong man to hold that post. If you want to go there, better go by way of Keem's Canyon, and then around the foot of Black Mesa. It'll be a long

ride, maybe two hundred miles. How far straight north over the pass? Can't say, upward of 75 miles over rough trails, if there are trails at all. I've heard rumors of a fine tribe of Navajo's living in there, rich in sheep and horses. It may be true, and it may not. But I do know there are bad Indians, half-breeds and outcasts hiding in there. Some of them have visited me here. Bad customers. More than that, you'll be going close to the Utah line, and the Mormons over there are unfriendly these days. Why, queried Shepard, again with that curious thrill? There are being persecuted by the government.

Shepard asked no more questions, and his host vouchsafed no more information on that score. The conversation lagged, then Shepard inquired about the Indian girl, and learned that she lived up the valley somewhere. Presby had never seen her before Willits came with her to Red Lake, and his query brought out the fact that Presby was comparatively new to Red Lake and vicinity. Shefford wondered why, a lonely six months there, had not made the trader old an experience. Probably, the desert did not really give up its secrets. Moreover, this Red Lake House was only an occasionally used branch of Presby's main trading post, which was situated at Willow Springs, fifty miles westward over the mesa. I'm closing up here soon for a spell, said Presby,

and now his face lost its set hardness and seemed singularly changed. It was a difference of light and softness. Won't be so lonesome over at Willow Springs. I'm being married soon. That's fine, replied Shepard warmly. He was glad for the sake of this lonely desert man. What good a wife would bring into a traitor's life. Presby's naive mission, however,

appeared to detach him from his present surroundings. and with his massive head enveloped by a cloud of smoke he lived in dreams. Shepard respected his host's serene abstraction. Indeed, he was grateful for silence. Not for many nights had the past impinged so closely upon the present. The wound in his soul had not healed, and to speak of himself made it bleed anew. Memory was too poignant. The past was too close.

wanted to forget until he had toiled in the heart of this forbidding wilderness, until time had gone by, and he dared the face his unquiet soul. Then he listened to the steadily rising roar of the wind. How strange and hollow! The wind was freighted with heavy sand, and he heard it sweep, sweep, sweep by, and gusts, and then blow with dull, steady blasts against the walls. The sound was provocative of thought. The moan and rush of wind was no dream. This presence of his, in a night enshrouded and sand-besieged house of the lonely desert was reality. This adventure was not one of fancy.

True indeed, then, must be the wild, strange story that had led him hither. He was going on to seek to strive to find. somewhere northward in the broken fastness lay a hidden valley, walled in from the world. Would they be there, those lost fugitives, whose story had thrilled him? After twelve years would she be alive, a child grown the womanhood in the solitude of a beautiful canyon. Incredible, yet he believed his friend's story, and he indeed knew how strange and tragic life was. He fancied he heard her voice on the sweeping wind. She called to him, haunted him.

He admitted the improbability of her existence, but lost nothing of the persistent, intangible hope that drove him. He believed himself a man stricken and soul, unworthy through doubt of God, to minister to the people who had banished him, perhaps a labor of Hercules. A mighty and perilous work of rest, the saving of this lost and imprisoned girl would help him in his trouble she might be his salvation who could tell always as a boy and as a man he had fared forth to find the treasure at the foot of the rainbow

end of chapter one chapter two of the rainbow trail by saying gray this librivox recording is in the public domain the saggi next morning the indian girl was gone and the tracks of her pony led north shefford's first thought was to wonder if he would overtake her on the trail and this surprised him with the proof of how unconsciously his resolve to go on had formed presby made no further attempt to turn shefford back but he insisted on replenishing the pack and that shefford take weapons finally shefford was persuaded to accept a revolver the trader bade him good-by and stood in the door while shepherd led his horse down the slope toward the water-hole perhaps the trader believed he was watching the departure of a man who would never return he was still standing at the door of the post when sheffert halted at the pool upon the level floor of the valley lay thin patches of snow which had fallen during the night the air was biting cold yet stimulated shefford while it stung him his horse drank rather slowly and disgustedly then shefford mounted and reluctantly turned his back upon the trading-post as he rode away from the pool he saw a large flock of sheep approaching they were very closely even densely packed in a solid slow-moving mass and coming with a precision almost like a march this fact surprised geofford for there was not an indian in sight presently he saw that a dog was leading the flock and a little later he discovered another dog in the rear of the sheep they were splendid long-haired

dogs of a wild-looking shepherd breed. He halted his horse to watch the procession pass by. The flock covered fully an acre of ground, and the sheep were black, white, and brown. They passed him, making a little pattering roar on the hard-caped sand. The dogs were taking the sheep into water. Shepard went on and was drawing close to the other side of the basin, where the flat red level was broken by rising dunes and ridges. When he espied a bunch of ponies, a shrill whistle told him that they had seen him. They were wild, shaggy, with long manes and tails. They stopped, threw up their heads, and watched him.

Shepard certainly returned the attention. There was no Indian with them. Presently, with a snort, the leader, which appeared to be a stallion, trotted behind the others, seemed to be driving them, and went clear round the band to get in the lead again. He was taking them into water, the same as the dogs had taken the sheep. These incidents were new and pleasing the shepherd. How ignorant he had been of life in the wilderness. Once more he received subtle intimations of what he might learn out in the open,

and it was with less weighted heart that he was, with less weighted heart, that he was, He faced the gateway between the huge yellow bluffs on his left and the slow rise of ground to the black mesa on his right. He looked back in time to see the trading post, bleak and lonely, on the bare slope, pass out of sight behind the bluffs. Shefford felt no fear. He really had little experience of physical fear, but it was certain that he gritted his teeth and welcomed whatever was to come to him.

He had lived a narrow, insulated life with his mind on spiritual things, his family and his congregation and his friends, except that one new friend whose story had enthralled him, were people of quiet religious habit. The man deep down in him had never had a chance. He breathed hard as he tried to imagine the world opening to him, and almost dared to be glad for the doubt that had sent him adrift. the tracks of the indian girl's pony were plain in the sand also there were other tracks not so plain and these shefford decided had been made by willets and the girl the day before he climbed the ridge half soft sand and half hard and saw right before him rising in striking form two great yellow buttes like elephant legs he rode between them amazed at their height

then before him stretched a slowly ascending valley walled on one side by the black mesa and on the other by low bluffs for miles a dark green growth of greasewood covered the valley and shefford could see where the green thinned and failed to give place the sand He trotted his horse and made good time on this stretch. The day contrasted greatly with any he had yet experienced. Gray clouds obscured the walls of rock a few miles to the west, and Shepard saw squalls of snow like huge veils, dropping down and spreading out. The wind cut with the keenness of a knife. Soon he was chilled to the bone. The squall swooped and roared down upon him,

and the wind that bore the driving white pellets of snow, almost like hail, was so freezing bitter cold that the former wind seemed warm in comparison. The squaw passed as swiftly as it had come, and it left Shepard so benumbed that he could not hold the bridle. He tumbled off his horse and walked. By and by the sun came out, and soon warmed him, and melted the thin layer of snow on the sand. He was still on the trail of the Indian girl, but hers were now the only tracks he could see. All morning he gradually climbed with limited view, until at last he mounted to a point

where the country lay open to his sight on all sides, except where the endless black mesa ranged on into the north. A rugged yellow peak dominated the landscape to the floor, but it was far away. Red and jagged country extended westward to a huge flat-topped wall of gray rock. Lowering swift clouds swept across the sky, like drooping mantles, and darkened the sun. Shepard built a little fire out of dead greasewood sticks, and with his blanket round his shoulders, he hung over the blaze, scorching his clothes and hands. He had been cold before in his life. But he had never before appreciated fire. This desert blast pierced him.

The squall enveloped him, thicker and colder and windier than the other. But being better fortified, he did not suffer so much. It howled away, hiding the mesa and leaving a white desert behind. Shepard walked on, leading his horse, until the exercise in the sun had once more warmed him. This last squall had rendered the Indian girl's trail difficult to follow. The snow did not quickly melt, and besides, sheep tracks, and the tracks of horses gave him trouble.

Until at last he was compelled to admit that he could not follow her any longer. A faint path or trail led north, however, and following that he soon forgot the girl. Every surmounted ridge held a surprise for him. The desert seemed never to change in the vast hole that encompassed him, yet near him it was always changing. From Red Lake he had seen a peaked, walled and canyon country, as rough as a stormy sea. But when he rode into that country,

the sharp and broken features held to the distance. He was glad to get out of the sand, long narrow flats gray with grass and dotted with patches of greasewood and lined by low bare ridges of yellow rock stretched away from him leading toward the yellow peak that seemed never to be gained upon shefford had pictures in his mind pictures of stone walls and wild valleys and domed beutes all of which had been painted in colorful and vivid words by his friend venters he believed he would be able to beaute's all of which had been painted in colorful and vivid words by his friend venters he believed he would recognized the distinctive and remarkable landmarks Venters had portrayed, and yet he was certain that he had not yet come upon one of them. This was his second lonely day of travel, and he had grown more and more susceptible to the influence of horizon and the different prominent points. He attributed a gradual change in his feelings to the loneliness and the increasing

Wildness. Between Tuba and Flagstaff, he had met Indians and, an occasional prospector, and Teamster. Here he was alone, and though he felt some strange gladness, he could not help but see the difference. He rode on during the gray, lowering chilly day, and toward evening the clouds broke in the west, and a setting sun shone through the rift, burnishing the desert to red and gold. shepherds instinctive but deadened love of the beautiful in nature stirred into life and the moment of its rebirth was a melancholy and sweet one

too late for the artist's work but not too late for his soul for a place to make camp he halted near a low area of rock that lay like an island in a sea of grass there was an abundance of dead greasewood for a camp-fire and after searching over the rock he found little pools of melted snow in the depressions he took off the saddle and pack watered his horse and hobbling him as well as his inexperience permitted he turned him loose on the grass then while he built a fire and prepared a meal the night came down upon him in the lee of the rock he was well sheltered from the wind but the air was bitter cold He gathered all the dead greasewood in the vicinity, replenished the fire, and rolled in his blanket back to the blaze. The loneliness and the coyotes did not bother him this night. He was too tired and cold. He went to sleep at once, and did not awaken until the fire died out. Then he rebuilt it and went to sleep again.

Every half hour all night long he repeated this, and was glad indeed when the dawn broke. The day began with misfortune. His horse was gone. It had been stolen or had worked out of sight or had broken the hobbles and made off. From a high stone ridge, Shepard searched the grassy flats and slopes all to no purpose. Then he tried the track to horse,

but this was equally futile. He had expected disasters, and the first one did not daunt him. He tied most of his pack in the blanket, through the canteen across his shoulder and set forth, sure at least of one thing, that he was a very much better traveler on foot than on horseback. Walking did not afford him the leisure to study the surrounding country, however, from time to time when he surmounted a bench,

he scanned the different landmarks that had grown familiar. It took hours of steady walking to reach and pass the yellow peak that had been kind of a goal. He saw many sheep trails and horse tracks in the vicinity of this mountain, and once he was sure he espied an Indian watching him from a bold ridgetop.

The day was bright and warm, with air so clear, it magnified objects he knew to be far away. The ascent was gradual. There were many narrow flats, connected by steps, and the grass grew thicker and longer. At noon, Shefford halted under the first cedar tree, a lonely dwarf shrub, that seemed to have had a hard life.

From this point the rise of ground was more perceptible, and straggling cedars led the eye onto a purple slope that merged in the green of pinion and pine. Could that purple be the sage ventures had so feelingly described, or was it merely the purple of deceiving distance? Whatever it might be, it gave Shepard a thrill and made him think of the strange, shy, and lovely woman, Venters, had won out here in this purple sage country. He calculated that he had ridden thirty miles a day before, and had already traveled ten miles to-day, therefore, could hope to be in the past before night. Shefford resumed his journey with too much energy and enthusiasm to think of being tired. and he discovered presently that the straggling cedars and the slope beyond were much closer than he had judged them to be. He reached the sage to find it gray instead of purple, yet it was always purple a little way ahead, and if he half shut his eyes it was purple near at hand.

He was surprised to find that he could not breathe freely, or it seemed so, and soon made the discovery that the sweet, pungent, penetrating fragrance of sage and cedar had this strange effect upon him. This was an exceedingly dry and odorous forests, where every open space between the clumps of cedars was choked with luxuriant sage. The pinions were higher up on the mesa, and the pines still higher. Shepard appeared to lose himself. There were no trails, the black mesa on the right,

and the wall of stone on the left could not be seen. But he pushed on with what was either singular confidence or rash impulse, and he did not know whether that slope was long or short. Once at the summit he saw with surprise that it broke abruptly, and the descent was very steep and short on that side. Through the trees he once more saw the black mesa, rising to the dignity of a mountain, and he had glimpses of another flat narrow valley,

this time with a red wall running parallel with a mesa. He could not help but hurry down to get an unobstructed view. His eagerness was rewarded by a splendid scene, yet to his regret he could not force himself to believe it had any relation to the pictured scenes in his mind. The valley was half a mile wide, perhaps several miles long. and it extended in a curve between the cedar sloped mesa and a looming wall of redstone there was not a bird or a beast in sight he found a well-defined trail but it had not been recently used he passed a low structure made of peeled logs and mud with a dark opening like a door it did not take him many minutes to learn that the valley was longer than he had calculated

he walked swiftly and steadily in spite of the fact that the pack had become burdensome what lay beyond the jutting corner of the mesa had increasing fascination for him and acted as a spur at last he turned the corner only to be disappointed at sight of another cedar slope he had a glimpse of a single black shaft of rock rising far in the distance and it disappeared as his striding forward made the crest of the slope rise toward the sky. Again his view became restricted, and he lost a sense of a slow and gradual uplift of rock and an increase in the scale of proportion. Halfway up this ascent he was compelled to rest, and again the sun was slanting low when he entered the cedar forest.

Soon he was descending, and he suddenly came into the open to face a scene that made his heart, heart beat thick and fast. He saw lofty crags and cathedral spires and a wonderful canyon winding between huge beetling red walls. He heard the murmur of flowing water. The trail led down to the canyon floor, which appeared to be level and green and cut by deep washes in red earth. Could this canyon be the mouth of deception pass? It bore no resemblance to any place, Sheffered, had heard described, yet somehow he felt rather than saw that it was a portal to the wild vastness he had travelled so far to enter. Not until he descended the trail and had dropped

his pack did he realize how weary and footsore he was. Then he rested, but his eyes roved to and fro, and his mind was active. What a wild and lonesome spot! The low murmur of shallow water came up to him from a deep, narrow cleft. Shadows were already making the canyon seem full of blue haze. He saw a bare slope of stone out of which cedar trees were growing, and as he looked about him, he became aware of a singular and very perceptible change in the lights and shades. The sun was setting, the crags were gold-tipped. The shadows crept upward. The sky seemed to darken swiftly. then the gold changed the red, slowly dulled, and the grays and purples stood out. Shepard was entranced with the beautiful changing effects, and watched till the walls turned black,

and the sky grew steely, and a faint star peeped out. Then he set about the necessary camp tasks. Dead cedars right at hand assured him a comfortable night with steady fire, And when he had satisfied his hunger, he arranged an easy seat before the blazing logs, and gave his mind over to the thought of his weird, lonely environment. The murmur of running water mingled in harmonious accompaniment with the moan of the wind in the cedars, wild, sweet sounds that were bombed to his wounded spirit. They seemed a part of the silence, rather than a break in it, or a hindrance to the feeling of it.

but suddenly that silence did break to the rattle of a rock shefford listened thinking some wild animal was prowling around he felt no alarm presently he heard the sound again and again then he recognized the crack of unshot hoofs upon rock a horse was coming down the trail shefford rather resented the interruption though he still had no alarm he believed he was perfectly safe as a matter of fact he had never in his life been anything but safe and padded around with wool hence never having experienced peril he did not know what fear was presently he saw horse and rider come into the dark prominence on the ridge just above his camp they were silhouetted against the starry sky the horseman stopped and he and his steed made a magnificent black statue somehow wild and strange in Shefford's sight. Then he came on, vanished in the darkness under the ridge, presently, to emerge into the circle of Camp Firelight. He rode to within twenty feet a shepherd in the fire. The horse was dark, wild-looking, and seemed ready to run. The rider appeared to be an Indian, and yet had something about him suggesting the cowboy. Had once

Shepard remembered what Presby had said about half-breeds. A little shock, inexplicable to Shepard, rippled over him. He greeted his visitor, but received no answer. Shepard saw a dark squat figure bending forward in the saddle. The man was tense. All about him was dark, except the glint of a rifle across the saddle. The face under the sombrero was only a shadow. Shefford kicked the fire logs, and a brighter blaze lighted the scene. Then he saw this stranger a little more clearly, and made out an unusually large head,

broad, dark face, a sinister tight shut mouth and gleaming black eyes. Those eyes were unmistakably hostile. They roved searchingly over Sheffert's pack and then over his person. Shefford felt for the gun that Presby had given him, but it was gone. He had left it back where he had lost his horse and had not thought of it since. Then a strange, slow-coming, cold agitation possessed, Shepard. Something gripped his throat. Suddenly Shepard was stricken at a menacing movement on the part of the horseman.

He had drawn a gun. Shepard saw it shine darkly in the firelight. The Indian meant to murder him. Shepard saw the grim, dark face, in a kind of horrible amaze. He felt the meaning of the drawn weapon, as he had never felt anything before in his life, and he collapsed back into his seat with an icy cold, sickening terror. In a second he was dripping wet with cold sweat. Lightning, swift thoughts flashed through his mind.

It had been one of his platitudes that he was not afraid of. death yet here he was a shaking helpless coward what had he learned about either life or death would this dark savage plunge him into the unknown it was then that shefford realized his hallow philosophy and the bitter sweetness of life he had a brain and a soul and between them he might have worked out his salvation but what were they to this ruthless night wanderer this raw and horrible wildness of the desert incapable of voluntary movement with tongue cleaving to the roof of his mouth shefford watched the horseman and the half-poised gun it was not yet leveled then it dawned upon shefford that the stranger's head was turned a little his ear to the wind he was listening his horse was listening suddenly he straightened up wheeled his horse and trotted away into the darkness but he did not climb the ridge down which he had come sheffered heard the click of hoofs upon the stony trail other horses and riders were descending into the canyon they had been the cause of his deliverance and in the relaxation of feeling he almost fainted then he sat there slowly recovering slowly ceasing to tremble divining that this situation was somehow to change his attitude toward life three horses too with riders moved in dark shapes across the sky-line above the ridge disappeared has had shefford's first visitor and then rode into the light shefford saw two indians a man and a woman

then with surprise recognized the latter to be the indian girl he had met at red lake he was still more surprised to recognize in the third horse the one he had lost at the last camp shefford rose a little shaky on his legs to thank these indians for a double service the man slipped from his saddle and his moccasined feet thudded lightly he was tall lithe erect a singularly graceful figure and as he advanced shefford saw dark face and sharp dark eyes the indian was bareheaded with his hair bound in a band he resembled the girl but appeared to have a finer face. How do, he said in a voice low and distinct. He extended his hand, and Shepard felt a grip of steel. He returned the greeting. Then the Indian gave Shepard the bridle of the horse, and made signs that appeared to

indicate the horse had broken his hobbles and strayed. Shepard thanked him. Thereupon the Indian unsaddled and led the horses away, evidently, to water them. The girl remained behind. Shepard addressed her, but she was shy and did not respond. He then set about cooking a meal for his visitors, and was busily engaged at this when the Indian returned without the horses. Presently, Shepard resumed his seat by the fire

and watched the two eat what he had prepared. They certainly were hungry, and soon had the pans and cups empty. The girl drew back a little into the shepherds. shadow while the man sat with his legs crossed and his feet tucked under him. His dark face was smooth, yet it seemed to have lines under the surface. Shefford was impressed. He had never seen an Indian who interested him as this one. Looked at superficially, he appeared young, wild, silent, locked in his primeval apathy.

Just a healthy savage, but looked at more attentively, he appeared matured. even old, a strange, sad, brooding figure, with a burden on his shoulders. Shefford found himself growing curious. What place? asked Shepard, waving his hand toward the dark opening between the black cliffs. Soggy, replied the Indian. That did not mean anything the shepherd, and he asked if the soggy was the pass, but the Indian shook his head. Wife, asked Shepard, pointing to the girl.

The Indian shook his head again. By law, he said. What you mean? asked Shepard. What by law? Sister replied the Indian. He spoke the word reluctantly, as if the white man's language did not please him. But the clearness and correct pronunciation surprised Shepard.

What name, what call her, he went on? Glenn Naspah. What your name, inquired Shepard, indicating the Indian. Nasta Bega, answered the Indian. Navajo, the Indian bowed with what seemed pride and stately dignity. My name John Shepard, come far away back toward rising sun. Come stay here long.

Nastebega's dark eyes were fixed steadily upon Shepard. He reflected that he could not remember having felt so penetrating a gaze, but neither the Indian's eyes nor face gave any clue to his thoughts. Navajo no savvy Jesus Christ said the Indian, and his voice rolled out low and deep. Shepard felt both a maze and pain. The Indian had taken him for a missionary. No, me no missionary, cried Shepard,

and he flung up a passionately repudiating hand. A singular flash shot from the Indian's dark eyes, it struck shefford even at this stinging moment when the past came back trade by wool blanket querying nas tebega no replied shepherd me want ride walk far he waved his hand to indicate a wide sweep of territory me sick naus tebega laid a significant finger upon his lungs no replied shepherd me strong sick here and with motion of his hands that he tried to show that his was a trouble of the heart. Shepard received instant impression of this Indian's intelligent comprehension, but he could not tell just what had given him the feeling. Noste Baga rose then and walked away into the shadow.

Shepard heard him working around the dead cedar tree, where he had probably gone to get firewood. Then Shepard heard a splintering crash. which was followed by a crunching, bumping sound. Presently, he was astounded to see the Indian enter the lighted circle, dragging the whole cedar tree trunk first. Shepard would have doubted the ability of two men to drag that tree, and here came Nastebega managing it easily.

He laid the trunk on the fire and then proceeded to break off small branches, to place them advantageously where the red coals kindled them into a blaze. The Indian's next move was to place his saddle, which he evidently meant to use for a pillow. Then he spread a goat-skin on the ground, lay down upon it with his back to the fire, and pulling a long-haired saddle-blanket over his shoulders,

he relaxed and became motionless. His sister, Glenn Naspah, did likewise, except that she stayed farther away from the fire, and she had a larger blanket. which covered her well. It appeared to Shefford that they went to sleep at once. Shepard felt as tired as he had ever been, but he did not think he could soon drop in the slumber, and in fact he did not want to. There was something in the companionship of these Indians that he had not experienced before. He still had a strange and weak feeling, the aftermath

of that fear which had sickened him with its horrible icy grin. ship. Noste Bega's arrival had frightened away that dark and silent prowler of the night, and Shevard was convinced the Indian had saved his life. The measure of his gratitude was a source of wonder to him. Had he cared so much for life? Yes, he had, when face to face with death. That was something to know. It helped him, and he gathered from his strange feeling that the The romantic quest which had brought him into the wilderness might turn out to be an antidote for the morbid bitterness of heart. With new sensations had come new thoughts.

Right then, it was very pleasant to sit in the warmth and light of the roaring cedar fire. There was a deep-seated ache of fatigue in his bones. What joy it was to rest! He had felt the dry scourch of desert thirst and the pang of hunger. how wonderful to learn the real meaning of water and food. He had just finished the longest, hardest day's work of his life. Had that anything to do with a something almost like peace which seemed to hover nearer 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, vaguely. 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 Jeffert'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 Shepard's eyes wondered 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 end of chapter two chapter three of the rainbow trail by zane gray this librivox recording is in the public domain kiyenta the stamping of horses awoke sheffered he saw 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 exhilaration the whipping air made him stretch his hands to the fire

an odor of coffee and broiled meat mingled with the fragrance of wood smoke glen naspa was on her knees broiling a rabbit on a stick over the red coals nastebega was saddling the ponies the canyon appeared to be full of purple shadows under one side of dark cliffs and golden streaks of mist on the other where the sun struck high up on the walls good morning said shefford glennespa shyly replied in navajo how was nestay beggar's greeting in daylight the indian lost some of the dark sombreness of face that had impressed shefford he had a noble head in poise like that of an eagle a bold clean-cut profile and stern close-shut lips his eyes were the most striking and attractive feature about him they were cold black and piercing. The intent look of them seemed to come from a keen and inquisitive mind. Shefford ate breakfast with the Indians, and then he helped with a few preparations for departure. Before they mounted, Nestebega pointed to horse tracks in the dust. They were those that had been made by Sheffert's threatening visitor of the night before.

Shefford explained by word and sign, and succeeded at least in showing that that he had been in danger. Nestabega followed the tracks a little way and presently returned. Shad, he said, with an ominous shake of his head. Shepard did not understand whether he meant the name of his visitor or something else, but the menace connected with the word was clear enough. Glen Nespa mounted her pony, and it was a graceful action that pleased Shepard. He climbed a little stiffly into his own saddle. Then Nestebega got up and pointed northward.

Kayenta, he inquired. Shepard nodded, and then they were off, with Glen Nesba in the lead. They did not climb the trail, which they had descended, but took one leading to the right along the base of the slope.

Shepard saw down into the red wash that bisected the canyon floor. It was a sheer wall of red clay or loam, a hundred feet high, and at the bottom ran a swift, shallow stream of reddish water. Then for a time a high growth of greasewood hid the surroundings from Shepard's sight. Presently the trail led out into the open, and Shepard saw that he was at the neck of a wonderful valley that gradually widened with great jagged red peaks on the left, and the Black Mesa, now a mountain, running away to the right.

He turned the find that the opening of Asagi could no longer be seen, and he was conscious of a strong desire to return and explore that canyon. Soon Glen Nespa put her pony to a long, easy, swinging canter, and her followers did likewise. As I got outward into the valley,

Shefford, lost the sense of being overshadowed and crowded by the nearness of the huge walls and crags. The trail appeared level underfoot, but at a distance it was seen to climb. Shefford found where it disappeared over the foot of a slope that formed the graceful rising line

up to the cedared flank of the mesa. The valley floor, widening away to the north, remained level and green. Beyond, rose the jagged range of red peaks all strangely cut and slanting. These distant, deceiving features of the country held Shepard's gaze until the Indian drew his attention to things near at hand.

Then Shepard saw flocks of sheep dotting the gray-green valley and bands of beautiful, long-mained, long-tailed ponies. For several miles the scene did not change, except that Shepard imagined he came the sea where the upland plain ended or at least broke its level. He was right, for presently, the Indian pointed, and Sheffert went on the halt upon the edge of a steep slope, leading down into a valley vast

in its barren gray reaches. Ceyenta, said Nastebega. Shefford at first saw nothing except the monotonous gray valley, reaching far to the strange grotesque monuments of Yellow Cliff. Then close under the foot of the slope, he espied two squat stone houses with red roofs and a corral with a pool of water shining in the sun. The trail leading down was steep and sandy, but it was not long. Shepard's sweeping eyes appeared to take in everything at once, the crude stone structures with their earthen roofs, the piles of dirty wool, the Indians lolling around the tents and wagons and horses, Little lazy burrows and dogs, and scattered everywhere, saddles, blankets, guns, and packs.

Then a white man came out of the door. He waved a hand and shouted. Dust and woolen flower were thick upon him. He was muscular and 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 traitor, Withers, he said the shepherd. His voice was welcoming, and the grip of his hand made Shefford's ache. Shepard told his name and said he was as glad as he was lucky to arrive at Kayenta. Hello, Nastebega, 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 Shepard briefly related what he owed to him. Then Wethers looked at Nastayega and spoke to him in the Indian tongue, Shad, said Neste Bega, Withers let out a dry little laugh, and his strong hand tugged

at his mustache. Who's Shad? asked Shepard. 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 saggy alone? I traveled from Red Lake, Presby, the trader there, advised me against it, but I came anyway. Well, Withers' gray glance was kind,

if it did express the full heartiness of Shefford's act. Come into the house. Never mind the horse. My wife will sure be glad to see you. Withers led Shefford by the first stone house, which evidently was the trading store, into the second. The room Shefford entered was large, with logs smouldering in a huge open fireplace, blankets covering every foot of floor space and Indian baskets and silver ornaments everywhere,

and strange Indian designs painted upon the whitewashed walls. Withers called his wife and made her acquainted with Shefford. She was a slight, comely little woman with keen, earnest, dark eyes. She seemed to be serious and quiet, but she made Shefford feel at home immediately. He refused, however, to accept the room offered him, saying that he meant to sleep out under the open sky. Wethers laughed at this and said he understood.

Shepard, remembering Presby's hunger for news of the outside world, told this traitor and his wife all he could think of, and he was listened to, with that close attention a traveler always gained in the remote places. sherm glad you rode in said withers for the fourth time now you make yourself at home stay here come over to the store do what you like i've got to work to-night we'll talk shefford went out with his host the store was as interesting as presby's though much smaller and more primitive it was full of everything and smelled strongly of sheep and goats there was a narrow aisle between sacks of flour and blankets on one side, and a high counter on the other. Behind this counter, Withers stood to wait upon the buying Indians.

They sold blankets and skins and bags of wool, and in exchange, took silver money. Then they lingered with slow, stayed reluctance, bought one thing and then another, flour, sugar, cam goods, coffee, tobacco, ammunition. The counter was never without two or three Indians, leaning on their dark silver-bracleted arms but as they were slow to sell and buy and go so were others slow to come in their voices were soft and low and it seemed to sheffered they were whispering he liked to hear them and look at the banded heads the long twisted rolls of black hair tied with white cords the still dark faces and watchful eyes the silver ear-rings the slender shapely browned and white cords the still dark faces and watchful eyes the silver ear-rings the slender shapely browned hands, the lean and sinewy shapes, the quatoroys, with a belt and gun, and the small, close-fitting, buckskin moccasins buttoned with coins.

These Indians all appeared young, and under the quiet, slow demeanor there was fierce blood and fire. By and by, two women came in, evidently squaw and daughter. The former was a huge, stout Indian, with a face that was certainly. pleasant, if not jolly. She had the corners of a blanket tied under her chin, and in the folds, behind on her broad back, was a naked Indian baby,

brown and black, of head, brown-skinned, with eyes as bright as beads. When the youngster caught sight of Shefford, he made a startled dive into the sack of the blanket. Manifestly, however, curiosity got the better of fear, for presently, Shepard caught a pair of one wondering dark eyes, peeping at him.

They're good spenders but slow, said withers. The Navajos are careful and cautious. That's why they're rich. This squaw, yon as pa, has flocks of sheep, and more Mustangs than she knows about. Mustangs? So that's what you call the ponies, replied Shepard? Yep, they're Mustangs, and mostly wild as jack rabbits.

Shepard strolled outside and made the acquaintance of Withers' helper, a Mormon named Whistner. He was a stonkily built man past maturity, and his sun-blistered face and watery eyes told of the open desert. He was engaged in weighing sacks of wool, brought in by the Indians. Nearby stood a framework of poles from which an immense bag was suspended. it. From the top of this bag protruded the head and shoulders of an Indian who appeared to be stamping and packing wool with his

feet. He grinned at the curious Shepherd, but Shepard was more interested in the Mormon. So far as he knew, Whistner was the first man of that creed he had ever met, and he could scarcely hide his eagerness. Ventnor's stories

had been of a long past generation of Mormons, fanatical, ruthless, and unchangeable. Shefford did not expect to meet Mormons of this kind, but any man of that religion would have interested him. Besides this, Wistner seemed to bring him closer to that wild secret canyon he had come west to find. Sheffert was somewhat amazed and discomfited to have his polite and friendly overtures repulsed.

Wistner might have been an Indian. He was cold, incommunitive, aloof, and there was some of his own. something about him that made the sensitive Shepard feel his presence was resented. Presently Shepard strolled on to the corral, which was full of shaggy Mustangs. They snorted and kicked at him. He had a half-formed wish that he would never be called upon to ride one of those wild brutes, and then he found himself thinking that he would ride one of them, and after a while any of them. Shefford did not understand himself, but he fought his natural instinctive reluctance to meet obstacles, peril, suffering.

He traced the white-bordered little stream that made the pool in the corral, and when he came to where it oozed out of the sand under the bluff, he decided that was not the spring which had made Cayenta famous. Presently, down below the trading post, he saw a troth from which burrows were drinking, Here he found the spring, a deep well of eddying water, walled in by stones, and the overflow made a shallow stream meandering away between its borders of alkali like a crust of salt. Shefford tasted the water. It bit, but it was good. Shefford had no trouble in making friends with the lazy, sleepy-eyed burrows.

They let him pull their long ears and rubbed their noses, but the Mustangs stand, standing around were unapproachable. They had wild eyes. They raised long ears and looked vicious. He let them alone. Evidently this trading post was a great deal busier than Red Lake. Shefford counted a dozen Indians lounging outside, and there were others riding away. Big wagons told how the bags of wool were transported out of the wilds and how supplies were brought in.

A wide, hard-packed road that off to the east, and another, not so clearly defined, wound away to the north, and Indian trails streaked off in all directions. Shefford discovered, however, when he had walked off a mile or so across the valley, to lose sight of the post, that the feeling of wildness and loneliness returned to him. It was a wonderful country. It held something for him beside the possible. rescue of an imprisoned girl from a wild canyon. That night after supper, when Withers and Shepard sat alone,

before the blazing logs in a huge fireplace, the traitor laid his hand on Shepherds, and said, with directness and force, I've lived my life in the desert. I've met many men, and have been a friend to most. You're no prospector or traitor or missionary. No, replied Shepard, You've had trouble? Yes.

Have you come in here to hide? Don't be afraid to tell me. I won't give you away. I didn't come to hide. Then no one is after you. You've done no wrong. Perhaps I've wronged myself, but no one else, replied Shepard, steadily. I reckon so.

Well, tell me, or keep your secret. It's all one to me. Shefford felt a desire to unburden himself. This man was strong, persuasive kindly. He drew Sheffered. You're welcome in Cayenta, went on withers. Stay as long as you like. I take no pay from a white man.

If you want work, I have it a plenty. Thank you, that is good. I need to work. We'll talk of it later, but just yet, I can't tell you why I came to Cayenta. What I want to do, and how long I shall stay. My thoughts put in words, would seem so like dreams. Maybe they are dreams. Perhaps I'm only chasing a phantom. Perhaps I'm only

hunting the treasure at the foot of the rainbow. Well, this is the country for rainbows, laughed withers. In summer from June to August, when it storms, we have rainbows that'll make you think you're in another world. The Navajos have rainbow mountains, rainbow canyons, rainbow bridges of stone, rainbow trails. It sure is a rainbow country. That deep and mystic cord in Shefford thrilled, here it was again, something tangible at the bottom of his dream. Wither's did not wait for Shepard to say any more, and almost as if he read his visitor's mind, he began to talk about the wild country he called home. He had lived at Cayenta for several years, hard and profitless years by reason of marauding outlaws.

He could not have lived there at all, but for the protection of the Indians. His father-in-law had been friendly with the Navajos and Paiutes for many years, and his wife had been brought up among them. She was held in particular reverence and affection by both tribes in that part of the country. Probably she knew more of the Indians' habits, religions, and life

than any white person in the West. Both tribes were friendly and peaceable, but there were bad Indians, half-breeds, and outlaws, that made the trading post a venture withers had long considered precarious, and he wanted to move and intended to some day. His nearest neighbors in New Mexico and Colorado were a hundred miles distant, and at some seasons the roads were impassable. To the north, however, twenty miles or so,

was situated a Mormon village named Stonebridge. It lay across the Utah line. Withers did some business with this village, but scarcely enough to warrant the risks he had to run. During the last year, he had lost several pack trains, one of which he had never heard of after it left Stonebridge. Stonebridge exclaimed Shefford, and he trembled. He had heard that name.

In his memory it had a place beside the name, of another village, Shefford longed to speak of, to this traitor. Yes, Stonebridge replied Withers, ever heard the name? I think so. Are there other villages in in that part of the country? A few, but not close. Glaze is now only a waterhole, Bluff and Monticello, or far north across the San Juan. There used to be another village, but that wouldn't interest you. Maybe it would, replied Shefford quietly.

but his hint was not taken by the traitor whithers suddenly showed a semblance of the aloofness sheffert had observed in whistner whithers pardon and impertinence i am deeply serious are you a mormon indeed i'm not replied the traitor instantly are you for the mormons or against them neither i get along with them i know them i believe they are a misunderstood people that's for them-that's for them No, I'm only fair-minded. Shepard paused, trying to curb his thrilling impulse, but it was too strong. You said there used to be another village. Was the name of it, Cottonwoods? Withers gave a start, and faced round the stare at Shepard in blank astonishment. Say, did you give me a straight story about yourself?

He queried sharply. So far as I went, replied Shepard, You're no spy on the lookout for sealed wives? Absolutely not. I do not even know what you mean by sealed wives. Well, it's damn strange that you'd know the name Cottonwoods. Yes, that's the name of the village I meant, the one that used to be. It's gone now, all except a few stone walls.

What became of it? Torn down by the Mormons years ago. They destroyed it and moved away. I've heard Indians talk about a Grand Spring that was there once. It's gone, too. Its name was. Let me see. Amber Spring, interrupted Shepard.

By George you're right, rejoined the traitor. Again, amazed. Shepard, this beats me. I haven't heard that name for ten years. I can't help seeing what a tenderfoot, stranger, you are to the desert. Yet, here you are. Speaking of what you should know nothing of. of, and there's more behind this."

Shepard rose, unable to conceal his agitation. "'Did you ever hear of a rider named Venters?' "'Rider? You mean a cowboy? Venters? No, I never heard that name.' "'Did you ever hear of a gunman named Lassiter?' queried Shepard, with increasing emotion.

"'No. "'Did you ever hear of a Mormon woman named Jane Witherstein?' "'No.' Shefford drew his breath sharply. He had followed a gleam. He had caught a fleeting glimpse of it. Did you ever hear of a child, a girl, a woman, called Fay Larkin? Whither rose slowly with a paling face.

If you're a spy, it'll go hard with you, though I'm no Mormon, he said grimly. Shepard lifted a shaking hand. I was a clergyman, now I'm nothing, a wanderer, least of all a spy. Withers leaned close to sea into the other man's eyes. He looked long and then appeared satisfied. "'I've heard the name Fay Larkin,' he said slowly. "'I reckon that's all I'll say, to you tell your story.' Shefford stood with his back to the fire,

and he turned the palms of his hands to catch the warmth. He felt cold. Withers had affected him strangely. What was the meaning of the traitor's somber gravity? Why was the very mention of Mormons attended by something austere and secret? My name is John Shepard. I'm twenty-four, began Shepard. My family—

Hear a knock on the door interrupted Shepard. Come in, called Withers. The door opened, and like a shadow, Nest De Bega slipped in. He said something in Navajo to the traitor. How, he said to Shepard, and extended his hand. He was stately, but there was no mistake in his friendliness. Then he sat down before the fire, doubled his legs under him, after the Indian fashion, and with dark eyes on the blazing logs, seemed to lose himself in meditation.

He likes the fire, exclaimed Withers. Whenever he comes to Kayenta, he always visits me like this. Don't mind him. Go on with your story. My family were plain people, well-to-do and do. very religious, went on, Shepard. When I was a boy, we moved from the country to a town called Beaumont, Illinois. There was a college in Beaumont, and eventually I was sent to it to study for the ministry. I wanted to be, but never mind that. By the time I was 22, I was ready for my career

as a clergyman. I preached for a year around at different places, and then got a church in my hometown of Beaumont. I became exceedingly good friends with a man named Venters, who had recently come to Beaumont. He was a singular man. His wife was a strange, beautiful woman, very reserved, and she had wonderful, dark eyes. They had money and were devoted to each other and perfectly happy. They owned the finest horses ever seen in Illinois, and their particular enjoyment seemed to be riding. They were always taking long rides. It was something worth going far to see Mrs. Venters on a horse. It was through my own love of horses that I became friendly with Venters. He and his wife attended my church, and as I got to see more of them, gradually we grew intimate,

and it was not until I did get intimate with them that I realized that both seemed to be haunted by the past. They were sometimes sad, even, even in their happiness. They drifted off in the dreams. They lived back in another world. They seemed to be listening. Indeed, they were a singularly interesting couple, and I grew genuinely fond of them. By and by they had a little girl, whom they named Jane. The coming of the baby made a change in my friends. They were happier, and I observed that the haunting shadow did not so often return. Venters had spoken of a journey west that he and his wife meant to take some time,

but after the baby came he never mentioned his wife in connection with the trip. I gathered that he felt compelled to go to clear up a mystery or to find something. I did not make out just what. But eventually, and it was about a year ago, he told me his story, the strangest, wildest and most tragic I ever heard. I can't tell it all now. It's enough to say that fifteen years before he had been a writer for a rich Mormon woman named Jane Witherstein of this village Cottonwoods. She had adopted a beautiful Gentile child named Fay Larkin.

Her interest in Gentiles earned the displeasure of her churchmen, and as she was proud, there came a breach. Venter's and a gunman named Lasseter became involved in her quarrel. Finally, Venters took to the canyon. Here in the wilds, he found the strange girl he eventually married. For a long time, they lived in a wonderful hidden valley, the entrance to which was guarded by a huge balancing rock. Venters got away with the girl, but Lasseter and Jane Witherstein and the child Faye Larkin were driven into the canyon.

They escaped to the valley where Venters had lived. Lasseter rolled the balancing rock and crashing down the narrow trail, it loosened the weathered walls and closed the narrow outlet forever. End of Chapter 3. Chapter 4 Part 1 of the Rainbow Trail by Zane Gray. This Libravox recording is in the public domain. New Friends Part 1 Shefford ended his narrative, out of breath, pale, and

dripping with sweat. Wither sat leaning forward with an expression of intense interest. Nostebega, easy, graceful pose, had succeeded to one of strained rigidity. He seemed a statue of bronze. Could a few intelligible words, Shepard wondered, have created that strange listening posture? Venter's got out of Utah, of course, as you know, went on Shepard. he got out knowing as I feel I would have known that Jane, Lasseter, and little Faye Larkin, were shut up, walled up in Surprise Valley. For years Venters considered it would not have been safe for him to venture to rescue them.

He had no fears for their lives. They could live in Surprise Valley, but Venters always intended to come back with Bess and find the valley and his friends. No wonder he and Bess were haunted. However, when his wife had the baby that made a difference, it meant he had to go alone, and he was thinking seriously of starting when, when there were developments that made it desirable for me to leave Beaumont.

Ventor's story haunted me, as he had been haunted. I dreamed of that wild valley of little Faye Larkin, grown to womanhood. Such a woman as Best Venters was, and the longing to come was great, and withers, here I am. The traitor reached out and gave Shepard the grip of a man, in whom emotion was powerful, but deep and difficult to express. Listen to this.

I wish I could help you. Life is a queer deal. Shepard, I've got to trust you. Over here in the wild canyon country, there's a village of Mormon's sealed wives. It's in Arizona, perhaps twenty miles from here, and near the Utah line. When the United States government began to persecute or prosecute the Mormons for polygamy,

the Mormons over here in Stonebridge took their sealed wives and moved them out of Utah just across the line. They built houses, established a village there. I'm the only Gentile who knows about it, and I pack supplies every few weeks into these women. There are perhaps 50 women, mostly young, second or third or fourth wives of Mormons, sealed wives, and I want you to understand that sealed means sealed in all that religion or loyalty can get out of the word.

There are also some old women and old men in the village, but they hardly count, and there's a flock of the finest children you ever saw in your life. The idea of the Mormons must have been to escape prosecution. The law of the government is one wife for each man no more. All over Utah polygamists have been arrested. The Mormons are deeply concerned. I believe they are good, law-abiding people. But this law is a direct blow at their religion.

In my opinion, they can't obey both, and therefore they have not altogether given up plural wives. perhaps they will someday. I have no proof, but I believe the Mormons at Stonebridge pay secret night visits to their sealed wives across the line in the lonely, hidden village. Now once over in Stonebridge, I overheard some Mormons talking about a girl

who was named Fay Larkin. I never forgot the name. Later I heard the name in this sealed wife village. But as I told you, I never heard of last night. or Jane Witherstein. Still, if Mormons had found them, I would never have heard of it. And deception pass, that might be the saggy. I'm not surprised at your rainbow-chasing adventure. It's a great story. This Fay Larkin I've heard of might be your Faye Larkin. I almost believe so.

Sheffert, I'll help you find out. Yes, yes, I must know, replied Shefford. Oh, I hope I pray we can find her. but I'd rather she was dead if she's not still hidden in the valley. Naturally, you've dreamed yourself into rescuing this lost Faye Larkin, but, Shepard, you're old enough to know, life doesn't work out as you wanted to. One way or another, I fear you are in for a bitter disappointment. Withers take me to the village.

Shepard, you're liable to get in bad out there, said the traitor gravely. I couldn't be any more ruined than I am now, replied Shepard, passionately. But there's risk in this, risk, such as you've never had, persisted withers. I'll risk anything. Reckon this is a funny deal for a sheep trader to have on his hands, continued Withers. Shepard, I like you. I have a mind to see you through this. It's a damn strange story.

I'll tell you what, I will help you. I'll give you a job of packing supplies into the village. I meant to turn that over to a Mormon cowboy, Joe Lake. The job shall be yours, and I'll go with you first trip. Here's my hand on it. Now, Shepard, I'm more curious about you that I was before you told your story. What ruined you? As were to be partners, you can tell me now.

I'll keep your secret. Maybe I can do you good. Shepard wanted to confess, yet it was hard. Perhaps, had he not been so agitated, He would not have answered to impulse, but this traitor was a man, a man of the desert. He would understand. I told you I was a clergyman, said Jefford, in a low voice. I didn't want to be one, but they made me one.

I did my best. I failed. I had doubts of religion of the Bible of God, as my church believed in them. As I grew older, thought and study convinced me of the narrowness of my religion, as my my congregation lifted. I preached what I believed. I alienated them. They put me out, took my calling from me, disgraced me, ruined me. So that's all, exclaimed Withers slowly. You didn't believe in the God of the Bible? Well, I've been in the desert long enough to know that there is a God, but probably not the one your church worships. Shepard, go to the Navajo

for a faith. shefford had forgotten the presence of nastebega and perhaps withers had likewise at this juncture the indian rose to his full height and he folded his arms to stand with the sombre pride of a chieftain while his dark inscrutable eyes were riveted upon at that moment he seemed magnificent how infinitely more he seemed than just a common indian who had chanced to befriend a white man the difference was obscure to shefford but he felt that it was there in the navajo's mind nastebega's strange look was not to be interpreted finally he turned and passed from the room By George, cried Withers suddenly, and he pounded his knee with his fist. I'd forgotten. What, ejaculated Shefford? Why, that Indian understood every word we said.

He knows English. He's educated. Well, this doesn't beat me. Let me tell you about Nastebega. Wither seemed to be recalling, something half forgotten. Years ago in fifty-seven, I think, Kit Carson, with his soldiers, chased the Navajo tribe, and rounded them up to be put on reservations. But he failed to catch all the members of one tribe.

They escaped up into a wild canyon like the saggy. The descendants of these fugitives live there now and are the finest Indians on Earth, the finest, because unspoiled by the white man. Well, as I got the story, years after Carson's round up, one of his soldiers guided some interested travelers in here, When they left, they took an Indian boy with them to educate.

From what I know of Navajo's, I'm inclined to think the boy was taken against his parents' wish. Anyway, he was taken. That boy was Nastebega. The story goes, that he was educated somewhere. Years afterwards, and perhaps not long before I came in here, he returned to his people. There have been missionaries and other interested fools who have given Indians a white man's education. In all the instances I know of, these educated Indians returned to their tribes, repudiating the white man's knowledge, habits, life, and religion.

I have heard that Nastebega came back, laid down the white man's clothes, along with the education, and never again showed that he had known either. You have just seen how strangely he acted. It's almost certain he heard our conversation. Well, it doesn't matter. He won't tell. He can hardly be made to use an English word. Besides, he's a noble red man, if there ever was one. He's been a friend in need to me.

If you stay long out here, you'll learn something from the Indians. Nastebega has befriended you, too, it seems. I thought he showed unusual interest in you. Perhaps that was because I saved his sister, well, to be charitable, from the rather rude advances of a white man, said Shepard, and he proceeded to tell of the incident that occurred at Red Lake. Willets exclaimed Withers, with much the same expression that Presby had used. I never met him, but I know about him.

He's, well, the Indians don't like him much. Most of the missionaries are good men. Good for the Indians, in a way, but sometimes one drifts out here who is bad. A bad missionary teaching religion to savages? Queer, isn't it? The queerest part is the white people's blindness, the blindness of those who send the missionaries. While I dare say, Willits isn't very good.

When Presby said that was Willett's way of teaching religion, he meant just what he said. If Willits drifts over here, he'll be risking much. This you told me explains Noste Begus's friendliness toward you, and also is bringing his sister, Glenn Nespa, to live with relatives up in the pass. She had been living near Red Lake. Do you mean Nestebega wants to keep his sister far removed from Willets? inquired Shepard.

I mean that, replied Withers, and I hope he's not too late. Later, Sheffert went outdoors to walk and think there was no moon, but the stars made light enough to cast his shadow on the ground. The dark, illimitable expanse of blue sky seemed to be glittering with numberless points of fire. The air was cold and still. A dreaming silence lay over the land. Shepard saw and felt all these things, and their effect was continuous, and remained with him and helped calm him. He was conscious of a burden removed from his mind. Confession of his secret had been like tearing a thorn from his flesh.

but once done, it afforded him relief and a singular realization that out here it did not matter much. In a crowd of men all looking at him and judging him by their standards, he had been made to suffer. Here, if he were judged at all, it would be by what he could do, how he sustained himself and helped others. He walked far across the valley toward the low bluffs, but they did not seemed to get any closer, and finally he stopped beside a stone, and looked around at the strange horizon, and up at the heavens. He did not feel utterly aloof from them, nor alone in a waste, nor a useless atom amid incomprehensible forces. Something like a loosened mantle fell from about him, dropping at his feet, and all at once he was conscious of freedom. He did not understand,

in the least, why a basement left him, but it was so. He had come a long way, in bitterness, in despair, believing himself to be what men had called him. The desert and the stars and the wind, the silence of the night, the loneliness of this vast country, where there was room for a thousand cities, these somehow vaguely, yet surely, bade him lift his head. They withheld their secret, but they made a promise. which he had been feeling every day and every night was a strange enveloping comfort, and it was at this moment that shepherd, divining whence his help was to come, embraced all that wild and speaking nature around and above him, and surrendered himself utterly.

I am young, I am free. I have my life to live, he said. I'll be a man. I'll take what comes. Let me learn here. When he had spoken out settled once and forever his attitude toward his future, he seemed to be born again, wonderfully alive, to the influences around him, ready to trust what yet remained a mystery.

Then his thoughts reverted to Fay Larkin. Could this girl be known to the Mormons? It was possible. Fay Larkin was an unusual name. Deep into Sheffert's heart had sunk the story, ventured, had told. Shepard found that he had unconsciously created a like romance. He had been loving a wild and strange and lonely girl, like beautiful best venters. It was a shock to learn the truth, but as it had been only a dream, it could hardly be vital. Shepard retraced his steps toward

the post. Halfway back, he espied a tall, dark figure moving toward him, and presently the shape and the step seemed familiar. Then he recognized Nostebega. Soon they were face to face. Shepard felt that the Indian had been trailing him over the sand, and this was to be a significant meeting. Remembering Winter's revelation about the Navajo, Shepard scarcely knew how to approach him now. There was no difference to be made out in Nestebega's dark face and inscrutable eyes. yet there was a difference to be felt in his presence. But the Indian did not speak, and turned the walk by Shepard's side.

Shepard could not long be silent. Naste Bega, were you looking for me, he asked. You had no gun, replied the Indian. But for his very low voice, his slow speaking of the words, Shepard would have thought him a white man. For Shepard, there was indeed an instinct in this meeting. and he turned the face to Navajo. Withers told me you had been educated,

that you came back to the desert, that you never showed your training. Nastebega, did you understand all I told Withers? Yes, replied the Indian. You won't betray me? I am a Navajo. Nostebega, you trail me. You say I had no gun.

Shepard wanted to ask this Indian if he cared to be the white man's friend. But the question was not easy to put, and besides, seemed unnecessary. I am alone and strange in this wild country, I must learn. Nestebega will show you the trails and the water-holes and how to hide from Shad. For money, for silver, you will do this? inquired Shepard. Shefford felt that the Indian silence was a rebuke. He remembered Wither's singular praise of this red man.

He realized he must change his idea of Indians. Nastebega, I know nothing. I feel like a child in the wilderness. When I speak, it is out of the mouth of those who have taught me. I must find a new voice and a new life. You heard my story to Withers. I am an outcast from my own people. If you will be my friend, be so.

The Indian clasped Shefford's hand and held it in response that was more beautiful for its silence. So they stood for a moment in the starlight. Nastebega, what did Withers mean when he said, go to the Navajo for a faith? asked Shepard. He meant the desert is my mother. Will you go with Nastebega into the canyon and the mountains? Indeed I will.

They unclasped hands and turned toward the trading post. Noste Bega, have you spoken my tongue to any other white man, since you returned to your home? asked Shepard. No. Why do you? Why are you different for me? The Indian maintains silence. Is it because of Glen Nespa?

inquired Shepard. Noste Bega stalked on, still silent, but Shepard divined that, although his service to Glen Nespa would never be forgotten, Still, it was not wholly responsible for the Indians' subtle sympathy. By nigh, the Navajo, who called his white friend, by nigh, brother, said Naste Bega, and he spoke haltingly, not as if words were hard to find,

but strange to speak. I was stolen from my mother's Hogan and taken to California. They kept me ten years in a mission at San Bernardino, and four years in a school. They said my color and my hair were all that was left of the Indian in me, but they could not see my heart. They took fourteen years of my life.

They wanted to make me a missionary among my own people, but the white man's ways and his life and his God are not the Indians. They never can be. How strangely productive of thought for Shepard to hear the Indian talk. What fatality in this meeting

and friendship. Upon Nestavega had been forced education, training, religion, that had made him something more and something less than an Indian. It was something assimilated from the white man which made the Indian unhappy and alien in his own home. Something meant to be good for him and his kind that had ruined him, for Shepard felt the passion and the tragedy of this Navajo. By nigh the Indian is dying, Meste Bega's low voice Was deep and wonderful With its intensity of feeling

The white man robbed the Indian Of lands of homes Drove him into the deserts Made him a gaunt and sleepless Spiller of blood The blood is all spilled now For the Indian is broken But the white man

Sells him rum And seduces his daughters He will not leave the Indian and peace with his own God. By Nye, the Indian is dying. End of Chapter 4, Part 1. Chapter 4, Part 2 of the Rainbow Trail

by Zane Gray. This Librevox recording is in the public domain. New Friends, Part 2. That night, Shepard lay in his blankets out under the open sky and the stars. The earth had never meant much to him,

and now it was a bed he had preached of the heavens but until now he had never studied them an indian slept beside him and not until the gray of morning had blotted out the starlight did shefford close his eyes with the break of the next day came full varied and stirring incidents to shefford he was strong though unskilled at most kinds of outdoor tasks whithers had worked for ten men if they could have been found. Shepard dug and packed and lifted till he was so sore and tired that rest was a blessing. He never succeeded in getting on a friendly footing with the Mormon Whistner,

though he kept up as agreeable and kindly advances. He listened to the trader's wife, as she told him about the Indians, and what he learned he did not forget, and his wonder and respect increased in proportion to his knowledge. One day there rode into Cayenta the Mormon for whom withers had been waiting. His name was Joe Lake.

He appeared young and slipped off his superb bay with a grace and activity that were astounding in one of his huge bulk. He had a still smooth face with the color of red bronze and the expression of a cherub, big, soft, dark eyes and a winning smile. He was surprisingly different from Whistner, or any Mormon character, that Shepard had naturally conceived. His costume was that of a cowboy on active service, and he packed a gun at his hip. The handshake he gave Shepard was an ordeal for that young man, and left him with his whole right side momentarily benumbed. I'm sure glad to meet you, he said in a lazy, mild voice, and he was taken friendly stock of Shepard, 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 fore feet wide apart and watched his master with defiant eyes the mustang was the finest horse sheffered had ever seen he appeared quite large for his species and was almost red in color and 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 sure got bad manners said lake shaking the mustangs bridle he spoke as if he were chiding a refractory little boy didn't i break you better than that what's this gentleman going to think of you trying 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 range to drive in burrows and mustangs. Shepard 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' part to make the Mormon tractable.

But Withers won him over, and then he called Shepard to his side. you fellows got to be good friends he said you'll have charge of my pack trains nastebaga 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 you to start right you can trust him as you trust me he's white clean through and he's the best horse-rime but he's the best horse-rime Wrangler in Utah. It was Lake who first offered his hand, and Shepard made haste to meet it with his own. Neither of them spoke. Shepard intuitively felt an alteration in Lake's regard, or at least a singular increase of interest.

Lake had been told that Shepard had been a clergyman, was now a wanderer without any religion. Again it seemed to Shepard that he owned a forming of friendship to the singular fact, and it hurt him, but strangely it came to him that he had taken a liking to a Mormon. About one o'clock the pack-train left Cayenta. Nastebega led the way up the slope. Following him, climbed half a dozen patient, plotting, heavily ladened burrows. Withers came next, and he turned in his saddle to wave goodbye 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. He was mounted on 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 Naclyall, Withers, had said, it means two bits or twenty-five cents. He ain't worth more. To look at Nac-Yaw had pleased Shepard very much indeed,

but once upon his back he grew dubious. The Mustang acted queer. He actually looked back at Shepard, and it was a look of speculation and disdain. Shepard took exception to Nack Yaw's manner and to his reluctance to go, and especially to a habit that 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 of, 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 Nakyao intended to do. However, once up over the hill, with Kayenta out of sight, Nackyaw 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. Shepard 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. Shepard forgot all about his Mustang and the trail. Suddenly, with a pound of the mountain of the sun, of hoofs, Nackew seemed to rise. He leaped sideways out of the trail, came down, stiff-legged. Then Shepard 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 four feet spread. He appeared to be looking at something in the trail. Shepard 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. Nackew appeared disposed to be satisfied and gave Shepard no trouble in mounting. The incident increased Shepard'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 saggy. Then those wonderful lofty cliffs, with their peaks and towers and spires, loomed so close and so beautiful, that he did not care if Nackew did throw him.

Along here, however, the Mustang behaved well, and presently, Shepard 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. Nackeyew sank deep as he took short and careful steps down. The burrows and other Mustangs were drinking, and Nacquil followed suit. The Indian, with a hand clutching his Mustang's mane, rode up a steep sandy slope on the other side that Shepard would not have believed any horse could climb.

The burrows plodded up and over the rim with withers calling to them. Joe Lake swung his rope and cracked the flanks of the gray mare and the red mule, and the way the two kicked was a revelation and a warning to Shepard. When his turn came to climb the trail, he got off and walked. an action that Nacquayaw appeared fully to appreciate.

From the head of this wash, the trail wound away up the widening canyon, through greasewood flats, and over grassy levels, and across sandy stretches. The looming walls made the valley look narrow, yet it must have been half a mile wide. The slopes under the cliffs were dotted with huge stones and cedar trees. There were deep indentations in the wall. running back to form Box Canyon, choked with green of cedar and spruce and pinion. These notches haunted Shepard, and he was ever on the lookout for more of them. Withers came back to ride just in advance and began to talk.

Reckon the saggy canyon is your deception pass, he said. It's sure a queer hole. I've been lost more than once, hunting Mustangs in here. I've an idea, Nestabay. knows all this country. He just pointed out a cliff dwelling to me. See it? There, way up in that cave on the wall. Shepard saw a steep, rough slope, leading up to a bulge of the cliff, and finally he made out strange little houses with dark, eye-like windows. He wanted to climb up there. Wither's called his attention to more caves with what he believed were the ruins of

cliff dwellings. as they rode along the trader showed him remarkable formations of rock where the elements were slowly hollowing out a bridge they came presently to a region of intersecting canyon and here the breaking of the trail up and down the deep blotches took withers back to his task with the burrows and gave shefford more concern than he liked with knack yawl the mustang grew unruly and was continually turning to the left sometimes he tried to climb the steep slope he had to be pulled hard away from the opening canyon on the left It seemed strange to Shepard that the Mustang never swerved to the right. This habit of Nackew's and the increasing caution needed on the trail took all of Shepard's attention. When he dismounted, however, he had a chance to look around, and more and more he was amazed at the increasing proportions and wildness of the saggy.

He came at length to a place where a fallen tree blocked the trail. All of the rest of the pack train had jumped the log. But Nackew balked. Shepard dismounted, pulled the bridle over the Mustang's head, and tried to lead him. Nacquil, however, refused to budge. Whereupon Shepard got a stick and remounting,

he gave the bulky Mustang a cut across the flank. Then something violent happened. Shepard received a sudden propelling jolt, and then he was rising into the air and then falling. Before he alighted, he had a clear image of Nac-Yawl in the air above him, bent double, and seemingly possessed of devils. Then Shepard hit the ground with no light thud. He was thoroughly angry when he got dizzily upon his feet,

but he was not quick enough to catch the Mustang. Nac-Yaw leaped easily over the log and went on ahead, dragging his bridle. Shefford hurried after him, and the faster he was, he went, just by so much, the cunning knack yaw accelerated his gate. As the pack-train was out of sight somewhere ahead, Shefford could not call to his companions to halt his mount, so he gave up trying, and walked on now with free and growing appreciation of his surroundings. The afternoon had waned.

The sun blazed low in the west in a notch of the canyon ramparts, and one wall was darkening into purple shadow. while the other shone through a golden haze. It was a weird, wild world the shepherd, and every few strides he caught his breath and tried to realize actuality was not a dream. Nackew kept about a hundred paces to the fore, and ever anon he looked back to see how his new master was progressing.

He varied these occasions by reaching down and nipping a tough of grass. Evidently he was too intelligent to go on fast enough to be caught by withers. Also, he kept continually looking up the slope to the left, as if seeking a way to climb out of the valley in that direction. Shefford thought it was well that the trail lay at the foot of a steep slope that ran up to unbroken bluffs. The sunset, and the canyon lost its red and its cold and deepened its purple. effort calculated he had walked five miles, and though he did not mind the effort, he would rather

have ridden Nacquil into camp. He mounted a cedar ridge, crossed some sandy washes, turned a corner of bold wall to enter a wide green level. The mustangs were rolling and snorting. He heard the bray of a burrow. A bright blaze of campfire greeted him, and the dark figure of the Indian approached to intercept and catch Nacquil. When he stalked into camp, Wither's wore a beaming smile, and Joe Lake, who was on his knees making biscuit dough in a pan, stopped proceedings, and drawed, reckon Nackew bucked you off. Bucked, was that it? Well, he separated himself from me, in a new and somewhat painful manner to me.

Sure I saw that in his eye, replied Lake, and Withers laughed with him. Nackewale never was well broke, he said, but he. he's a good Mustang, nothing like Joe's Navi or that gray may or dynamite. All this Indian stock will buck on a man once in a while. I'll take the bucking along with the rest, said Shepard. Both men liked his reply, and the Indian smiled for the first time. Soon they all sat around to spread tarpaulin and ate like wolves. After supper came the rest and talk before the campfire.

Joe Lake was droll. He said the most serious things in a way to make Shepard wonder if he was not joking. Wither's talked about the canyon, the Indians, the Mustangs, the scorpions, running out of the heated sand, and the shepherd it was like a fascinating book. Noste Bega smoked in silence, his brooding eyes upon the fire. End of Chapter 4, Part 2. gray. This Libravox recording is in the public domain. On the Trail. Shefford was awakened next morning by a sound he had never heard before, the plunging of hobbled horses on soft turf. It was clear daylight with a ruddy color in the sky and a tinge of red along the canyon rim. He saw Withers Lake and the Indian driving the Mustangs toward camp. The burrows appeared. leased, yet willing, but the Mustangs and the mule, withers called Red, and the gray mare dynamite, were determined not to be driven into camp. It was astonishing how much action they had,

how much ground they could cover, with their four feet hobbled together. They were exceedingly skillful. They lifted both four feet at once, and then plunged, and they all went in different directions. Noste Bega darted in here and there to head off escape. Shepard pulled on his boots and went out to help. He got too close to the gray mare, and warned by a yell from Withers, he jumped back just in time to avoid her vicious heels. Then Shepard turned his attention to Nackea and chased him all over the flat in a futile effort to catch him. Noste Bega came to Shepard's assistant. assistance, and put a rope over Nakyaa's head.

Don't ever get behind one of these Mustangs, said Withers, warningly, as Shepard came up, you might be killed. Eat your bite now. We'll soon be out of here. Shefford had been late in awakening. The others had breakfasted. He found eating somewhat difficult in the excitement that ensued. Noste Bega held ropes which were round the necks of red and dynamite. The mule showed his cunning, and always appeared to present his heels to withers who tried to approach him with a pack-saddle.

The patience of the traitor was a revelation to Shepard, and at length Red was cornered by the three men, the pack-saddle was strapped on, and then the packs. Red promptly bucked the packs off, and the work had to be done over again. Then Red dropped his long ears and seemed ready to be trained.

When Shepard turned his attention to dynamite, he decided that this was his first sight of a wild horse. The gray mare had fiery eyes that rolled and showed the white. She jumped straight up, screamed, pawed, bit, and then plunged down to shoot her hind hoofs into the air as high as her head had been. She was amazingly agile, and she seemed mad to kill something. She dragged the Indian about, and when Joe Lake got a rope on her hind foot, she dragged them both. They lashed her with the ends of the lassoes, which action only made her kick harder. She plunged into camp, drove Shepard flying for his life, knocked down two of the burrows, and played havoc with the unstrapped packs.

Withers ran to the assistance of Lake, and the two of them hauled back with all their strength and weight. They were both powerful and heavy men. Dynamite circled round, and finally, after kicking the campfire to bits, fell down on her haunches in the hot embers. Let her set there, panted withers, and Joe Lake shouted, burn up, you darn coyote. Both men appeared delighted that she had brought upon herself just punishment. Dynamite sat in the remains of the fire long enough to get burnt, and then she got up. and meekly allowed Withers to throw a tarpaulin and a roll of blankets over her and tie them fast. Lake and Withers were sweating freely when this job was finished.

Say is that a usual morning's task with the pack animals? asked Shefford. They're all pretty decent today except dynamite, replied Withers. She's got to be worked out. Shefford felt both amusement and consternation. The sun was just rising over the ramparts of the cabins. and he had already seen more difficult and dangerous work accomplished than half a dozen men of his type could do in a whole day he liked the outlook of his new duty as withers assistant but he felt helplessly inefficient still all he needed was experience he passed over what he anticipated would be pain and peril the cost was of no moment soon the pack train was on the move with the indian leading This morning, Nackeyeh began his strange swinging off to the left, precisely as he had done the day before.

It got to be annoying to Shepard, and he lost patience with the Mustang and jerked him sharply round. This, however, had no great effect on Nackeyeau. As the train headed straight up the canyon, Joe Lake dropped back to ride beside Shepard. The Mormon had been amiable and friendly. flock of deer up that draw, he said, pointing up a narrow side canyon. Shepard gazed to see a half-dozen small brown, long-eared objects, very like burrows, watching the pack train pass. Are they dear, he asked delightedly.

Sure, I replied Joe, sincerely. Get down and shoot one. There's a rifle in your saddle-sheath. Sheffered had already discovered that he had been armed this morning, a matter which had caused him reflection. These animals certainly looked like deer. He had seen a few deer, though not in their native wild haunts, and he experienced the thrill of the hunter. Dismounting, he drew the rifle out of the sheath and started toward the little canyon. "'Hire, where you going with that gun?' yelled withers. "'That's a bunch of burrows. Joe's up to his old

tricks. Shepard, look out for Joe.' Rather sheepishly, Shepard returned to his must-eastern. stang, and sheathed the rifle, and then took a long look at the animals up the draw. They resembled deer, but upon second glance they surely were burrows. Darn me, now if I didn't think they sure were dear, exclaimed Joe. He appeared absolutely sincere and innocent. Shepard hardly knew how to take this likeable Mormon, but vowed he would be on his guard in the future. Noste Beda soon led the pack-train,

toward the left wall of the canyon, and evidently intended to scale it. Shefford could not see any trail, and the wall appeared steep and insurmountable. But upon nearing the cliff, he saw a narrow broken trail, leading zigzag up over smooth rock, weathered slope, and through cracks. Spread out, and careful now, yelled Withers. The need of both advices soon became manifest to Shefford. The burrows started stones rolling, making danger for those below. Shefford dismounted and led Nackeyew and turned aside many a rolling rock.

The Indian and the burrows, with a red mule leading, climbed steadily, but the Mustangs had trouble. Joe's spirited bay had to be coaxe to face the ascent. Nackeyeau balked at every difficult step, and dynamite slipped on a flat slant of rock, and slid down forty feet. Withers and lake with ropes hauled the mare out of the dangerous position. Shepard, who brought up the rear, saw all the action, and it was exciting, but his pleasure in the climb was spoiled by the sight of blood and hair on the stones.

The ascent was crooked, steep, and long, and when Shepard reached the top of the wall, he was glad to rest. It made him gasp to look down and see what he had served, mounted. The canyon floor, green and level, lay a thousand feet below, and the wild burrows, which had followed on the trail, looked like rabbits. Shefford mounted presently, and rode out upon a wide, smooth trail, leading into a cedar forest. There were bunches of gray sage in the open places. The air was cool and crisp, laden with sweet fragrance. He saw Lake and Withers bobbing along. Now on one side of the trail,

now on the other, and they kept to a steady trot. Occasionally, the Indian and his bright red saddle-blanket showed in an opening of the cedars. It was level country, and there was nothing for Shepard to see except cedar and sage, an outcropping of red rock in places and the winding trail. Mocking birds made melody everywhere. Shefford seemed full of a strange pleasure,

and the hours flew by. Nacke, yaw, still wanted to be everlastingly turning off the trail, and moreover, now he wanted to go faster. He was eager, restless, dissatisfied. At noon the pack train descended into a deep draw, well covered with cedar and sage. There was plenty of grass and shade, but no water. Shefford was surprised to see that every pack was removed, however, the roll of blankets was left on dynamite.

The men made a fire and began to cook a noonday meal. Shepard, tired and warm, sat at a shady spot and watched. He had become all eyes. He had almost forgotten, Faye Larkin. He had forgotten his trouble, and the present seemed sweet and full. Presently, his ears were filled by a pattering roar, and looking up the draw, saw two streams of sheep and goats coming down. Soon an Indian Shepherd appeared, riding a fine Mustang.

A cream-colored cult bounded along behind, and presently a shaggy dog came in sight. The Indian dismounted at the camp, and his flock spread by in two white and black streams. The dog went with them. Withers and Joe shook hands with the Indian, whom Joe called Navi, and Shepard lost no time in doing likewise.

Then Nasebega came in, and he and the Navajo talked. When the meal was ready, all of them sat down round the canvas. The shepherd did not tie his horse. Presently, Shepard noticed that Nackew had returned to camp and was acting strangely. Evidently, he was attracted by the Indians' Mustang or the cream-colored colt. At any rate, Nackew hung around, tossed his head, whinnied in a low, nervous manner, and looked strangely eager and wild.

Shepard was at first amused, then curious. Nackewl approached too close to the mother of the cult, and she gave him a sounding kick in the ribs. Nackew uttered a plaint of snort, and backed away to stand, crestfallen, with all his eagerness and fire vanished. Nesta Bega pointed to the Mustang and said something in his own tongue. Then Withers addressed the visiting Indian, and they exchanged some words, whereupon the traitor turned to Shefford. I bought Nakyaugh from this Indian three years ago.

This mayor is Nakyaugh's mother. He was born over here to the south. That's why he always swung left off the trail. He wanted to go home. Just now he recognized his mother, and she wailed away and gave him a whack for his pains. She's got a colt now, and probably didn't recognize Nackeye. But he's broken-hearted. The traitor laughed, and Joe said,

You can't tell what these darn Mustangs will do. Shepard felt sorry for Nac-Yaw, and when it came time to saddle him, again found him easier to handle than ever before. Nac-yaw stood with head down, broken-spirited. Shepard was the first to ride up out of the draw, and once upon the top of the ridge he halted the gaze wide-eyed and entranced a rolling endless plain sloped down beneath him and led him on to a distant round-topped mountain to the right a red canyon opened its jagged jaws and away to the north rose a whirled and strange sea of curved ridges crags and domes

nastebega rode up then leading the pack train by nigh that is nastisan he said pointing to the mountain navajo mountain and there in the north are the canyon Shefford followed the Indian down the trail, and soon lost sight of that wide, green-and-red wilderness. Nastebega turned at an intersecting trail, rode down into the canyon, and climbed out on the other side. Shepard got a glimpse now and then of the black dome of the mountain, but for the most part, the distant points of the country were hidden. They crossed many trails, when up and down the sides of many shepherds.

shallow canyon. Troops of wild Mustangs whistled at them, stood on ridgetops to watch, and then dashed away with mains and tails flying. Wither's rode forward presently and halted the pack train. He had some conversation with Neste Bega, whereupon the Indian turned his horse and trod it back to disappear in the cedars. I'm some worried, explained Withers. Joe thinks he saw a bunch of horsemen trawomen. telling us. My eyes are bad and I can't see far. The Indian will find out. I took a roundabout way to reach the village because I'm always dodging shad." This communication lent an added zest to the journey. Shepard could hardly believe the truth that his eyes and his ears

brunt to his consciousness. He turned in behind withers and rode down the rough trail, helping the Mustang all in his power. It occurred to him that Nackew had been entirely different since that meeting with his mother in the draw. He turned no more off the trail, he answered readily to the rain. He did not look afar from every ridge. Shefford conceived a liking for the Mustang. Withers turned aside in his saddle and let his Mustang pick the way. Another time, we'll go up round the base of the mountain,

where you can look down on the grandest scene in the world. said he. Two hundred miles of wind-worn rock, all smooth and bare, without a single straight line. Canyon, caves, bridges, the most wonderful country in the world. Even the Indians haven't explored it. It's haunted for them, and they have strange gods. The Navajos will hunt on this side of the mountain, but not on the other. That north side is consecrated ground.

My wife has long been trying to get the Navajos, to tell her the secret of Nan Nesoshi. Non-Nesoshi means rainbow bridge. The Indians worship it, but as far as she can find out, only a few have ever seen it. I imagine it'd be worth some trouble. Maybe that's the bridge Venters talked about,

the one overarching the entrance to Surprise Valley, said Shepard. It might be, replied the traitor. You've got a good chance of finding out. Naste Bega is the main. man, you stick to that Indian. Well, we'll start down here into this canyon, and we go down some, I reckon. In a half hour you'll see Sago Lilies, an Indian paintbrush, and vermilion cactus. About the middle of the afternoon the pack train and its drivers arrived at the hidden Mormon village. Nastavega had not returned from a scout back along the trail.

Shefford's sensibilities had all been overstrained, but he had left in him enthusiasm and appreciation that made the situation of this village a fairyland. It was a valley, a canyon floor, so long that he could not see the end, and perhaps a quarter of a mile wide. The air was hot, still, and sweetly odorous of unfamiliar flowers. Pinion and cedar trees surrounded the log in stone houses, and along the walls of the canyon stood sharp-pointed dark-green spruce trees. These walls were singular of shape and color. They were not imposing in height, but they waved like the long, undulating swell of a sea. Every foot of surface was perfectly smooth, and the long curved lines of darker tinge that streaked the red following. the rounded line of the slope at the top.

Far above, yet overhanging, were great yellow crags and peaks, and between these still higher, showed the pine-fringed slope of Navajo Mountain, with snow in the sheltered places and glistening streams like silver threads running down. All this shepherd noticed as he entered the valley from round a corner of wall.

Upon nearer view he saw and heard, a host of children, who, looking up to see the intruders, scattered like frightened quail. Long gray grass covered the ground, and here and there wide, smooth paths had been worn. A swift and murmuring brook ran through the middle of the valley, and its banks were bordered with flowers. Withers led the way to one side near the wall, where a clump of cedar trees and a dark swift spring, boiling out of the rocks and banks of amber moss with purple blossoms made a beautiful campsite. Here the Mustangs were unsaddled and turned loose without hobbles. It was certainly unlikely that they would leave such a spot.

Some of the burrows were unpacked, and the others, Withers drove off into the village. Sure is pretty nice, said Joe, wiping his sweaty face. I never want to leave. It suits me to lie on this moss. take a drink of that spring. Shepard complied with alacrity and found the water cool and sweet, and he seemed to feel it all through him. Then he returned to the mossy bank.

He did not reply to Joe, in fact, all his faculties were absorbed in watching and feeling, and he lay there long after Joe went off to the village. The murmur of water, the hum of bees, the song of strange birds, the sweet warm air, the dreamy summer somnolence of the valley.

All these added drowsiness to Shepard's weary lassitude, and he fell asleep. When he awoke, Nastebega was sitting near him, and Joe was busy near a campfire. "'Hello, Nostebega,' said Shepard. "'Was there anyone trailing us?' The Navajo nodded. Joe raised his head, and with forceful brevity, said,

"'Shad?' "'Shad,' said, "'Shad,' said, echoed Shefford, remembering the dark, sinister face of his visitor that night in the saggy. Joe, is it serious? Is trailing us? Well, I don't know how darn serious it is, but I'm scared the death, replied Lake. He and his gang will hold us up somewhere on the way home.

Shepard regarded Joe with both concern and doubt. Joe's words were at variance with his looks. Say, Bard, can you shoot a rifle? queried Joe. Yes, I'm a fair shot at targets. The Mormon nodded his head as if pleased. That's good. These outlaws are all poor shots with a rifle.

So am I. But I can handle a six-shooter. I reckon we'll make Shad sweat if he pushes us. Withers return, driving the burrows, all of which had been unpacked down to the saddles. Two gray-bearded men accompanied him. One of them appeared to be very old. and venerable, and walked with a stick. The other had a sad, lined face and kind, mild blue eyes.

Shepard observed that lake seemed unusually respectful. Wither's introduced these Mormons, merely as Smith and Henninger. They were very cordial and pleasant in their greetings to Shefford. Presently, another somewhat younger man joined the group, a stalwart jovial fellow with ruddy face. There was certainly no mistaking, his kindly welcome, as he shook Shepard's hand. His name was Beale.

The three stood around the campfire for a while, evidently, glad of the presence of fellow men, and to hear news from the outside. Finally, they went away, taking Joe with them. Withers took up the task of getting supper, where Joe had been made to leave it.

Shefford, listen, he said presently, as he knelt before the fire i told them right out that you'd been a gentile clergyman that you'd gone back on your religion it impressed them and you've been well received I'll tell the same thing over at Stonebridge. You'll get in, right. Of course, I don't expect they'll make a Mormon out of you. But they will try to. Meanwhile, you can be square and friendly all the time. You're trying to find your Fay Larkin.

Tomorrow you'll meet some of the women. They're good souls, but like any women, crazy for news. Think what it is to be shut up in here between these walls. Wither's I'm intensely interested. replied Sheffert, and excited, too. Shall we stay here long? I'll stay a couple of days, then go to Stonebridge with Joe. He'll come back here, and when you both feel like leaving, and if Neste Bega thinks it's safe,

you'll take a trail over to some Indian Hogan's, and pack me out a load of skins and blankets. My boy, you've all the time there is, and I wish you luck. This isn't a bad place to loaf. I always get sentimental over here. Maybe it's the women. Some of them are pretty, and one of them, Sheffered, they call her Sago Lily. Her first name is Mary.

I'm told, don't know her last name. She's lovely, and I bet you forget Faye Larkin in a flash. Only be careful. You drop in here with peculiar credentials, so to speak, as my helper and has a man with no religion. You'll not only be fully trusted, but you'll be welcome to these lonely women. So be careful.

Remember, it's my secret belief that they are sealed wives and are visited occasionally at night by their husbands. I don't know this, but I believe it, and you're not supposed to dream of that. How many men in the village? asked Shepard. Three, you met them.

Have they wives? asked Shepard curiously. Wives, well, I guess, but only one each that I know of. Joe Lake is the only unmarried Mormon I've met, and no men, strangers, cowboys outlaws, ever come to this village? Except the Indians, it seems to be a secret so far, replied the traitor, earnestly, but it can't be kept secret. I've said that time after time over in Stonebridge, with Mormons, it's sufficient

until the day is the evil thereof. What happens when outsiders do learn and ride in here? there'll be trouble may be bloodshed mormon women are absolutely good but they're human and want and need a little life and strange to say mormon men are pig-headedly jealous why if some of the cowboys i know in durango would ride over here there'd simply be hell But that's a long way, and probably this village will be deserted before news of it ever reaches Colorado. There's more danger of Shad and his gang coming in. Shad's half-pahued. He must know of this place, and he's got some white outlaws in his gang. Come on, Grub's ready, and I'm too hungry to talk.

Later, when shadows began to gather in the valley, and the lofty peaks above where gold in the sunset glow, Withers left camp to look after the strained Mustangs, and Sheffered strolled to and fro under the cedars. The lights and shades in the saggy at first night had moved him to enthusiastic watchfulness, but here they were so weird and beautiful that he was enraptured. He actually saw great shafts of gold and shadows of purple streaming from the peaks down into the valley. It was day on the heights and twilight in the valley. The swiftly changing colors were like rainbows. While he strode up and down, several women came to the spring and filled their buckets.

They wore shawls or hoods, and their garments were somber, but nevertheless they appeared to have youth and comeliness. They saw him, looked at him curiously, and then, without speaking, went back on the well-trodden path. Presently down the path appeared a woman, a girl in lighter garb. It was almost white. She was shapely and walked with free, graceful step, reminding him of the Indian girl, Glenn Naspah. This one wore a hood, shaped like a huge sunbonnet,

and it concealed her face. She carried a bucket. When she reached the spring and went down the few stone steps, Shefford saw that she did not have on shoes. As she braced herself to lift the bucket, her bare foot clung to the mossy stone. It was a strong, sinewy, beautiful foot, instinct with youth. He was curious enough, he thought, but the awakening artist in him made him more so. She dragged at the full bucket and had difficulty in lifting it out of the hole.

Shepard strolled forward and took the bucket handle from her. Won't you let me help, he said, lifting the bucket, indeed it's very heavy. Oh, thank you, she said, without raising her head. Her voice seemed singularly, young, and sweet. He had not heard a voice like it. She moved down the path, and he walked beside her. He felt embarrassed, yet more curious than ever.

He wanted to say something to turn and look at her, but he kept on for a dozen paces without making up his mind. Finally, he said, do you really carry this heavy bucket why it makes my arm ache. Twice every day, morning and evening, she replied, I'm very strong. Then he stole a look out of the corner of his eye, and seeing that her face was hidden from him by the hood, he turned to observe her at better advantage. A long braid of hair hung down her back. In the twilight, it gleamed dull gold. She came up to his shoulder. The sleeve nearest him was rolled up to her elbow, revealing a fine round

arm. Her hand, like her foot, was brown, strong, and well-shaped. It was a hand that had been developed by labor. She was full-bosomed, yet slender, and she walked with a free stride that made Shepherd admire and wonder. They passed several of the little stone and log-houses, and women greeted them as they went by, and children peered shyly from the doors. He kept trying to think of something to say, and failing in that, determined to have one good look under the hood before he left her. "'You walk lame,' she said solicitously. "'Let me carry the bucket now, please. My house is near.'

"'Am I lame?' "'Guess so a little,' he replied. "'It was a hard ride for me, but I'll carry the bucket justly. the same. They went on under some pinion trees down a path to a little house identical with the others, except that it had a stone porch. Shefford smelled fragrant, wood smoke, and saw a column curling from the low, flat, stone chimney. Then he set the bucket down on the porch. Thank you, Mr. Shefford, she said. You know my name, he asked. Yes, Mr. Withers spoke to my nearest neighbor, and she told me,

"'Ah, I see, and you?' He did not go on, and she did not reply. When she stepped upon the porch and turned, he was able to see under the hood. The face there was in shadow, and for that very reason he answered to ungovernable impulse and took a step closer to her. Dark, grave, sad eyes, looked down at him,

and he felt as if he could never draw his own glance away. He seemed not to see the rest of her face, and yet felt that it was lovely. Then a downward movement of the hood hid from him the strange eyes and the shadowy loveliness. I beg your pardon, he said quickly, drawing back. I'm rude. Wither's told me about a girl, he called. He said, looked like a sago lily. That's no excuse to stare under your hood. But I was curious. I wondered if. He hesitated, realizing how foolish his talk was. She stood a moment, probably watching him,

but he could not be sure, for her face was hidden. They call me that, she said, but my name is Mary. Mary, what, he asked. Just Mary, she said simply, good night. He did not say good night and could not have told why. She took up the bucket and went in to the dark house. Shepard hurried away into the gathering darkness. End of Chapter 5.

Chapter 6 of the Rainbow Trail by Zane Gray. This Libravox recording is in the public domain. In the Hidden Valley. Shefford had hardly seen her face, yet he was more interested in a woman than he had ever been before. Still, he reflected, as he returned to camp, he had been under. a long strain. He was unduly excited by this new and adventurous life, and these, with the mystery of this village, were perhaps accountable for a state of mind that could not last. He rolled in his blankets on the soft bed of moss, and he saw the stars through the needle-like fringe of the pinions.

It seemed impossible to fall asleep. The two domed peaks split the sky, and back of them, looming dark and shadowy, rose the mountain. There was something cold, austere, and majestic in their lofty presence, and they made him feel alone, yet not alone. He raised himself to see the quiet forms of Withers and Nostebega prone in the starlight, and their slow, deep breathing was that of tired men. A bell on a Mustang rang somewhere off in the valley, and gave out a low, strange, reverberating echo from wall to wall.

ceased, a silence set in that was deader than any silence he had ever felt, but gradually he became aware of the low murmur of the brook. For the rest there was no sound of wind, no bark of dog, or yelp of coyote, and no sound of voice in the village. He tried the sleep, but instead thought of this girl, who was called the Sego Lily. He recalled everything incident to their meeting, and the walk to her heard. home, her swift, free step, her graceful poise, her shapely form, the long braid of hair, dull gold, in the twilight, the beautiful bare foot and the strong round arm. These he thought of and

recalled vividly. But of her face he had no idea except the shadowy, haunting loveliness, and that grew more and more difficult to remember. The tone of her voice and what she had said, that one had thrilled him and the other mystified. It was her voice that had most attracted him. There was something in it besides music. What? He could not tell. Sadness, depth. Something like that in Nostebega's beauty springing from disuse. But this seemed absurd. Why should he imagine her voice, one that had not been used as freely as any other woman's? She was a Mormon, very likely, almost surely. She was a sealed wife.

His interest, too, was absurd, and he tried to throw it off or imagine it one he might have felt in any other of these strange women of the hidden village. But Shepard's intelligence and his good sense, which became operative when he was fully roused, and set the situation clearly before his eyes,

had no effect upon his deeper, mystic, and primitive feelings. he saw the truth and he felt something that he could not name he would not be a fool but there was no harm in dreaming and unquestionably beyond all doubt the dream and the romance that had lured him to the wilderness were here hanging over him like the shadows of the great peaks his heart swelled with emotion when he thought of how the black and incessant despair of the past was gone so he embraced any attraction that made him forget and think and feel some instinct stronger than intelligence bade him drift joe's rolling voice awoke him the next morning and he rose with a singular zest when or where in his life had he awakened in such a beautiful place almost he understood why venters and bess had been haunted by memories of surprise valley the morning was clear cool sweet the peaks were dim and soft in rosy cloud shafts of golden sunlight shot down into the purple shadows mocking birds were singing his body was sore and tired from the unaccustomed travel but his heart was full happy his spirit wanted to run and he knew there was something out there waiting to meet it the indian and the traitor and the mormon all meant more to him this morning he had grown a little overnight nastebaga's deep by nigh rang in his ears and the smiles of withers and joe were greetings he had friends

he had work, and there was rich, strange, and helpful life to live. There was even a difference in the Mustang Nackeal. He came readily. He did not look wild. He had a friendly eye, and Shepard liked him more. What is there to do, asked Shepard, feeling equal to a hundred tasks. No work, replied the traitor with a laugh, and he drew Shepard aside. I'm in no hurry, I like it here, and Joe never wants to leave. Today, you can meet the women. Make yourself popular. I've already made you that.

These women are mostly all young and lonesome. Talk to them. Make them like you. Then someday you may be safe to ask questions. Last night, I wanted to ask old Mother Smith if she ever heard the name Faye Larkin. But I thought better of it. If there is a girl here or at Stonebridge of that name, we'll learn it. if there is mystery we'd better go slow mormons are hell on secret and mystery and the pry into their affairs is to query yourself my advice is just be as nice as you can be and let things happen

fay larkin all in a night shefford had forgotten her why he pondered over the matter and then the old thrill the old desire came back shefford what do you think nastebega said to me last night asked Withers in a lower voice. Haven't any idea, replied Shepard, curiously. We were sitting beside the fire. I saw you walking under the cedars. You seemed thoughtful. That keen Indian watched you, and he said to me in Navajo, By nigh has lost his God.

He has come to find a wife. Nostebega is his brother. He meant he'll find both God and wife for you. I don't know about that, but i say take the indian as he thinks he is your brother long before i knew nasebega my wife used to tell me about him he's a sage and a poet the very spirit of this desert he's worth cultivating for his own sake but more remember if fay larkin is still shut in that valley this navajo will find her for you i shall take nasebaga as my brother and be proud replied shefford there's another thing do you intend to confide in joe i hadn't thought of that well it might be a good plan but wait until you know him better and he knows you he's ready to fight for you now he'll take your trouble to heart you wouldn't think joe is deeply religious yet he is he may never breathe a word about religion to you now shefford go ahead you've struck a trail it's rough but it'll make a man of you it'll lead somewhere

i'm singularly fortunate i who had lost all friends withers i am grateful i'll prove it i'll show withers upheld hand checked further speech and shefford realized that beneath the roughings exterior of this desert traitor, there was fine feeling. These men of crude toil and wild surroundings were beginning to loom up large in Shefford's mind. The day began leisurely. The men were yet at breakfast when the women of the village began to come one by one to the spring. Joe Lake made friendly and joking remarks to each, and as each one passed on down the path, he poised a biscuit in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other, and with his head cocked sideways, like an owl, he said, reckon, I've got to get me a woman like her. Shepard saw and heard, yet he was all the time half unconsciously watching with strange

eagerness for a white figure to appear. At last he saw her. The same girl with a hood, the same swift step. A little shock or quiver passed over him, and at the moment all that was explicable about it was something associated with regret. Joe Lake whistled and stared. I haven't met her, he muttered. That's the Sago Lily, said Withers. Reckon I'm going to carry that bucket, went on Joe. And queer yourself of all the other women who's been to the spring.

Don't do it, Joe, advised the traitor. But her buckets bigger, protested Joe weekly. That's true. But you ought to know, Mormons. if she'd come first all right, and she didn't. Why, don't single her out? Joe kept his seat. The girl came to the spring.

A low good morning came from under the hood. Then she filled her bucket and started home. Sheffert observed that this time she wore moccasins, and she carried the heavy bucket with ease. When she disappeared, he had again the vague, inexplicable sensation of regret. joe lake breathed heavily reckon i've got to get me a woman like her he said but the formage of a coast tone was lacking and he appeared thoughtful whithers first took shefford to the building used for a school it was somewhat larger than the other houses had only one room with two doors and several windows it was full of children of all sizes and ages sitting on rude bored benches there were half a hundred of them sturdy healthy rosy boys and girls clad in home-made garments the young woman teacher was as embarrassed as her pupils were shy and the visitors withdrew without having heard a word of lesson

whithers then called upon smith henager and beale and their wives shefford found himself cordially received and what little he did say showed him how he would be listened to when he cared to talk these folks were plain and kindly and he found that there was nothing about them to dislike the men appeared mild and quiet and when not conversing seemed austere the repose of the women was only on the surface underneath he felt their intensity especially in many of the younger women whom he met in the succeeding hour did he feel this power of restrained emotion this surprised him as did also the fact that almost every one of them was attractive and some of them were exceedingly pretty he became so interested in them all as a whole that he could not individualize one they were as widely different in appearance and temperament as women of any other class but it seemed a shepherd that one common trait united them and it was a strange checked yearning for something that he could not discover was it happiness they certainly seemed to be happy far more than those millions of women who were chasing phantoms were they really sealed wives as withers believed and was this unnatural wifehood responsible for the strange intensity at any rate he returned the camp with a conviction that he had stumbled upon a remarkable situation he had been told the last names of only three women and their husbands were in the village the names of the others were ruth rebecca joan he could not recall them all they were the mothers of these beautiful children the children the names of the others of these beautiful children the very women-the the fathers, as far as he was concerned, were as intangible as myths.

Shepard was an educated clergyman, a man of the world, and as such, new women in his way. Mormons might be strange and different, yet the fundamental truth was that all over the world mothers of children were wives. There was a relation between wife and mother that did not need to be named to be felt, and he divined from this, whatever the situation of these lonely and hidden women, they knew themselves to be wives. Shefford absolutely satisfied himself on that score. If they were miserable, they certainly did not show it, and the question came to him how just was the criticism of uninformed men. His judgment of Mormons had been established by what he had heard and read, rather than what

he knew. He wanted now to have an open mind. He had studied the totism. and exogamy of the primitive races, and here was his opportunity to understand polygamy. One wife for one man, that was the law. Mormons broke it openly. Gentiles broke it secretly. Mormons acknowledged all their wives and protected their children. Gentiles acknowledged one wife only. Unquestionably, the Mormons were wrong, but were not the Gentiles still more wrong? The following day Joe Lake appeared reluctant to start for Stonebridge with Withers. Joe, you'd better come along, said the trader dryly. I reckon you've seen a little too much of the Sago Lily.

Lake offered no reply, but it was evident from his sober face that Withers had not hit short of the mark. Withers rode off with a parting word to Shepard, and finally Joe somberly mounted his bay and trotted down the valley. As Neste Bega had gone off somewhere to visit Indians, Shefford was left alone. He went into the village and made himself useful and agreeable. He made friends with the children, and he talked to the women until he was hoarse. Their ignorance of the world was a spur to him, and never in his life had he had such an attentive audience.

And as he showed no curiosity, asked no difficult questions, gradually what reserve he had noted wore away. and the end of the day saw him on a footing with them that withers had predicted by the time several days had passed it seemed from the interest and friendliness of these women that he might have lived long among them he was possessed of wit and eloquence and information which he freely gave and not with selfish motive he liked these women he liked to see the sombre shade pass from their faces to see them brighten he had met the girl mary at the spring and along the path but he had not yet seen her face he was always looking for her hoping to meet her and confessed to himself that the best of the day for him were the morning and the evening visits she made to the spring nevertheless for some reason hard to devine he was reluctant to seek her deliberately always while he had listened to her neighbor's talk he had hoped they might let fall something about her but they did not. He received an impression that she was not so intimate with the others as he had supposed. They all made one big family. Still, she seemed a little outside. He could

bring no proofs to strengthen this idea. He merely felt it, and many of his feelings were independent of intelligent reason. Something had been added to curiosity, that was sure. It was his habit to call upon Mother Smith in the afternoons. from the first her talk to him hinted of a leaning toward thought of making him a mormon her husband and the other men took up her cue and spoke of their religion casually at first but gradually opening their minds to free and simple discussion of their faith shefford lent respectful attention he would rather have been a mormon than an atheist and apparently they considered him the latter and were earnest to save his soul shefford knew that he could never be one any more than the other he was just at sea but he listened and he found them simple in faith blind perhaps but loyal and good it was noteworthy that mother smith happened to be the only woman in the village who had ever mentioned religion to him she was old of a past generation the young women belonged to the present shefford pondered the significant difference every day made more steadfast his impression of the great mystery that was like a twining shadow round these women yet in the same time many little ideas shifted and many new characteristics became manifest

this last was of course the result of acquaintance he was learning more about the villagers he gathered from keen interpretation of subtle words and looks that here in this lonely village the same as in all the rest of the villagers he gathered from keen interpretation of subtle words and looks that here in this lonely village the same as in all the rest of the rest of the villages the world where women were together, there were cliques, quarrels, dislikes, loves, and jealousies. The truth, once known to him, made him feel natural and fortified his confidence to meet the demands of an increasingly interesting position. He discovered, with somewhat grim amusement, that a clergyman's experience in a church full of women had not been entirely useless. One afternoon, he let fall a careless remark that was a single of a single person.

subtle question in regard to the girl mary whom withers called the sago lily in response he received an answer couched in the sweet poisoned honey of women's jealousy he said no more certain ideas of his were strengthened and straightway he became thoughtful that afternoon late as he did his camp chores he watched for her but she did not come then he decided to go see her but even the decision and the strange thrill it imparted did not change his reluctance twilight was darkening the valley when he reached her house and the shadows were thick under the pinions there was no light in the door or window he saw a white shape on the porch and as he came down the path it rose it was a light in the door or window he saw a white shape on the porch and as he came down the path it rose it was was the girl Mary, and she appeared startled. Good evening, he said. It's Shepard. May I stay and talk a little while? She was silent for so long that he began to feel awkward. I'd be glad to have you, she replied finally. There was a bench on the porch, but he preferred to sit upon a blanket on the step.

I've been getting acquainted with everybody except you, he went on. I have been here, she replied. that might have been a woman's speech but it certainly had been made in a girl's voice she was neither shy nor embarrassed nor self-conscious as she stood back from him he could not see her face in the dense twilight i've been wanting to call on you she made some slight movement shefford felt a strange calm yet he knew the moment was big and potent won't you sit here he asked she complied with his wish and-and-auched and his wish and he knew that moment was big and he could not yet-you sit here he asked she complied with his wish and then he saw her face though dimly in the twilight and it struck him mute but he had no glimpse such as flashed upon him from under her hood the other night he thought of a white flower in shadow and received his first impression of the rare and perfect lily withers had said graced the wild canyon she was only a girl she sat very still looking straight before her and seemed to be waiting listening shefford saw the quick rise and fall of her bosom i want to talk he began swiftly hoping to put her at ease every one here has been good to me and i've talked oh for hours and hours but the thing in my mind i haven't spoken of i've never asked any questions that makes my part so strange

I want to tell why I came out here. I need someone who will keep my secret and perhaps help me. Would you? Yes, if I could, she replied, You see, I've got to trust you or one of these other women. You're all Mormons. I don't mean that's anything against you. I believe you're all good and noble.

But the fact makes what makes a liberty of speech impossible. What can I do? Her silence probably meant that she did not know. Shefford sensed less strain in her and more excitement. He believed he was on the right track and did not regret his impulse. Even had he regretted it, he would have gone on, for opposed to caution and intelligence was his driving mystic force. Then he told her the truth about his boyhood,

his ambition to be an artist, his renunciation to his father. father's hope, his career as a clergyman, his failure in religion, and the disgrace that had made him a wanderer. Oh, I'm sorry, she said. The faint starlight shone on her face, in her eyes, and if he ever saw beauty and soul, he saw them then. She seemed deeply moved. She had forgotten herself.

She betrayed girlhood then. All the quick sympathy, the wonder, the sweetness of a heart, innocent, and untutored. she looked at him with great starry questioning eyes as if they had just become aware of his presence as if a man had been strange to her thank you it's good of you to be sorry he said my instinct guided me right perhaps you'll be my friend i will be if i can she said but can you be i don't know i've never had a friend i-but sir i mustn't talk of myself oh i'm afraid i can't help you how strange the pathos of her voice almost he believed she was in need of help or sympathy or love but he could not wholly trust the judgment formed from observation of a class different from hers maybe you can help me let's see he said i don't seek to make you talk of yourself but you're a human being a girl almost a woman you're not dumb but even a nun can talk a nun what is that well a nun is a sister of mercy a woman consecrated to god who has renounced the world in some ways you mormon women here resemble nuns it is sacrifice that nails you in the same way-morrow's the man who has renounced the world in some ways you mormon women here resemble nuns It is sacrifice that nails you in this lonely valley.

You see how I talk? One word one thought brings another, and I speak what perhaps should be unsaid, and it's hard because I feel I could unburden myself to you. Tell me what you want, she said. Shefford hesitated and became aware of the rapid pound of his heart. More than anything, he wanted to be fair to this girl. He saw that she was warming to his influence.

her shadowy eyes were fixed upon him the starlight growing brighter shone on her golden hair and white face i'll tell you presently he said i've trusted you i'll trust you with all but let me have my own time this is so strange a thing my wanting to confide in you it's selfish perhaps i have my own acts to grind i hope i won't wrong you that's why i'm going to be perfectly frank i might wait for days to get better acquainted but the impulse is on me i've been so interested in all you mormon women the fact the meaning of this hidden village is so so terrible to me but that's none of my business i have spent many afternoons and evenings with these women at different cottages. You do not mingle with them. They are lonely, but have no such loneliness as yours. I have passed here every night, no light, no sound. I can't help thinking. Don't censor me or be afraid, or draw within yourself, just because I must think. I may be all wrong, but I'm curious. I wonder about you. Who are you? Mary, Mary what? Maybe I really don't want to know. I came with selfish motive, and now I'd like to, to, what shall I say?

Make your life a little less lonely, for the while I'm here. That's all. It needn't offend. And if you accepted, how much easier I can tell you my secret. You are a Mormon, and I, well, I'm only a wanderer in these wilds, but we might help each other. Have I made a mistake? No, no, she cried almost wildly. we can be friends then you will trust me help me yes if i dare surely you may dare what the other women would she was silent and the wistfulness of her silence touched him he felt contrition he did not stop to analyze his own emotions but he had an inkling that once the strange situation was ended he would have food for a reflection what struck him most now was the girl's blanched face the strong nervous clasp of her hands the visible tumult of her bosom excitement alone could not be accountable for this he had not defined the cause for such agitation he was puzzled troubled and drawn irresistibly he had not said what he had planned to say the moment had given birth to his speech and it had flowed what was guiding him

mary he said earnestly tell me have you mother father sister brother something prompts me to ask that all dead gone years ago she answered how old are you eighteen i think i'm not sure you are lonely his words were gentle and divining oh god she cried lonely then has a man in a dream he beheld her weeping there was in her the unconsciousness of a child and the passion of a woman he gazed out into the dark shadows and up at the white stars and then at the bowed head with its mass of glinting hair but her agitation was no longer strange to him a few gentle and kind words had proved her undoing he knew then that whatever her life was no kindness or sympathy entered it presently she recovered and sat as before only whiter a face it seemed and with something tragic in her dark eyes she was growing cold and still again aloof more like those other mormon women i understand he said i'm not sorry i spoke i felt your trouble whatever it is do not retreat into your cold shell i beg of you let me trust you with my secret he saw her shake out of the cold apathy she wavered he felt an inexplicable sweetness in the power his voice seemed to have upon her she bowed her head in acquiescence and shevared began his story did she grow still like stone or was that only his vivid imagination. He told her of Venters and Bess, of Lassiter and Jane, of little

Faye Larkin, of the romance, and then the tragedy of Surprise Valley. So when my church disowned me, he concluded, I conceived the idea of wandering into the wilds of Utah to save Faye Larkin from that canyon prison. It grew to be the best and strongest desire of my life, I think, if I could save her that it would save me. I never loved any girl. I can't say that I love Faye Larkin. How could I when I've never seen her? And she's only a dream girl,

but I believe if she were to become a reality, a flesh and blood girl, that I would love her. That was more than Shefford had ever confessed to anyone, and it stirred him to his depths. Mary bent her head on her hands in strange stone-like rigidity. so here i am in the canyon country he continued withers tells me it is a country of rainbows both in the evanescent air and in the changeless stone always has a boy there had been for me some haunting promise some treasure at the foot of the rainbow i shall expect a curve of a rainbow to lead me down into surprise valley a dreamer you will call me but i have had strange dreams come true mary Do you think this dream will come true?'

She was silent so long that he repeated his question. Only in heaven, she whispered. He took her reply strangely, and a chill crept over him. You think my plan to seek, to strive, to find? You think that idle, vain? I think it noble. Thank God I've met a man like you. Don't praise me, he exclaimed hastily.

Only help me. Mary, will you answer a few little, questions, I swear by my honor I'll never reveal what you tell me. I'll try. He moistened his lips. Why did she seem so strange, so far away? The hovering shadow made him nervous. Always he had been afraid of the dark. His mood now admitted of unreal fancies. Have you ever heard of Faye Larkin, he asked, very low? Yes. Was there only one Faye Larkin? only one. Did you ever see her?

Yes, came the faint reply. He was grateful. How she might be breaking a faith with creed or duty. He had not dared the hope so much. All his inner being trembled at the portent of his next query. He had not dreamed it would be so hard to put or would affect him so powerfully. A warmth, a glow, a happiness pervaded his spirit,

and the chill, the gloom were as if they had never been. Where is Faylarkin now, he asked huskily? He bent over her, touched her, leaned close to catch her whisper. She is dead. Slowly, Shepard rose, with a sickening shock, and then in bitter pain he strode away into the starlight. End of Chapter 6. Chapter 7 Part 1 of the Rainbow Trail.

by Zane Gray. This Libravox recording is in the public domain. Sago Lilies Part 1 The Indian returned to camp that night, and early the next day, which was Sunday, Withers rode in, accompanied by a stout, gray-bearded personage, wearing a long black coat. Bishop Kane, this is my new man, John Shepard, said the traitor. Shefford acknowledged the introduction with a respectful courtesy evidently in order, and found himself being studied intently by clear blue eyes. The bishop appeared old, dry, and absorbed in thought.

He spoke quaintly, using in every speech some biblical word or phrase, and he had an air of authority. He asked Shefford to hear him preach at the morning service, and then he went off into the village. "'Guess he liked your looks,' remarked Withers. "'He certainly sized me up,' replied Shepard. "'Well, what could you expect, Durr? I never heard of a deal like this.

A handsome young fellow left alone with a lot of pretty Mormon women. You'll understand when you learn to know Mormons. Bishop Cain's a square old chap. Crazy on religion, maybe, but otherwise he's a good fellow. I made the best stand I could for you. the mormons over at stonebridge were huffy because i hadn't consulted them before fetching you over here if i had of course you never have gotten here it was joe lake who made it all right with them joe's well thought of and he certainly stood up for you i owe him something then replied shefford hope my obligations don't grow beyond me did you leave joe at stonebridge yes he wanted to stay i had work there that'll keep him awhile shepard we've got news of shad bad news the half-breeds cutting up rough his gang shot up some piutes over here across the line then he got run out of derango a few weeks ago for murder a posse of cowboys trailed him

him, but he slipped them. He's a fox. You know he was trailing us here. He left the trail, Noste Begas said. I learned at Stonebridge that Shad is well disposed toward Mormons. It takes the Mormons to handle Indians. Shad knows of this village, and that's why he shunted off our trail. But he might hang down in the pass and wait for us. I think I'd better go back to Kayenta alone, across country. You stay here till Joe and the the Indian think it's safe to leave. You'll be going up on the slope of Navajo to load a pack train, and from there it may be well to go down West Canyon to Red Lake and home over the divide the way you came. Joel decide what's best. You might as well buckle on a gun and get

used to it. Sooner or later, you'll have to shoot your way through. Shepard did not respond with his usual enthusiasm, and the omission caused a train. to scrutinize him closely. What's the matter, he queried? There's no light in your eye today. You look a little shady. I didn't rest well last night, replied Shepard. I'm depressed this morning, but I'll cheer up directly.

Did you get along with the women? Very well, indeed, and I've enjoyed myself. It's a strange, beautiful place. Do you like the women? Yes. Have you seen much of the Sago Lily? No, I carried her bucket one night and saw her only once again. I've been with the other women most of the time.

It's just as well you didn't run often into Mary. Joe sick over her. I never saw a girl with a face and form to equal hers. There's danger here for any man, Shepard, even for you who think you've turned your back on the world. Any of these Mormon women may fall in love with you. They can't love their husbands. That's how I figure it.

Religion holds them, not love. And the peculiar thing is this. Their second, third, and fourth wives all sealed. That means their husbands are old, have picked them out for youth and physical charms, have chosen the very opposite to their first wives, and then have hidden them here in this lonely hole. Did you ever imagine so terrible a thing? No, withers, I did not. Maybe that's what depressed you, anyway.

My hunch is worth taking. Be as nice as you can, Shepard. Lord knows it would be good for these poor women if every last one of them fell in love with you. That won't hurt them, so long as you keep your head, savvy. Perhaps I seem rough and coarse to a man of your class. Well, that may be, but human nature is human nature. And in this strange and beautiful place you might love an Indian girl.

let alone the sago lily that's all i sure feel better with that load off my conscience hope i don't offend no indeed i thank you withers replied shefford with his hand on the traitor's shoulder you are right to caution me i seem to be wild thirsting for adventure chasing a gleam in these unstable days i can't answer for my heart but i can for my honor these unfortunate women are as safe with me as as they are with you and Joe. Withers uttered a blunt laugh. See here, son, look things squarely in the eye. Men of violent, lonely toilsome lives, store up hunger for the love of women. Love of the strange woman, if you want to put it that way.

It's nature. It seems all the beautiful young women in Utah are corralled in this valley. When I come over here, I feel natural, but I'm not happy. I'd like to make love, too, to that flower-faced girl, and I'm not ashamed to own it. I've told Molly, my wife, and she understands. As for Joe, it's much harder for him. Joe's never had a wife or sweetheart. I tell you he's sick, and if I stay here a month, I'd be sick.

Withers had spoken with fire in his eyes and a grim humor on his lips, with uncompromising, brutal truth. What he admitted was astounding, the shepherd. but once spoken, not at all strange. The traitor was a man who spoke his inmost thought, and, what he said, suddenly focused Sheffert's mental vision, clear and whole upon the appalling significance of the tragedy of those women, especially of the girl whose life was lonelier, sadder,

darker than that of the others. Withers, trust me, replied Sheffert. All right, make the best of a bad job, said the trade. and went off about his tasks. Shepard and Withers attended the morning service, which was held in the schoolhouse. Exclusive of the children, every inhabitant of the village was there.

The women, except the few eldest, were dressed in white and looked exceedingly well. Manifestly, they had bestowed care upon this Sabbath morning's toilet. One thing surely this dress occasion brought out, and it was evident that the Mormon women were not poor, whatever their misfortunes might be. Jewelry was not wanting, nor fine lace, and they all wore beautiful wildflowers of a kind unknown to Shefford. He received many a bright

smile. He looked for Mary, hoping to see her face for the first time in the daylight, but she sat far forward and did not turn. He saw her graceful white neck, the fine lines of her throat, and her colorless cheek. He recognized her. yet in the light she seemed the stranger. The service began with a short prayer and was followed by the singing of a hymn. Nowhere had Shepard heard better music or sweeter voices. How deeply they affected him. Had any man ever fallen into a stranger adventure than this?

He had only to shut his eyes to believe it all a creation of his fancy. The square log cabin and its red mud between the chinks and a roof like an Indian Hogan, the old bishop in his black coat standing solemnly, his hand beating time to the tune, the few old women dignified and stately, the many young women, fresh and handsome, lifting their voices. Shepard listened intently to the bishop's sermon. In some respects it was the best he had ever heard. In others it was impossible for an intelligent man to regard seriously.

It was very long, lasting an hour and a half, and the parts that were helpful to Shefford came from the experience and wisdom of a man who had grown old in the desert. The physical things that had molded characters of iron, the obstacles that only strong patient men could have overcome. The making of homes in a wilderness showed the greatness of this alien band of Mormons. Shefford conceded greatness to them, but the strange religion, the narrowing down of the world to the soil of Utah, the intimations of prophets on earth who had direct converse with God, the austere self-conscious omnipotence of this old bishop. These were matters that Shefford felt he must understand better, and see more favorably if he were not to consider them impossible.

Immediately after the service, forgetting that his intention had been to get the long-waited-for look at Mary in the light of the sun, Shepard hurried back to camp and to a secluded spot among the cedars. Strikingly, it had come to him that the fault he had found in Gentile religion he now found in the Mormon religion. An old question returned to haunt him, were all religions the same in blindness, as far as he could see religion existed to uphold the founders of a church a creed the church of his own kind was a place where narrow men and women went to think of their own salvation they did not go there to think of others and now sheffert's keen mind saw something of mormonism and found it wanting bishop kane was a sincere good mistaken man he believed what he preached but that would not stand logic he taught blindness and mostly it appeared to be directed at the women was there no religion divorced from power no religion as good for one man as another no religion in the spirit of brotherly love nastebega's by nay brother that was love if not religion and perhaps the one and the other were the same shefford kept in mind an intention to ask noste baga what he thought of the mormons later when opportunity afforded he did speak to the indian noste baga threw away his cigarette and made an impressed of gesture that conveyed as much sorrow as scorn

the first mormon said god spoke to him and told him to go to a certain place and dig he went there and found the book of mormon it said follow me marry many wives go into the desert and multiply send your sons out into the world and bring us young women many young women and when the first mormon became strong with many followers he said again give to me part of your labor of your cattle and sheep of your silver that i may build me great cathedrals for you to worship him and i will commune with god and make it right and good that you have more wives that is mormonism naste bega you mean the mormons are great and good people blindly following a leader yes and the leader builds for himself not for them that is not religion he has no god but himself they have no god they are blind like the mochus who have the creeping growths on their eyes they have no god they can see and hear and feel who is with them day and night it was late in the afternoon when bishop kane rode through the camp and halted on his way to speak to shefford he was kind and fatherly young man are you open to faith he questioned gravely i think i am replied shefford thankful he could answer readily then come into the fold you are a lost sheep away on the desert i heard its cry god bless you visit me when you ride the stone bridge he flicked his horse with a cedar branch and trotted away beside the trader and presently the green-choked neck of the valley hid them from view shefford could not have said that he was glad to be left to be left

behind, and yet neither was he sorry. That Sabbath evening, as he sat quietly with Neste Bega, watching the sunset, gilding the peaks. He was visited by three of the young Mormon women, Ruth, Joan,

and Hester. They deliberately sought him, and merrily led him off to the village, and to the evening service of singing and prayer. Afterward, he was surrounded and made much of. He had been popular, before, but this was different.

When he thoughtfully wended his way, Campward, under the quiet stars, he realized that the coming of Bishop Kane had made a subtle change in the women. That change was at first hard to define. But from every point by which he approached it, he came to the same conclusion. The bishop had not objected to his presence in the village. The women became natural, free, unrestrained. A dozen or twenty young and attractive women thrown much into companionship with one man. He might become a Mormon.

The idea made him laugh. But upon reflection, it was not funny. It sobered him. What a situation. He felt instinctively that he ought to fly from this hidden valley. But he could not have done it, even if he had not been in the trader's employ. The thing was provokingly seductive. It was like an Arabian night's tale.

What could these strange, fatally bound women do? Would any one of them become involved in sweet toils such as were possible to him? He was no fool. Already eyes had flashed and lips had smiled. A thousand like thoughts whirled through his mind, and when he had calmed down somewhat, two things were not lost upon him. An intricate, fascinating situation. with no end to its possibilities threatened and attracted him and the certainty that whatever changed the bishop had inaugurated it had made these poor women happier the latter fact weighed more with shefford than fears for himself

his word was given to withers he would have felt just the same without having bound himself still in the light of the trader's blunt philosophy and of his own assurance that he was no fool shefford felt it incumbent upon him to accept a belief that there were situations no man could resist without an anchor the ingenuity of man could not have devised a stranger a more enticing a more overpoweringly fatal situation fatal in that it could not be left untried shefford gave in clicked his teeth as he let himself go and suddenly he thought of her whom these bitter women called the Sago Lily. The regret that had been his returned with thought of her, the saddest disillusion of his life. The keenness disappointment. The strangest pain would always be associated with her.

He had meant to see her face for once, clear in the sunlight, so that he could always remember it, and then never go near her again. And now it came to him that if he did see much of her, these other women would find him, like the stone wall in the valley. Folly, perhaps it was, but she would be safe, maybe happier. When he decided, it was certain that he trembled. Then he buried the memory of Faye Larkin. Next day, Shepard threw himself with all the boy left in him into the work and play of the village. He helped the women and made games for the children, and he talked or listened. In the early evening,

he called on Ruth, chatted a while, and went on to see Joan, and from her to another. When the valley became shrouded in darkness, he went unseen down the path to Mary's lonely home. She was there a white shadow against the black. When she replied to his greeting, her voice seemed full, broken, eager to express something that would not come. She was happier to see him than she should have been, Shefford thought, he talked swiftly eloquently about whatever he believed would interest her he stayed long and finally left not having seen her face except in pale starlight and shadow and the strong clasp of her hand remained with him as he went away under the pinions days passed swiftly joe lake did not return the indian rode in and out of camp watered and guarded the pack burrows and the mustangs Shefford grew strong and active. He made gardens for the women. He cut cords of firewood. He

damned the brook and made an irrigation ditch. He learned to love these fatherless children, and they loved him. In the afternoon there was leisure for him and for the women. He had no favorites, and let the occasion decide what he should do and with whom he should be. They had little parties at the cottages and picnics under the cedars. He rode up and down the valley with Ruth, who could ride a horse as no other girl he had ever seen. He climbed with Hester. He walked with Joan. Mostly he contrived to include several at once in the little excursions,

though it was not rare for him to be out alone with one. It was not a game he was playing. More and more, as he learned to know these young women, he liked them better he pitied them he was good for them it shamed him heard him somehow to see how they tried to forget something when they were with him not improbably a little of it was coquetry as natural as a laugh to any pretty woman but that was not what hurt him it was to see ruth or rebecca as the case might be full of life and fun thoroughly enjoying some jest or play all of a sudden be strangely recalled from the wholesome pleasure of a girl to become a deep and sombre woman the crimes in the name of religion how he thought of the blood and the ruin laid at the door of religion he wondered if that were so with nesta bega's religion and he meant to find out some day the women he liked best he imagined the least religious and they made less effort to attract him every night in the dark he went to mary's home and sat with her on the porch he never went inside for all he knew his visits were unknown to her neighbors still it did not matter to him if they found out

to her he could talk as he had never talked to any one she liberated all his thought and fancy he filled her mind as there had been a change in the other women so was there in mary however it had no relation to the bishop's visit the time came when shefford could not but see that she lived and dragged through the long day for the sake of those few hours in the shadow of the stars with him she seldom spoke she had but she lived and dragged through the long day for the sake of those few hours in the shadow of the stars with him she seldom spoke she listened wonderful to him sometimes she laughed and it seemed the sound was a ghost of childhood pleasure when he stopped to consider that she might fall in love with him he drove the thought from him when he realized that his folly had become sweet and that the sweetness imperiously drew him he likewise cast off that thought the present was enough and if he had any treasure of mind and heart he gave them to her she never asked him to stay but she showed that she wanted him to that made it hard to go still he never stayed late the moment of parting was like a break her good-bye was sweet low music it lingered on his ear it bade him come to-morrow night and it sent him away into the valley to walk under the stars a man fighting against himself One night at a parting as he tried to see her face in the wan glow of a clouded moon, he said, I have been trying to find a sago lily.

Have you never seen one? she asked. No, he meant to say something with a double meaning in reference to her face in the name of the flower. But her unconsciousness made him hold his tongue. She was wholly unlike the other women. I'll show you where the lilies grow, she said. When? Tomorrow, early in the afternoon. I'll come to the spring. Then I'll take you. End of Chapter 7, Part 1. Chapter 7, Part 2 of the Rainbow Trail by Zane Gray. This Libravox recording is in the public domain.

Sago Lilies, Part 2. Next morning, Joe Lake returned, and in part it news that was perturbing to Shepard. Reports of Shad had come in to Stonebridge from different Indian villages. Joe was not inclined to linger long at the camp and favored taking the trail with the pack train. Shepard discovered that he did not want to leave the valley, and the knowledge made him reflective. That morning he did not go into the village and stayed in camp alone. A depression weighed upon him. It was dispelled, however, early in the afternoon by the sight. of a slender figure in white,

swiftly coming down the path to the spring. He had an appointment with Mary to go see the Sago Lilies. Everything else slipped his mind. Mary wore the long black hood that effectually concealed her face. It made of her a woman, a Mormon woman,

and strangely belied the lithe form and the braid of gold hair. Good day, she said, putting down her bucket, do you still want to go to see the lilies yes replied sheffert with a short laugh can you climb i'll go where you go then she set off under the cedars and shefford stalked at her side he was aware that neste bega watched them walk away this day so far at least shefford did not feel talkative and mary had always been one who mostly listened They came at length to a place where the wall rose and low smooth swells, not steep, but certainly at an angle, Shepard would not of his own accord have attempted to scale.

Light quick and sure as a mountain sheep, Mary went up the first swell to an offset above. Sheffered in a maze and admiration, watched the little moccasins as they flashed and held on to the smooth rock. When he essayed to follow her, he slipped and came to grief. A second attempt resulted in like failure. Then he backed away from the wall, to run forward fast and up the slope, only to slip halfway up and fall again. He made light of the incident, but she was solicitous. When he assured her he was unhurt, she said he had agreed to go where she went.

But I'm not a bird, he protested. take off your boots then you can climb when we get over the wall it'll be easy she said in his stocking feet he had no great difficulty walking up the first bulge of the walls and from there she led him up the strange waves of wind-worn rock he could not attend to anything save the red polished rock under him and so saw little the ascent was longer than he would have imagined and steep enough to make him pant but a-butt but at last a huge round summit was reached from here he saw down into the valley where the village lay but for the lazy columns of blue smoke curling up from the pinions the place would have seen uninhabited the wall on the other side was about level with the one upon which he stood beyond rose other walls and cliffs up and up to the great towering peaks between which the green and black mountain loomed facing the other way shefford had only a restricted view there were low crags and smooth stone ridges between which were aisles green with cedar and pinion shefford's companion headed toward one of these and when he had followed her a few steps he could no longer see down into the valley the mormon village where she lived was as if it were lost and when it vanished shefford felt a difference scarcely had the third thought passed when Mary removed the dark hood. Her small head glistened like gold in the sunlight.

Shefford caught up with her and walked at her side, but could not bring himself at once deliberately to look at her. They entered a narrow, low-walled lane, where cedars and pinions grew thickly, their fragrance, heavy in the warm air, and flowers, began to show in the grassy patches. This is Indian paintbrush, he said. pointing to little low scarlet flowers. A gray sage bush with beautiful purple blossoms, she called purple sage. Another bush, with yellow flowers, she named Buckbrush. And there were vermilion cacti and low flat mounds of lavender daisies,

which she said had no name. A whole mossy bank was covered with lace-like green leaves, and tiny blossoms the color of violets, which she called loco. Loco, is this what makes horses go crazy when they eat it, he asked. It is indeed, she said, laughing. When she laughed it was impossible not to look at her. She walked a little in advance. Her white cheek and temple seemed framed in the gold of her hair.

How white her skin! But it was like pearl, faintly veined and flushed. The profile, clear-cut and pure, appeared cold, almost stern. He knew now that she was singularly beautiful, though he had yet to see her full face. They walked on, quite suddenly, the lane opened out between two rounded bluffs, and Shepard looked down upon a grander and more awe-inspiring scene than ever he had viewed in his dreams. What appeared to be a green mountainside sloped endlessly down to a plain, and that rolled and billowed away to a boundless region of strange,

carved rock. The greatness of the scene could not be grasped in a glance. The slope was long, the plain, not as level as it seemed to be, on first sight. Here and there, round red rocks, isolated and strange, like lonely castles, rose out of the green. Beyond the green, all the earth seemed naked, showing smooth, glisting bones. It was a formidable wall of rock that flung itself up in the distance, carved, into a thousand canyon in walls and domes and peaks, and there was not a straight, nor broken, nor a jagged line, in all that wildness. The color low down was red, dark blue, and purple in the clefts, yellow upon the heights, and in the distance rainbow-hued, a land of curves and color.

Shefford uttered an exclamation. That's Utah, said Mary, I come often to say, sit here. You see that winding blue line there? That's San Juan Canyon, and the other dark line, that's Escalante Canyon. They wind down into this great purple chasm, way over here to the left, and that's the Grand Canyon. They say not even the Indians have been in there. Shefford had nothing to say. The moment was one of subtle and vital assimilation, such places as this to be unknown to men. What strength, what wonder, what help, what glory, just to sit there an hour, slowly, and

appallingly to realize. Something came to shepherd from the distance, out of the purple canyon, and from those dim, wind-worn peaks. He resolved to come here to this promontory again and again, alone and in humble spirit, and learned to know why he had been silenced, why peace pervaded his soul. It was with this emotion upon him that he turned to find his companion watching him. Then for the first time he saw her face fully and was thrilled, that chance had reserved the privilege for this moment.

It was a girl's face, he saw, flower-like, lovely, and pure as a madonnas, and strangely, tragically sad. The eyes were large, dark gray, the color of the sage. They were as clear as the air. air which made distant things close, and yet they seemed full of shadows, like a ruffled pool under midnight stars. They disturbed him. Her mouth had the sweet curves and redness of youth, but it showed bitterness, pain, and repression.

Where are the sago lilies, he asked suddenly? Farther down, it's too cold up here for them, come, she said. He followed her down a winding trail, down and down, till the great of the great of the green plain rose to blot out the scrawled wall of rock down into a verdant canyon where a brook made swift music over stones where the air was sultry and hot laden with a fragrant breath of flower and leaf this was a canyon of summer and it bloomed the girl bent and plucked something from the grass here's a white lily she said there are three colors the yellow and pink ones are deeper down town in the canyon. Shefford took the flower and regarded it with great interest. He had never seen such an exquisite thing. It had three large petals, curving cup-like, of a whiteness purer than new fallen snow, and a heart of rich warm gold. Its fragrance was so faint as to be almost indistinguishable,

yet of a haunting, unforgettable sweetness. And even while he looked at it, the petals drooped, and their whiteness shaded and the gold paled. In a moment the flower was wilted. I don't like to pluck the lily, said Mary. They die so swiftly. Shepard saw the white flowers everywhere in the open, sunny places along the brook. They swayed with stately grace in the slow, warm wind.

They seemed like three-pointed stars shining out of the green. He bent over one with a particularly lofty stem, and after a close survey of it he rose to look at her face. His action was plainly one of comparison. She laughed and said it was foolish for the women to call her the Sago Lily. She had no coquetry. She spoke, as she would have spoken of the stones at her feet. She did not know that she was beautiful.

Shefford imagined there was some resemblance in her to the lily, the same whiteness, the same rich gold, and more striking than either, a strange, rare quality of beauty, of life, intangible, as something fleeting, the spirit that had swiftly faded from the plucked flower. Where had the girl been born, what had her life been? Shefford was intensely curious about her. She seemed as different from any other woman he had known, as this rare canyon lily was different from the tame flowers at home.

On the return up the slope she outstripped him. She climbed lightly and tirelessly. When he reached her upon the promontory, there was a stain of red in her cheeks, and her expression had changed. Let's go back up over the rocks, she said. I've not climbed four for so long. I'll go where you go, he replied. Then she was off, and he followed.

She took to the curves of the bare rocks and climbed. He sensed a spirit released in her. It was so strange, so keen, so wonderful to be with her, and when he did catch her, he feared to speak lest he break his mood. Her eyes grew dark and daring, and often she stopped the look away across the wavy sea of stones with something beyond the great walls. When they got high, the wind blew her hair loose, and it flew out a golden stream with the sun bright upon it.

he saw that she changed her direction which had been in line with the two peaks and now she climbed toward the heights they came to a more difficult ascent where the stone still held to the smooth curves yet was marked by steep bulges and slants and crevices here she became a wild thing she ran she leaped she would have left him far behind had he not called then she appeared to remember him and waited her face had now lost its whiteness it was flushed rosy warm where did you ever learn to run over rocks this way he panted all my life i've climbed she said ah it's good to be up on the walls again to feel the wind to sea thereafter he kept close to her no matter what the effort he would not miss a moment of her if he could help it she was wonderful he imagined she must be like an indian girl or a savage who loved the lofty places and the silence. When she leaped, she uttered a strange, low, sweet cry of wildness and exultation. Sheffered guessed. She was a girl freed from her prison, forgetting herself, living again youthful hours.

She did not forget him. She waited for him at the bad places, lent him a strong hand, and sometimes let it stay long in his clasp. tireless and agile sure-footed as a goat fleet and wild she leaped and climbed and ran until shefford marvelled at her this adventure was indeed fulfilment of a dream perhaps she might lead him to the treasure at the foot of the rainbow but that thought sad with memory daring forth from its grave was irrevocably linked with a girl who was dead he could not remember her in the presence of this wonderful creature, who was as strange as she was beautiful. When Shepard reached for the brown hand, stretched forth, to help him in a leap, when he felt its strong clasp, the youth and vitality and life of it, he had the fear of a man who was running toward a precipice and who could not draw back.

This was a climb, a lark, a wild race to the Mormon girl, bound now in the village, and by the very freedom of it, she betrayed her bonds to shefford it was also a wild race but toward one sure goal he dared not name they went on and at length hand in hand even where no steep step or wide fissure gave reason for the class but she seemed unconscious. They were nearing the last height of bare eminence when she broke from him and ran up the smooth stone. When he surmounted it, she was standing on the very summit her arms wide,

her full breast heaving, her slender body, straight as an Indian, her hair flying in the wind and blazing in the sun. She seemed to embrace the west, to reach for something afar, to offer herself to the wind and distance. her face was scarlet from the exertion of the climb her broad brow was moist her eyes had the piercing light of an eagle's though now they were dark shefford instinctively grasped the essence of the strange spirit primitive and wild she was not the woman who had met him at the spring she had dropped some side of her with that mormon hood and now she stood totally strange

she belonged up here he divined she was part of that wildness she must have been born and brought up in loneliness where the wind blew and the peaks loomed and silence held dominion the sinking sun touched the rim of the distant wall and as if in parting regret shone with renewed golden fire and the girl was crowned as with a glory shefford loved her then realizing it he thought he might have loved her before but that did not matter when he was certain of it now he trembled a little fearfully though without regret everything pertaining to his desert experience had been strange this was the strangest of all the sun sank swiftly and instantly there was a change in the golden light quickly it died out the girl changed us swiftly she seemed to remember herself and sat down as if suddenly weary shefford went closer and seated himself beside her the sun is set we must go she said but she made no movement whenever you are ready replied he just as the blaze died out of her eyes so the flush faded out of her face the whiteness stole back and with it the sadness he had to bite his tongue to keep from telling her what he felt to keep from pouring out a thousand questions but the privilege of having seen her of having been with her when she had forgotten herself that he believed was enough it had been wonderful it had made him love her but it need not add to the tragedy of her life Whatever that was, he tried to eliminate himself, and he watched her.

Her eyes were fixed upon the gold-rimmed ramparts of the distant wall in the west. Plain it was how she loved that wild upland, and there seemed to be some haunting memory of the past in her gaze, some happy part of life, agonizing to think of now. We must go, she said, and rose. Sheffered rose to accompany her. she looked at him, and her haunting eyes seemed to want him to know that he had helped her to forget the present, to remember girlhood, and that somehow she would always associate a

wonderful happy afternoon with him. He defined that her silence then was a Mormon sealed on lips. Mary, this has been the happiest, the best, the most revealing day of my life, he said simply. swiftly as if startled she turned and faced down the slope. At the top of the wall above the village she put on the dark hood and with it that somber something which was Mormon. Twilight had descended into the valley and shadows were so thick, Shefford had difficulty in finding Mary's bucket. He filled it at the spring and made offer to carry it home for her which she declined. You'll come tonight later, she asked.

Yes, he replied, hurriedly promising. Then he watched her white form slowly glide down the path to disappear in the shadows. Noste Bega and Joe were busy at the campfire. Shefford joined them. This night he was uncommunicative. Joe peered curiously at him in the flare of the blaze. Later, after the meal, when Shefford appeared restless and strode to and fro, joe spoke up roughly better hang around camp to-night shefford heard but did not heed nevertheless the purport of the remark which was either jealousy or admonition haunted him with the possibility of its meaning

he walked away from the camp-fire under the dark pinions out into the starry open and every step was hard to take unless it pointed toward the home of the girl whose beauty and sadness and mystery had bewitched him after what seemed hours he took the well-known path toward her cabin and then every step seemed lighter he divined he was rushing to some fate he knew not what the porch was in shadow he peered in vain for the white form against the dark background in the silence he seemed to hear his heart beats thick and muffled some distance down the path he heard the sound of hoofs withdrawing in the gloom of a cedar he watched soon he made out moving horses with riders they filed past him to the number of half a score like a flash of fire the truth burned him mormons come for one of those mysterious night visits to sealed wives sheffert stalked far down the valley into the lonely silence and the night shadows under the walls end of chapter seven part two chapter eight part one of the rainbow trail by sane gray this librivox recording is in the public domain the hogan of nastebega part one The home of Nastebega lay far up the cedared slope, with the craggy yellow cliffs and the black canyon and the pine-fringed top of Navajo Mountain behind, and to the fore the vast rolling descent of cedar groves and sage flats and sandy washes.

No dim, dark range made bold outline along the horizon. The stretch of gray and purple and green extended to the blue line of sky. Down the length of one sage level, Shefford saw a long lane where the brush and the grass had been beaten flat. This, the Navajo said, was a track where the young braves had raced their Mustangs and had striven for supremacy before the eyes of maidens and the old people of the tribe. Noste Bega, did you ever race here? asked Shefford. I am a chief by birth, but I was stolen from my home, and now I cannot ride well.

enough to race the braves of my tribe, the Indian replied bitterly. In another place, Joe Lake halted his horse and called Shepard's attention to a big yellow rock lying along the trail, and then he spoke in Navajo to the Indian. I've heard of this stone. Isende, aha, said Joe, after Nastebega had spoken. Get down and let's see. Shefford dismounted, but the Indian kept his seat in the saddle. Joe placed a big hand on the stone and tried to move it.

According to Sheffert's eye measurement, the stone was nearly oval, perhaps three feet high by a little over two in width. Joe threw off his sombrero, took a deep breath, and bending over, clasped the stone in his arms. He was an exceedingly heavy and powerful man, and it was plain to Shepard that he meant to lift the stone if that were possible. Joe's broad shoulder strained, flattened, his arms bulged, his joints cracked, and his neck corded, and his face turned black. By gigantic effort he lifted the stone and moved it about six inches. Then, as it released his hold, he fell, and when he sat up, his face was wet with sweat.

Try it, he said to Shepard, with his lazy smile. See if you can heave it. Shefford was strong, and there had been a time when he took pride in his strength. Something in Joe's supreme effort, and in the gloom of the Indian's eyes, made Shefford curious about this stone. He bent over and grasped it as Joe had done. He braced himself and lifted with all his power, until a red blur obscured his sight, and shooting stars seemed to explode in his head,

but he could not even stir the stone. Sheffered, maybe you'll be able to heft it someday, observed Joe. Then he pointed to the stone and addressed Nastebega. The Indian shook his head and spoke for a moment. This is the Asende aha of the Navajos, explained Joe. The young braves are always trying to carry this stone. As soon as one of them can carry it, he is a man. He who carries it farthest is the biggest man,

and just so soon as any Indian can no longer live, it, he is old. Nastebega says the stone has been carried two miles in his lifetime. His own father carried it the length of six steps. Well, it's plain to me that I am not a man, said Shepard, or else I am old. Joe Lake drawled his lazy laugh, and mounting rode up the trail, but Shepard lingered beside the Indian. By nigh, said Nasta Vega, I am chief of my tribe, but I have never ever. been a man. I never lifted that stone. See what the pale-face education has done for the

Indian? The Navajo's bitterness made Shepard thoughtful. Could greater injury be done to a man than this, to rob him of his heritage of strength? Joe drove the bobbing, packed train of burrows into the cedars, where the smoke of the Hogan's curled upward, and soon the whistling of Mustangs, the barking of dogs, the bleeding of sheep, told of his reception, and presently Shefford was in the midst of an animated scene. Great, woolly, fierce dogs like wolves, ran out to meet the visitors. Sheep and goats were everywhere, and little lambs, scarcely able to walk, with others frisky and frolicsome. There were pure white lambs, and some that appeared to be painted, and some so beautiful with their fleecy walt.

white, all except black faces or ears or tails or feet. They ran right under, Nackew's legs, and bumped against Shefford, and kept bleeding their thin-piped welcome. Under the cedars surrounding the several Hogan's were Mustangs that took Shepard's eye. He saw an iron-gray with white mane, and the tail sweeping to the ground, and a fiery black, wilder than any other beast he had ever seen, and a pinto has wonderful. painted has the little lambs and most striking of all a pure cream-colored mustang with grace and fine lines and beautiful mane and tail and strange to see eyes as blue as azure this albino mustang came right up to shepherd in action in singular contrast with that of the others and showed a tame and friendly spirit toward him and knack-jaw indeed shepherd had reason to feel ashamed of knackyaw's

temper or jealousy the first indians to put in an appearance were a flock of children half naked with tangled manes of raven black hair and skin like golden bronze they appeared bold and shy by turns then a little sinewy man old and beaten and gray came out of the principal hogan he wore a blanket round his bent shoulders his name was hostin doten and it meant gentle man. His fine, old wrinkled face lighted with a smile of kindly interest. His squaw followed him, and she was as venerable as he. Shefford caught a glimpse of the shy, dark glenespas, Nostebega's sister, but she did not come out. Other Indians appeared, coming from adjacent Hogan's. Nostebega turned the Mustangs loose among those Shepard had noticed, and presently there rose a snorting, whistling, kicking, plunging melee. A cloud of dust hid them, and a thudding of swift hoofs told of a run through the cedars.

Joe Lake began picking over stacks of goat-skins and bags of wool that were piled against the Hogan. Wrecking will have one grand job packing out this load, he growled. It's not so heavy, but awkward to pack. It developed presently from tall. with the old Navajo, that this pile was only half of the load to be packed to Cayenta, and the other half was round the corner of the mountain in the camp of Paiutes. Hosting Doughton said he would send to the camp and have the Paiutes bring their share over. The suggestion suited Joe, who wanted to save his burrows as much as possible.

Accordingly, a messenger was dispatched to the Paiute camp, and shepherded with time on his hands and poignant memory to combat, decided to recall his keen interest in the Navajo, and learn, if possible, what the Indian's life was like. What would a day of his natural life be? In the gray of dawn, when the hush of the desert night, still lay deep over the land, the Navajo stirred in his blanket and began to chant to the morning light. It began very soft and low, a strange, broken murmur like the music of a brook, and has it swelled, that weird and mournful tone was slowly lost in one of hope and joy. The Indian soul was coming out of night, blackness, the sleep that resembled death,

into the day the light that was life. Then he stood in the door of his Hogan, his blanket round him, and faced the east. Night was lifting out of the clefts and ravines. The rolling cedar ridges and the sage flats were softly gray, with thin veils like smoke, mysteriously, rising and vanishing. The colorless rocks were changing. A long horizon-wide gleam of light, rosiest in the center, lay low down in the east, and momentarily brightened.

One by one the stars in the deep blue sky paled and went out, and the blue dome changed and lightened. night had vanished on invisible wings and silence broke to the music of a mocking-bird the rose in the east deepened a wisp of cloud turned gold dim distant mountains showed dark against the red and low down in a notch a rim of fire appeared over the soft ridges and valleys crept a wondrous transfiguration it was as if every blade of grass every leaf of sage every twig of sea every twig of sea every twig of sea and the soft ridges and valleys crept a wondrous transfiguration it was as if every blade of grass every leaf of sage every twig of cedar, the flowers, the trees, the rocks came to life at the sight of the sun. The red disc rose, and a golden fire burned over the glowing face of that lonely waste. The Navajo, dark stately inscrutable, faced the sun, his God. This was his great spirit, the desert was his mother, but the sun was his life. To the keeper of the winds and rains, to the master of light, to the maker

of fire to the giver of life, the Navajo sent up his prayer. Of all the good things of the earth, let me always have plenty. Of all the beautiful things of the earth, let me always have plenty. Peacefully, let my horses go, and peacefully let my sheep go. God of the heavens, give me many sheep and horses. God of the heavens, help me to talk straight. Goddess of the earth, my mother, let me walk straight. Now all is well. Now all is well. Now all is well.

Now all is well. Hope and faith were his. The chief would be born to save the vanishing tribe of Navajos. The bride would rise from a wind, kiss of the lilies in the moonlight. He drank from the clear cold spring, bubbling from under mossy rocks.

He went into the cedars and the tracks in the trails told him of the visitors of night. His Mustangs whistled to him from the ridgetops, standing clear with heads up and mains flying, and then trooped down through the sage.

The shepherd dogs, guardians of the flocks, barked him a welcome, and the sheep bleated, and the lambs pattered round him. In the Hogan, by the warm red fire, his woman baked his bread, and cooked his meat,

and he satisfied his hunger. Then he took choice meet to the hogan of a sick relative, and joined in the song and dance and the prayer that drove away the evil spirit of illness. Down in the valley in a sandy, sunny place, was his cornfield, and here he turned in the water from the ditch and worked a while, and went his contented way. He loved his people, his women, and his children. To his son, he said, be bold and brave, grow like the pie. work, and ride and play, that you may be strong.

Talk straight, love your brother, give half to your friend, honor your mother, that you may honor your wife, pray, and listen to your gods. Then with his gun and his Mustang, he climbed the slope of the mountain. He loved the solitude, but he was never alone. There were voices on the wind and steps on his trail. The lofty pine, the lichen rock, the tiny, Bluebell, the seared crag, all whispered their secrets. For him their spirits spoke. In the morning light, old stone face, the mountain was a red god calling him to the chase. He was a brother of the

eagle at home on the heights where the winds swept and the earth lay revealed below. In the golden afternoon with the warm sun on his back and the blue canyon at his feet, He knew the joy of doing nothing. He did not need rest, for he was never tired. The sage, sweet breath of the open, was thick in his nostrils. The silence that had so many whisperings was all about him. The loneliness of the wild was his. His falcon eye saw a Mustang and sheep,

the puffs of dust down on the cedar level, the Indian riding on a distant ridge. The gray walls and the blue clefts. He was home, still free, still wild, still unpainted. He saw with the eyes of his ancestors. He felt them around him. They had gone into the elements from which their voices came on the wind. They were the watchers on his trails.

At sunset he faced the west, and this was his prayer. Great Spirit, God of my fathers, keep my horses in the night, keep my sheep in the night keep my family in the night let me wake to the day let me be worthy of the light now all is well now all is well now all is well now all is well and he watched the sun go down and the gold sink from the peaks and the red die out of the west and the gray shadows creep out of the canyon to meet the twilight and the slow silent mysterious approach of night with its gift of stars night fell the white stars blinked the wind sighed in the cedars the sheep bleated the shepherd dogs bade the morning coyotes and the indian laid down in his blankets with his dark face tranquil in the starlight all was well in his lonely world phantoms hovered illness lingered injury and pain and death were there the shadows of a strange white hand flitted across the face of the moon but now all was well the navajo had prayed to the god of his fathers now all was well and this thought sheffered in revolt was what the white man had killed in the indian tribes was reaching out now to kill in this wild remnant of the navajos the padre the trapper of the trader the prospector and the missionary so the white man had killed the wilder and the missionary so the white

men had come. Some of him good, no doubt, but more of him evil. And the young brave learned a thirst that could never be quenched at the cold, sweet spring of his forefathers, and the young maiden burned with a fever in her blood, and lost the sweet, strange, wild, fancies of her tribe. End of Chapter 8, Part 1. Chapter 8, Part 2 of the Rainbow Trail by Zane Gray. This Libravox recording is in the public domain. The Hogan of Noste Bega, Part 2. Joe Lake came to Shefford and said, Wither's told me you had a mix-up with a missionary at Red Lake.

Yes, I regret to say, replied Shepard. About Glenn Nespa? Yes, Neste Bega's sister. Withers just mentioned it, who was the missionary? Willets. So Presby, the traitor, said. What he looked like? Shepard recalled the smooth, brown face, the dark eyes, the weak chin, the mild expression,

and the soft lax figure of the missionary. Can't tell by what you said when on Joe, but I'll bet a peso to a horsehair that that's the fellow who's been here. Old Holstein, Doughton, just told me. First visit he ever had from the priest with a long gown. That's what he called the missionary. These old fellows will never forget what's come down from father to son about the Spanish Padres. Well, anyway, Willits has been here twice after Glen Nespa. The old chap is impressed, but he doesn't want to let the girl go.

I'm inclined to think, let Nispa, would his leaf go, has stayed. She may be a Navajo, but she's a girl. She won't talk much. Where's Neste Bega? asked Shepard. He rode off somewhere yesterday. yesterday, perhaps, to the Paiute camp. These Indians are slow. They may take a week to pack that load over here. But if Nastybega or someone doesn't come with a message today, I'll ride over there myself. Joe, what do you think about this missionary? Queryed Shefford, bluntly.

Reckon there's not much to think, unless you see him or find out something. I heard of Willits before Wither spoke of him. He's friendly with Mormons. I understand he's he's worked for Mormon interests, some way or other. That's on the quiet, savvy. This matter of him coming after Glen Nespa, reckon that's all right. The missionaries all go after the young people. What be the use to try to convert the old Indians? No, the missionary's work is to educate the Indian, and, of course, the youngery is, the better.

You approve of the missionary? Shefford, if you understood a Mormon, you wouldn't ask that. Did you ever read or hear of Jacob Hamlin? Well, he was a Mormon missionary among the Navajos. The Navajos were as fierce as Apaches till Hamlin worked among them. He made them friendly to the white man. That doesn't prove he made converts of them, replied Shepard, still bluntly. No, for the matter of that, Hamlin, let religion alone.

He made presents, then traded with them, then taught them useful knowledge. Mormon or not, Shepard, I'll admit this, a good man strong with his body, and learned in ways with his hands, and with some knowledge of medicine, can better the condition of these Indians.

But just as soon as he begins to preach his religion, then his influence wanes. That's natural. These heathens have their ideals, their gods. Which the white man should leave them, replied Shepard, feelingly. that's a matter of opinion but don't let's argue willets is after glenespah and if i know indian girls he'll persuade her to go to his school persuade her then shefford broke off and related the incident that had occurred at red lake reckon any means justifies the end replied joe imperturbably let him talk love to her or rope her or beat her so long as he makes a christian of her

shefford felt a hot flush and had difficulty in controlling himself from this single point of view the mormon was impossible to reason with that too is a matter of opinion we won't discuss it continued shefford but if old holstein doton objects to the girl leaving and if nest de baga does the same won't that end the matter reckon not the end of the matter is glenespah if she wants to go she'll go Shefford thought best to drop the discussion. For the first time, he had occasion to be repelled by something in this kind and genial Mormon, and he wanted to forget it, just as he had, never talked about men to the sealed wives in the hidden valley, so he could not talk of women with Joe Lake. Nestay Begat did not return that day, but next morning a messenger came, calling Lake to the Paiute camp.

Shepard spent the morning high on the slope, learning more with every hour in the silence and loneliness, that he was stronger of soul than he had dared the hope, and that the added pain which had come to him could be born. Upon his return to camp in the Cedar Grove, he caught sight of Glen Nespa with a white man. They did not see him. When Shepard recognized Willets, an embarrassment, as well as an instinct, made him halt. and step into a bushy, low-branched cedar. It was not his intention to spy on them.

He merely wanted to avoid a meeting. But the missionary's hand on the girl's arm and her uplifted head, her pretty face, strange intent, troubled, struck Shefford with an unusual and irresistible curiosity. Willits was talking earnestly. Glemneseba was listening intently. Shefford watched long enough to see that the girl loved the miss. missionary, and that he reciprocated or was pretending.

His manner scarcely savored of pretense, Shefford concluded, as he slipped the way under the trees. He did not go at once in the camp, he felt troubled, and wished that he had not encountered the two. His duty in the matter, of course, was to tell Neste Bega what he had seen. Upon reflection, Shefford decided to give the missionary the benefit of the doubt, and if he really cared for the Indian girl and admit it or betrayed it, think all the better of him for the fact. Glenn Nespa was certainly pretty enough and probably lovable enough to please any lonely man in this desert.

The pain and the yearning in Sheffert's heart made him lenient. He had to fight himself, not to forget, for that was impossible, but to keep rational insane, when a white flower-like face haunted him and a voice called. The cracking of hard hoofs on stones caused him to turn toward the camp, and as he emerged from the cedar grove, he saw three Indian horsemen ride into the cleared space before the Hogan's. They were superbly mounted and well-armed, and impressed him as being different from Navajos.

Perhaps they were payutes. They dismounted and led the Mustangs down to the, the pool below the spring. Sheffert saw another Mustang, standing bridle down, and carrying a pack behind the saddle. Some squaws with children hanging behind her skirts were standing at the door of hosting Doughton's Hogan. Shafford glanced in to see Glen Nespa, pale, quiet, almost sullen. Willits stood with his hand spread.

The old Navajo's seemed face worked convulsively, as he tried to lift his bent full. to some semblance of dignity, and his voice rolled out sonoriously. Me no savvy, Jesus Christ, be hungry. Me no eat, Jesus Christ. Shepard drew back, as if he had received a blow. That had been hosting Doughton's reply to the importunities of the missionary. The old Navajo could work no longer. His sons were gone.

His squaw was worn out. He had no one save Glen Nespa to help him. She was young, strong. He was hungry. What was the white man's religion to him? With long swift stride, Sheffert entered to Hogan. Willits, seeing him, did not look so mild, as Shefford had him pictured in memory,

nor did he appear surprised. Shefford touched Holstein, Dolton's shoulder, and said, Tell me. The aged Navajo lifted a shaking hand. Me no savvy, Jesus Christ, be hungry. Me no eat, Jesus Christ. Shepard then made signs that indicated the missionary's intention to take the girl away. Him come, big talk, Jesus, all Jesus.

Me no want Glenn Nespa go, replied the Indian. Shefford turned to the missionary. Willets, is he a relative of the girl? There's some blood tie, I don't know what, but it's not close, replied Willits. Then don't you think you'd better wait till Nestle? St. Abega returns. He's her brother. What for demanded Willits? That Indian may be gone a week. She's willing to accompany the missionary. Shepard looked at the girl. Glen Nespa, do you want to go? She was shy, ashamed, and silent, but manifestly willing to accompany the missionary.

Shefford pondered a moment. How we hoped Neste Bega would come back. It was thought of the Indian that made Shepard stubborn. What his stand ought to be was hard to define unless he answered to impulse, and here in the wilds he had become imbued with the idea that his impulses and instincts were no longer false.

Willis what do you want with the girl? queried Shepard, coolly, and at the question he seemed to find himself. He peered deliberately and searchingly into the other's face. The missionary's gaze shifted and a tinge of red crept up from under his collar.

Absurd thing to ask a missionary, he burst out impatiently. Do you care for Glen Nespa? I care as God's disciple, who cares to save the soul of heathen, he replied, with the lofty tone of prayer. Has Glen Nespa no, no other interest in you except to be taught religion? The missionaries face flamed and his violent tremor showed that under his exterior there was a different man.

What right have you to question me, he demanded. You're an adventurer, an outcast. I have my duty here. I'm a missionary with church and state and government behind me. Yes, I'm an outcast, replied Shefford bitterly, and you may be all you say. But we're alone now, out here on the desert. And this girl's brother is absent.

You haven't answered me yet. Is there anything between you and Glen Nespa except religion? No, you insulting beggar. Shepard had forced the reply that he had expected, and which damned the missionary beyond any consideration. Willets, you are a liar, said Shepard steadily. And what are you, cried Willets, in shrill fury, I heard all about you, heretic, atheist, driven from your church,

hated and scorned for your blasphemy. Then he gave way to ungovernable rage, and cursed Shefford, as a religious fanatic, might have cursed the most debased sinners. Shefford heard, with the blood beating, strangling the pulse in his ears. Somehow the missionary had learned his secret, more likely from the Mormons in Stonebridge, and the terms of disgrace were coals of fire upon Shefford's head. Strangely, however, he did not bow to them, as had been, in his humble act in the past, when his colluminators had arraigned and flayed him.

Passion burned in him now, for the first time in his life, made a tiger of him, and these raw emotions new to him were difficult to control. You can't take the girl, he replied, when the other had ceased, not without her brother's consent. I will take her. Sheffered threw him out of the Hogan and strode after him. Willits had stumbled. When he straightened up, he was white and shaken.

He groped for the bridle of his horse while keeping his eyes upon Shepard, and when he found it, he whirled quickly, mounted, and rode off. Shepard saw him halt a moment under the cedars to speak with the three strange Indians, and then he galloped away. It came to Shepard then that he had been unconscious of the last strained moment of that encounter. He seemed all cold, tight, locked, and was amazed to find his hand on his gun. Verily, the wild environment had liberated strange instincts and impulses which he had answered. That he had no regrets proved how he had changed.

Shefford heard the old woman scolding, peering into the Hogan. He saw Glen Nespa flounce sullenly down, for all the world, like any other thwarted girl. Hosting Doughton came out and pointed down the slope at the departing missionary. Heep-talked Jesus. All-talk, all-Jesus, he exclaimed contemptuously. Then he gave Shepard a hard rap on the chest. Small talk, heap man. The matter appeared to be adjusted for the present,

but Shepard felt that he had made a bitter enemy, and perhaps a powerful one. He prepared and ate his supper, long that evening, for Joe Lake and Neste Bega did not put in an appearance. He observed that the three strange Indians, whom he took for Paiutes, kept to themselves, and so far as he knew, had no intercourse with anyone at the camp. This would not have seemed unusual, considering the taciturn habit of Indians, had he not remembered seeing Willits speak to the trio. What had he to do with them? Shepard was considering the same.

situation, with vague doubts, when to his relief the three strangers rode off into the twilight. Then he went to bed. He was awakened by violence. It was the gray hour before dawn. Dark forms knelt over him. A cloth pressed down hard over his mouth. Strong hands bounded, while other strong hands held him. He could not cry out.

He could not struggle. A heavy weight, evidently a man, held down his feet. Then he was rolled over, securely bound, and carried, to be thrown like a sack over the back of a horse. All this happened so swiftly as to be bewildering. He was too astounded to be frightened. As he hung head downward, he saw the legs of a horse and a dim trail. A stirrup swung to and fro, hitting him in the face.

He began to feel exceedingly uncomfortable, with a rush of blood to his head and, cramps in his arms and legs. This kept on and grew worse for what seemed a long time. Then the horse was stopped, and a rude hand tumbled him to the ground. Again he was rolled over on his face. Strong fingers plucked at his clothes, and he believed he was being searched. His captors were as silent as if they had been dumb. He felt when they took his pocketbook and his knife and all that he had.

Then they cut, tore, and stripped off all his clothing. He was lifted, carried a few steps, and dropped upon what seemed the soft, low mound, and left lying there, still tied and naked. Shefford heard the rustle of sage and the dull thud of hoofs as his assailants went away. His first sensation was one of a measurable relief. He had not been murdered. Robbery was nothing. And though roughly handled, he had been.

had not been hurt. He associated the assault with the three strange visitors of the preceding day. Still he had no proof of that. Not the slightest clue remained to help him ascertain who had attacked him. It might have been a short while or a long one. His mind was so filled with growing conjectures, but a time came when he felt cold. As he lay face down, only his back felt cold at first. He was grateful that he had not been. thrown upon the rocks. The ground under him appeared soft, spongy, and gave somewhat as he breathed. He had really sunk down a little in this pile of soft earth. The day was not far off, as he could tell, by the brightening of the gray. He began to suffer with the cold, and then

slowly he seemed to freeze and grow numb. In an effort to roll over upon his back, he discovered that his position, or is being bound, or the numbness of his muscles, was responsible for the fact that he could not move. Here was a predicament. It began to look serious. What would a few hours of the powerful sun do to his uncovered skin? Somebody would trail and find him. Still, he might not be found soon. He saw the sky lightened, turn rosy and then gold. The sun shone upon him. But some time he lapsed before he felt its warmth. All of a sudden

a pain, like a sting, shot through his shoulder. He could not see what caused it, probably a bee. Then he felt another upon his leg, and about simultaneously with it a tiny, fiery stab in his side. A

sickening sensation pervaded his body, slowly moving, as if poison had entered the blood of his veins. Then upon as from a hot wire entered the skin of his breast. Unmistakably it was a bite. By dint of great effort, he twisted his head to see a big red ant on his breast. Then he heard a faint sound, so exceedingly faint,

that he could not tell what it was like. But presently, his strained ears detected a slow, swift rustling, creeping sound, like the slipping rattle of an infinite number of tiny bits of moving gravel. Then it was a sound like the sweeping of wind-blown sand. Several hot bites occurred at once, and then, with his head twisted, he saw a red stream of ants pour out of the mound and spill over his quivering flesh.

In an instant he realized his position. He had been dropped intentionally upon an ant-heap, which had sunk with his weight, wedging him between the crusts, at the mercy of those terrible desert ants. a frantic effort to roll out proof futile as did another and another his violent muscular contractions infuriated the ants and in an instant he was writhing in pain so horrible and so unendurable that he nearly fainted but he was too strong to faint suddenly a bath of vitriol a stripping of his skin and red embers of fire thrown upon raw flesh could not have equaled this There was fury in the bites and poison in the fangs of these ants.

Was this an Indian's brutal trick, or was it the missionary's revenge? Shepard realized that it would kill him soon. He sweat what seemed the blood, although perhaps the blood came from the bites. A strange, hollow, buzzing roar filled his ears, and it must have been the pouring of the angry ants from their mound. Then followed a time that was all hell. Worse than fire, for fire would have given merciful death, agony, under which his physical being began spasmodically to jerk and wretch, and his eyeballs turned, and his breast caved in. A cry rang through the roar in his ears.

By nigh! By nigh! His fading sight seemed the shade round the dark face of Neste Baga. then powerful hands dragged them from the mound through the grass and sage rolled him over and over and brushed his burning skin with strong swift sweep end of chapter eight part two chapter nine of the rainbow trail by zane gray this librivox recording is in the public domain in the desert crucible that hard experience was but the beginning of many cruel trials for john shefford he never knew who his assailants were nor their motive other than robbery and they had gotten little for they had not found the large sum of money sewed in the lining of his coat joe lake declared it was shadd's work and the mormons showed the stern nature that lay hidden under his mild manner nestay bega shook his head and would not tell what he thought but a sombre fire burned in his eyes The three started with a heavily laden pack train and went down the mountain slope into West Canyon.

The second day they were shot at from the rim of the walls. Lake was wounded, hindering the swift flight necessary to escape deeper into the canyon. Here they hid for days while the Mormon recovered and the Indian took stealthy trips to try to locate the enemy. Lack of water and grass for the burrows drove them on. They climbed out of a side canyon. losing several burrows on a rough trail, and had proceeded to within half a day's journey of Red Lake when they were attacked while making camp in a cedar grove. Shepard sustained an exceedingly painful injury to his leg, but fortunately the bullet went

through without breaking a bone. With that burning pain, there came to Shepard the meaning of fight, and his rifle grew hot in his hands. Night alone saved the trio from certain fatality, Under the cover of darkness the Indian helped Shepard to escape. Joe Lake looked out for himself. The pack train was lost, and the Mustangs except Nack Yaw. Shepard learned what it meant to lie out at night, listening for pursuit, cold to his marrow, sick with dread, an enduring frightful pain from a ragged bullet hole. Next day the Indian led him down into the red basin, where the sun shone hot,

and the sand reflected the heat. they had no water a wind arose and the valley became a place of flying sand through a heavy stifling paul nastay bega somehow got sheffered to the trading post at red lake presby attended the shepherd's injury and made him comfortable next day joe lake limped in surly and sombre with the news that shadd and eight or ten of his outlaw gang had gotten away with the pack train In short time, Shefford was able to ride, and with his companions went over the pass to Cayenta. Wither's already knew of his loss, and all he said was that he hoped to meet Shad some day. Shepard showed a reluctance to go again to the hidden village in the silent canyon with the rounded walls. The trader appeared surprised, but did not press the point. Shefford meant sooner or later to tell him, yet never quite reached the point.

The early summer brought more work for the little post, and Shepard toiled with the others. He liked the outdoor tasks, and at night was grateful that he was too tired to think. Then followed trips to Durango and Bluff and Monticello. He rode fifty miles a day for many days. He knew how a man fares who packs light and rides far and fast. When the Indian was with him, he got along well, but Naste Bega would not go near. the towns. Thus, many mishaps were Shepard's fortune. Many and many a mile he trailed his Mustang, for Nackew, never forgot the saggy,

and always headed for it when he broke his hobbles. Shepard accompanied an Indian teamster into Durango with a wagon and four wild Mustangs. Upon the return, with a heavy load of supplies, accident put Shepard in charge of the outfit. In despair, he had to face the hardest task that could have been given him, to take care of a crippled Indian, catch water, feed, harness, and drive four wild Mustangs

that did not know him, and tried to kill him at every turn, and get that precious load of supplies home to Cayenta. That he accomplished it, proved the hint the possibilities of a man, for both endurance and patience. From that time, he never gave up in the front of any duty.

In the absence of an available Indian, he rode to Durango and back in record time. Upon one occasion, he was lost in a canyon for days, with no food and little water. Upon another, he went through a sandstorm in the open desert, facing it for 40 miles and keeping to the trail. When he rode into Cayenta that night, the traitor in grim praise said there was no worse to endure. At Monticello, Shefford stood off a band of desperadoes, and this time Shefford experienced a strange, sickening shock

in the wounding of a man. Later he had other fights, but in none of them did he know whether or not he had shed blood. The heat of midsummer came when the blistering sun shone, and a hot blast blew across the sand, and the furious storms made floods in the washes.

Day and night, Shefford, was always in the open, and anyone who had ever known him in the past, would have failed to recognize him now. In the early fall with Nostebega as companion, he set out to the south of Cayenta, upon long-neglected business of the traitor. They visited Red Lake, Blue Canyon, Keams Canyon, Oribi, the Moki Village, Tubah, Moen Kope, and Moan Ave. This trip took many weeks and gave Shepard all the opportunity he wanted to study the Indians and the conditions nearer to the border of civilization. He learned the truth about the Indians and the missionaries.

Upon the return trip, he rode over the trail, he had followed alone to Red Lake and thence onto the saggy, and it seemed that years had passed since he first entered this wild region which had come to be home, years, that had molded him in the stern and fiery crucible of the desert. End of Chapter 9. Chapter 10, Part 1 of the Rainbow Trail by Zane Gray. This Libravox recording is in the public domain. Stonebridge, Part 1 In October, Shefford arranged for a hunt in the Creeshaw Mountains with Joe Lake and Noste Bega.

The Indian had gone home for a short visit, and upon his return, the party expected to start. But Nostebega did not come back. Then the arrival of a piute with news that excited withers and greatly perturbed Lake convinced Shepard that something was wrong. The little trading post seldom saw such disorder. Certainly, Shepard had never known the trader to neglect work.

Joe Lake threw a saddle on a Mustang. He would have scorned to notice in an ordinary moment, and without a word of explanation or farewell, rode hard to the north on the Stonebridge Trail. Shepard had long since acquired patience. He was curious, but he did not care particularly what was in the wind. However, when Withers came out and sent an Indian to drive up the horses, Shefford could not refrain from a query.

I hate to tell you, replied the traitor. Go on, added Shepard quickly. Did I tell you about the government sending a Supreme Court judge out to Utah to prosecute the polygamists? No, replied Shepard. I forgot to, I reckon. You've been away a lot. Well, there's been hell up in Utah for six months. Lately this judge and his men have worked down into southern Utah.

He visited Bluff and Monticello a few weeks ago. Now, what do you think? Withers, is he coming to Stonebridge? He's there now. Someone betrayed the whereabouts of the hidden village over in the canyon. All the women have been arrested and taken the Stonebridge. The trial begins today. Arrested, echoed Shefford blankly, those poor, lonely, good women, what on earth for? Sealed wives, exclaimed withers tersely, the judge is after the polygamists. They say he's absolutely relentless. But women can't be polygamists.

their husbands are the ones wanted. Sure, but the prosecutors have got to find the sealed wives, the second wives, to find the law-breaking husbands. That'll be a job, or I don't know Mormons. Are you going to ride over to Stonebridge with me? Shepard shrank at the idea, months of toil and pain and travail, had not been enough to make him forget the strange girl he had loved, but he had remembered only at poignant intervals.

and the lapse of time had made thought of her a dream-like that sad dream which had lured him into the desert with the query of the traitor came a bittersweet regret better come with me said withers have you forgotten the sago lily she'll be put on trial that girl that child sheffered you know she hasn't any friends and now no mormon man to protect her for fear of prosecution I'll go, replied Shepard shortly. The Indian brought up to horses, Nackew, was thin from his long travels during the hot summer, but he was hard as iron, and the way he pointed his keen nose toward the saggy, showed how he wanted to make for the upland country,

with its clear springs and valleys of grass. Withers mounted his bay, and with a hurried farewell to his wife, spurred the Mustang into the trail. Shefford took time to get his weapons and the light pack he always carried and then rode out after the trader. The pace withers set was the long, steady lope

to which these Indian Mustangs had been trained all their lives. In an hour they reached the mouth of the sagie, and at sight of it it seemed to Shepard that the hard half-year of suffering since he had been there had disappeared. Withers, to Shepard's regret, did not end enter the saggy. He turned off to the north and took a wild trail into a split of the red wall, and wound in and out, and climbed the crack so narrow that the light was obscured and the

cliffs could be reached from both sides of a horse. Once up on the wild plateau, Shepard felt again in a different world from the barren desert he had lately known. The desert had crucified him, and had left him to die or survive, according to his spirit and his strength. If he had loved the glare, the endless level, the deceiving distance, the shifting sand, it had certainly not been, as he loved, this softer, wilder, more intimate upland. With the red peak shining up into the blue, and the fragrance of cedar and pinion, and the purple sage and flowers and grass, and splash of clear water over stones, With these there came back to him something that he had lost and which had haunted him.

It seemed he had returned to this wild upland of color and canyon and lofty crags in green valleys and silent places with a spirit gained from victory over himself into harsher and sterner desert below. And, strange to him, he found his old self, the dreamer, the artist, the lover of beauty, the searcher, for he knew. knew not what, come to meet him on the fragrant wind. He felt this, saw the old wildness with glad eyes, yet the greater part of his mind

was given over to the thought of the unfortunate women he expected the sea in Stonebridge. Withers was harder to follow to keep up with than an Indian. For one thing, he was a steady and tireless rider, and for another, there were times when he had no mercy on a horse. Then an Indian always found easier steps in a trail and shorter cuts. Withers put his mount to some bad slopes, and Shepard had no choice but to follow. But they crossed the great broken bench of upland without mishap,

and came out upon a promontory of a plateau from which Shepard saw a wide valley in the dark green alfalfa fields of Stonebridge. Stone Bridge lay in the center of a fertile valley surrounded by pink cliffs. It must have been a very old town, certainly, far older than Bluff or Monticello, though smaller and evidently it had been built to last. There was one main street very wide that divided the town and was crossed at right angles by a stream, spanned by a small, natural stone bridge. A line of poplar trees shaded each footpath.

the little log-cabins and stone houses and cottages were half hidden in foliage now tinted with autumn colors toward the center of the town the houses and stores and shops fronted upon the street and along one side of a green square or plaza here were situated several edifices the most prominent of which was a church built of wood whitewashed and remarkable according to withers for the fact that not a nail had been used in its construction beyond the church was a large low structure of stone with a split shingle roof and evidently this was the town hall shafford saw before he reached the square that this day in stone bridge was one of singular action action and excitement for a Mormon village. The town was full of people and judging from the horses hitched everywhere and the big canvas-covered wagons. Many of the people were visitors. The crowd surrounded the hall, a dusty, booted, spurred, shirt-sleeved, and sombreroed, assemblage that did not wear the hallmark, Shefford had come to associate with Mormons. They were riders, cowboys, horse-ranglers, and some of them, Shefford,

had seen in Durango. Navajos and Paiutes were present also, but they loitered in the background. Withers drew Shepard off to the side where under a tree they hitched their horses. Never saw Stonebridge full of a riff-raft gang, like this today, said Withers. I'll bet the Mormons are wild.

There's a tough outfit from Durango. If they can get anything to drink, or if they've got it, Stonebridge will see smoke today. come on, I'll get in that hall. But before Withers reached the hall, he started violently and pulled up short, then, with apparent unconcern, turned to lay a hand upon Shepard. The trader's face had blanched, and his eyes grew hard and shiny like Flint. He gripped Shepard's arm.

Look over to your left, he whispered. See that gang of Indians there by the big wagon? See the short Indian with the chaps? He's got a face big as a ham, dark fierce. That's Shad. You ought to know him. Shad in his outfit here? How's that for nerve?

But he pulls a rain with the Mormons. Shepard's keen eye took in a lounging group of ten or twelve Indians and several white men. They did not present any great contrast to the other groups, except that they were isolated, appeared quiet and watchful, and were all armed. A bunch of lean, racy mustangs, restive and spirited, stood nearby in charge of an Indian. Shepard had to take a second in closer glance to distinguish the half-breed.

At once, he recognized in Shad the broad-faced squat Indian, who had paid him a threatening visit that night long ago in the mouth of the saggy. The fire ran along Shepard's vein, and seemed to concentrate in his breast. Shad's dark, piercing eyes, alighted upon Shepard, and rested there. Then the half-breed spoke to one of his white outlaws and pointed at Shepard. His action attracted the attention of others in the gang, and for a moment Shepard and Withers were treated to a keen-eyed stare. The traitor cursed low.

Maybe I wouldn't like to mix it with that damned breed, he said. But what chance have we with that gang? Besides, we're here on other and more important business. All the same. Before I forget, let me remind you that Shad has had you spotted ever since you came out here. A friendly Paiute told me only lately, Shepard, did any Indian between here and Flagstaff ever see that bunch of money you persist in carrying? Why, yes, I suppose so.

Way back in Tuba when I first came out, replied. sighed Shefford. Hmm, well, Shad's after that. Come on now, let's get inside the hall. The crowd opened for the trader, who appeared to be known to everybody. A huge man with a bushy beard blocked the way to a shut door.

Hello, Mead, said, Withers, let us in. The man opened the door, permitted Withers and Shepard to enter, and then closed it. Shefford, coming out of the bright glare of the sun into the hall, could not see distinctly at first. His eyes blurred. He heard a subdued murmur of many voices. Wither's appeared to be affected with the same kind of blindness, for he stood bewildered a moment, but he recovered sooner than Shepard. Gradually the darkness,

shrouding many obscure forms lifted. Wither's drew him through a crowd of men and women to one side of the hall, and squeezed along a wall to a railing where progress was stopped. Then Shepard raised his head to look with bated breath and strange curiosity. The hall was large and had many windows. Men were in consultation upon a platform. Women, to the number of twenty, sat close together upon benches. Back of them stood another crowd. But the women on the benches held Shepard's gaze.

They were the prisoners. They made a somber group. Some were hooded, some veiled, all clad and dark garments, except one on the front bench, and she was dressed in white. She wore a long hood that concealed her face. Shefford recognized the hood, and then the slender shape. She was merry, she whom her jealous neighbors had named the Sago Lily. At sight of her, the sharp pain pierced Shefford's breast.

His eyes were blurred when he forced them away from her, and it took a moment for him to see clearly. Withers was whispering to him, or to someone near at hand, but Shefford did not catch the meaning of what was said. He paid more attention, however. Withers ceased speaking. Shefford gazed upon the crowd back of him. The women were hooded, and it was not possible to see what they looked like.

They were many stalwart, clean-cut, young Mormons of Joe Lake's type, and these men appeared troubled, even distressed, and at a loss. There was little about them, resembling the stern, quiet, somber austerity of the more mature men, and nothing at all of the strange, aloof, serene, and passiveness of the gray-bearded old patriarchs. These venerable men were the Mormons of the old school, the sons of the pioneers, the ruthless fanatics. Instinctively, Shepard felt that it was in them that polygamy was embodied. They were the husbands of the sealed wives. He conceived an absorbing curiosity to learn if his instinct was correct, and hard upon that followed a hot, hateful eagerness to see which one was the husband of Mary.

there's bishop kane whispered withers nudging shepherd and there's wagner with him shefford saw the bishop and then beside him a man of striking presence whose wagner asked shefford as he looked he owns more than any mormon in southern utah replied the trader he's the biggest man in stonebridge that's sure but i don't know his relation to the church they don't call him elder or bishop but i don't call him elder or bishop but i'm a big man in stonebridge that's sure but i don't know his relation to the church they don't call him elder or bishop but i'm I'll bet he's some pumpkins. He never had any use for me or any Gentile, a closed fist, tight-lipped Mormon, a skin flint, if I ever saw one, just look him over. Shepard had been looking, and considered it unlikely, that he would ever forget this individual called Wagoner.

He seemed old, sixty at least, yet at that, only in the prime of a wonderful, physical life. Unlike most of the others, he wore his grizzled beard, close-croped so close that it showed the lean wolfish line of his jaw. All his features were of striking sharpness.

His eyes, of a singularly brilliant blue, were yet cold and pale. The brow had a serious, thoughtful cast. Long furrows sloped down the cheeks. It was a strange, secretive face full of power that Shepard had not seen in another man's. full of intelligence and thought that had not been used, as Shepard had known, them used among men. The face mystified him. It had so much more than the strange aloofness, so characteristic

of his fellows. Wagner had five wives and fifty-five children before the law went into effect, whispered Withers, nobody knows and nobody will ever know how many he's got now. That's my private opinion. Somehow, after Withers told that, Shefford seemed to understand the strange power in Wagoner's face. Absolutely it was not the force, the strength, given to a man from his years of control of men. Shepard, long-schooled now, in his fair-mindedness, fought down the feeling of other years, and waited with patience.

Who was he to judge Wagger or any other Mormon? But whenever his gaze strayed back to the quiet, slender form in white, When he realized again and again the appalling nature of this court, his heart beat heavy and labored within his breast. Then a bustle among the men upon the platform appeared to indicate that proceedings were about to begin. Some men left the platform, several sat down at a table upon which were books and papers and others remained standing. These last were all roughly garbed in riding boots and spurs, and Shepard's keen eye detected the bulge of hidden weapons. They looked like deputy marshals upon duty.

Somebody whispered that the judge's name was stone. The name fitted him. He was not young, and looked a man suited to the prosecution of these secret Mormons. He had a ponderous brow, a deep, cavernous eye, that he met it gleams but betrayed no color or expression. His mouth was the saving human feature of his stony face. Shepard took the man upon the judge's right hand to be a lawyer, and the one on his left, an officer of the court, perhaps a prosecuting attorney. Presently, this fellow pounded upon the table and stood up as if to address a courtroom. Certainly he silenced that hallful of people.

Then he perfunctorily and briefly stated that certain women had been arrested upon suspicion of being sealed wives of Mormon polygamists and were to be here with tried by a judge of the United States court. Shefford felt how the impressive words affected that silent hall of listeners, but he gathered from the brief preliminaries that the trial could not be otherwise in a crude, rapid investigation. and perhaps for that the more sinister end of chapter ten part one chapter ten part two of the rainbow trail by zane gray this librivox recording is in the public domain stonebridge part two the first woman on the foremost bench was led forward by a deputy to a vacant chair on the platform just in front of the judge's table she was told to sit down the seat down the bench was led forward by a deputy to a vacant chair on the platform just in front of the judge's table she was told to sit down the sit down and showed no sign that she had heard. Then the judge courteously asked her to take the chair.

She refused. And Stone nodded his head as if he had experienced that sort of thing before. He stroked his chin wearily, and Shepard conceived an idea that he was a kind man if he was a relentless judge. Please remove your veil, requested the prosecutor. The woman did so. and proved to be young and handsome. Shefford had a thrill as he recognized her.

She was Ruth, who had been one of his best-known acquaintances in the hidden village. She was pale, angry, almost sullen, and her breast heaved. She had no shame, but she seemed to be outraged. Her dark eyes, scornful and blazing, passed over the judge and his assistance, and on to the crowd behind the railing. Sheffered, keen as a blade, with all his faculties absorbed, fancied he saw Ruth stiffen, and changed slightly as her glance encountered someone in that crowd. Then the prosecutor in deliberate and chosen words enjoined her to kiss the Bible,

hand it to her, and swear to tell the truth. How strange for Sheppard to see her kiss the book which she had studied for so many years! Stranger still to hear the low murmur from the listening audience as she took the oath. "'What is your name?' asked Judge Stone, leaning back and fixing the cavernous eye upon her. Ruth Jones was the cool reply. "'How old are you?' "'Twenty. Where were you born when on the judge?'

He allowed time for the clerk to record her answers. "'Painwitch, Utah.' "'Were your parents more men, Yes. Are you a Mormon? Yes. Are you a married woman? No. The answer was instant, cold final. It seemed to the truth. Almost Shepard believed she spoke truth. The judge stroked his chin and waited a moment, and then hesitatingly he went on. Have you any children? No, and the blazing eyes met the cavernous ones. that about the children was true enough shefford thought and he could have testified to it you live in the hidden village near this town yes what is the name of this village it has none

did you ever hear of friedonia another village far west of here yes it is in arizona near the utah line there are a few men there is it the same kind of village as this one in which you live in the town line there are a few men there is it the same kind of village as this one in which you live live? Yes. What does Friedonia mean the name has it any meaning? It means free women. The judge maintains silence for a moment, turned the whisper to his assistance, and presently, without glancing up, said to the woman, that will do. Ruth was led back to the bench, and the woman next to her brought forward. This was a heavier person with the figure and step of a matured woman. Upon removing her bonnet, she showed the plain face of a woman of forty, and it was striking, only in that strange stony aloofness noted in the older men. Here, Shefford thought, was a real Mormon, different in a way he could not define from root.

This woman seated herself in the chair and calmly faced her prosecutors. She manifested no emotion whatsoever. her. Shepard remembered her and could not see any change in her deportment. This trial appeared to be of little moment to her, and she took the oath as if doing so had been a habit all her life. What is your name? asked Judge Stone, glancing up from a paper he held. Mary Danton. Family or married name? My husband's name was Danton. Was, is he living? No. Where did you live when you were married to him? In St. George, and later, here in Stonebridge.

You were both Mormons? Yes. Did you have any children by him? Yes. How many? Two. Are they living? One of them is living. Judge Stone bent over his paper and then slowly raised his eyes to her face.

Are you married now? No. Again the judge consoled. bolted his notes and held a whispered colloquy with the two men at his side. Mrs. Danton, when you were arrested, there were five children found in your home. To whom do they belong? Me. Are you their mother? Yes. Your husband, Danton, is the father of only one, the eldest, according to your former statement.

Is that correct? Yes. Who then is the father, or who are the father? of your other children. I do not know. She said it with the most stony-faced calmness, with utter disregard of what significance her words had. A strong mystic wall of cold Flint insulated her. Strangely it came to Shefford, how impossible either to doubt or to believe her.

Yet he did both. Judge Stone showed a little heat. You don't know the father of one or all of these children, he queried, with sharp rising inflection of voice. I do not. Madam, I beg to remind you that you are under oath. The woman did not reply. These children are nameless, then, illegitimate.

They are. You swear you are not the sealed wife of some Mormon? I swear. How do you live, maintain yourself? I work. What at? I weave so, and work in my garden.

My men made note of your large and comfortable cabin. Even luxurious, considering this country. How is that? My husband left me comfortable. Judge Stone shook a warning finger at the defendant. Suppose I were to sentence you to jail for perjury for a year, far from your home and children. Would you speak?

Tell the truth. I am telling the truth. I can't speak what I don't. know, send me to jail. Baffled, with despairing, angry impatience, Judge Stone waved the woman away. That will do for her, fetch the next one, he said. One after another he examined three more women,

and arrived by various questions and answers, different in tone and temper, at precisely the same point as had been made in the case of Mrs. Danton. Thereupon the proceedings rested a few moments, while the judge consulted with his assistance. Shefford was grateful for this respite. He had been worked up to an unusual degree of interest, and now, as the next Mormon woman to be examined,

was she whom he loved and loved still, he felt rise in him emotion that threatened to make him conspicuous unless it could be hidden. The answers of these Mormon women had been not altogether unexpected by him, but once spoken in cold blood under oath, how tragic, how appallingly significant of the shadow, the mystery, the yoke that bound them. He was amazed, saddened.

He felt bewildered. He needed to think out the meaning of the falsehoods of women he knew to be good and noble. Surely religion, instead of fear and loyalty, was the foundation and the strength of this disgrace, this sacrifice. absolutely shame was not in these women though they swore to shameful facts they had been coached to give these baffling answers every one of which seemed to brand them not the brazen mothers of illegitimate offspring but faithful unfortunate sealed wives to shefford the truth was not in their words but it sat upon their sombre brows Was it only his heightened imagination, or did the silence and the suspense grow more intense when a deputy led that dark-hitted, white-clad, slender woman to the defendant's chair?

She did not walk with the poise that had been manifest in the other women, and she sank into the chair as if she could no longer stand. Please remove your hood, requested the prosecutor. How well, Shefford remember the strong, shapely hand. hands. He saw them tremble at the knot of ribbon, and that tremor was communicated to him in a sympathy which made his pulses beat. He held his breath while she removed the hood. And then there was revealed, he thought, the loveliest and the most tragic face that ever was seen in a courtroom. A low, whispering murmur, that swelled like a wave ran through the hall, and by it,

Shepard divined, as clearly as if the fact had been blazoned on the walls, that Mary's face had been unknown to these villagers. But the name Sago Lily had not been unknown. Shepard heard it whispered on all sides.

The murmuring subsided. The judge and his assistants stared at Mary. As for Shepard, there was no need of his personal feeling to make the situation dramatic. not improbably judge stone had tried many mormon women but manifestly this one was different unhooded mary appeared to be only a young girl and a court confronted suddenly with her youth and the suspicion attached to her could not but have been shocked then her beauty made her seem in that sombre company indeed the white flower for which she had been named but more likely it was her agony that bound the court into silence which grew painful

perhaps the thought that flashed in the shepherd's mind was telepathic it seemed to him that every watcher there realized that in this defendant the judge had a girl of softer mould of different spirit and from the first one of the judge had a girl of softer mould of different spirit and from her From her, the bitter truth could be wrong. Mary faced the court and the crowd on that side of the platform. Unlike the other women, she did not look at or seemed to see anyone behind the railing. Shefford was absolutely sure there was not a man or woman who caught her glance. She gazed afar, with eyes strained, humid, fearful. When the prosecutor swore her to the oath, her lips. were seen to move, but no one heard her speak.

"'What is your name?' asked a judge. "'Mary, her voice was low, with a slight tremor. "'What's your other name? I won't tell.' Her singular reply, the tones of her voice, her manner before the judge, marked her with strange simplicity. It was evident that she was not accustomed to questions. What were your parents' names? I won't tell, she replied very low.

Judge Stone did not press the point. Perhaps he wanted to make the examination as easy as possible for her, or to wait till she showed more composure. Were your parents' Mormons, he went on? No, sir, she added the sir, with a quaint respect, contrasting markedly with the short replies of the women before her. Then you were not born a Mormon?

No, sir. How old are you? Seventeen or eighteen, I'm not sure. You don't know your exact age? No. Where were you born? I won't tell. Was it in Utah?

Yes, sir. How long have you lived in this state? Always, except last year. And that's been over in the hidden village where you were arrested? Yes. But you often visited here, this town's Stonebridge? I never was here till yesterday. Judge Stone regarded her, as if his interest as a man,

was running counter to his duty as an officer. Suddenly he leaned forward. Are you a Mormon now, he queried forcibly. No, sir, she replied, and here her voice rose a little clearer. It was an unexpected reply. Judge Stone stared at her. The low buzz ran through the listening crowd, and as for Sheffert, he was astounded.

When his wits flashed back, and he weighed her words, and saw in her face truth as clear as light, he had the strangest sensation of joy. Almost it flooded away the gloom and pain that attended this ordeal. The judge bent his head to his assistance as if for counsel. All of them were eager, where formerly they had been weary.

Shepard glanced around at the dark and somber faces, and a slow wrath grew within him. Then he caught a glimpse of Wagoner. The steel-blue, piercing intensity of the Mormon's gaze, impressed him at a moment when all that older generation of Mormons looked as hard and immutable as iron. Either Shepard was over-excited and mistaken,

where the hour had become fraught with greater suspense. The secret, the mystery, the power, the hate, the religion of a strange people, were thick and tangible in that hall. For Shefford, the feeling of the presence of Withers on his left was entirely different from that of the Mormon on his other side. If there was not a shadow there, then the sun did not shine so brightly as it had shown when he entered.

The air seemed clogged with nameless passion. I gather that you've lived mostly in the country, away from people, the judge began. Yes, sir, replied the girl. Do you know anything about the government of the United States? No, sir. He pondered again, evidently, weighing his queries, leading up to the fatal and inevitable question. Still his interest in this particular defendant had become visible. Have you any idea of the consequences of perjury?

No, sir. Do you understand what perjury is? It's to lie. Do you tell lies? No, sir. Have you ever told a single lie? Not yet, she replied, almost whispering. It was the answer of a child and affected the judge.

He fussed with his papers. Perhaps his task was not easy. Certainly it was not pleasant. Then he leaned forward again and fixed those deep, cavernous eyes upon the sad face. Do you understand what a sealed wife is? I've never been told. But you know there are sealed wives in Utah? Yes, sir, I've been told that.

Judge Stone halted there watching her. The hall was silent except for faint rustlings, and here and there deep breaths drawn guardedly. the vital question hung like a sword over the white-faced girl perhaps she divined the impending stroke for she sat like a stone with dilating appealing eyes upon her executioner are you a sealed wife he flung at her she could not answer at once she made effort but the words would not come he flung the question again sternly no she cried and then there was silence that poignant word quivered in shefford's heart he believed it was a lie it seemed he would have known it if this hour was the first in which he had ever seen the girl he heard he felt he sensed the fatal thing the beautiful voice had lacked some quality before present and the thing wanting was something subtle an essence a beautiful ring the truth what a hellish thing to make that pure girl a liar a perjurer the heat deep within shefford kindled the fire you are not married when on judge stone no sir she answered faintly have you ever been married no sir Do you expect ever to be married?

Oh, no, sir. She was ashen pale now, quivering all over, with her strong hands clasping the black hood, and she could no longer meet the judge's glance. Have you any, any children? The judge asked, haltingly. It was a hard question to get out. No.

Judge Stone leaned far over the table, and that his face was purple, showed Shepard he was a man. His big fist clenched. Girl, you're not going to swear, you too, were visited, over there by men. You're not going to swear that?

Oh, no, sir. Judge Stone settled back in his chair, and while he wiped his moist face, the same foreboding murmur, almost a menace, moaned through the hall. Sheffert was sick in his soul and afraid of himself. He did not know this spirit that flamed up in him.

His helplessness was a most hateful fact. Come, confess, you are a sealed wife, called her interrogator. She maintained silence, but shook her head. Suddenly, he seemed to leap forward. Unfortunate child confess. That forced her to lift her head and face him, yet still she did not speak. It was the strength of despair.

She could not endure much more. Who is your husband, he thundered at her? She rose wildly terror-stricken. It was terror that dominated her, not to the stern judge, for she took a faltering step toward him, lifting a shaking hand, but of someone or of something,

far more terrible than any punishment she could have received in the sentence of a court. Still, she was not proof against the judge's will. She had weakened, and the terror must have been because of that weakening. Who is the Mormon who visits you, he thundered relentlessly? I never knew his name. But you'd know his face. I'll arrest every Mormon in this country, and bring him before you. You know his face? Oh, I wouldn't. I couldn't tell. I never saw his face in the light.

The tragic beauty of her, the certainty of some monstrous crime to youth and innocence, the presence of an agony and terror, that unfathomably, seemed not to be for herself. These transfixed the court and the audience, and held them silenced, till she reached out blindly and then sank in a heap to the floor. End of Chapter 10, Part 2 Chapter 11 Part 1 of the Rainbow Trail by Zane Gray This Libravox recording is in the public domain. After the trial, Part 1

Shefford might have leaped over the railing, but for Withers' restraining hand. And when there appeared to be some sign of kindness in those other women for the unconscious girl, Shefford squeezed through the crowd and got out of the hall. The gang outside that had been denied admittance pressed upon Sheffert with jest and curious query, and a good nature that jarred upon him. He was far from gentle as he jostled off the first impotuning fellows, the others, gaping at him, opened the lane for him to pass through. Then there was a hand laid on his shoulder that he did not shake off.

Noste Vega loomed dark and tall beside him. neither the trader nor joe lake nor any white man shefford had met influenced him as this navajo naste baga you're here too i guess the whole country is here we waited at cayenta what kept you so long the indian always slow to answer did not open his lips till he drew shefford apart from the noisy crowd by nigh there is sorrow in the hogan of hostene doton he said glen nespa exclaimed sheffered my sister is gone from the home of her brother she went away alone in the summer blue canyon she went to the missionary nastebega i thought i saw her there but i wasn't sure i didn't want to make sure i was afraid it might be true a brave who loved my sister trailed her there nastebega 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 sheffert passionately the indian had met him at a bad hour willets is here i saw him go in there interrupted nastebega and he pointed to the hall here he gets around a good deal declared shefford naste baga what are you going to do to him the indian held his peace and there was no telling from his inscrutable face what might be in his mind

he was dark and passive he seemed the wise and bitter indian beyond any savagery of his tribe and the suffering shefford divined was deep he'd better keep out of my sight muttered shefford more to himself than to his companion the half-breed is here said nastebega shad yes we saw him too there he's still with his gang nastebega what are they up to they will steal what they can whither says shadd is friendly with the mormons yes and with the missionaries too with willets i saw them talk together strong talk Strange, but maybe it's not so strange. Shad is known well in Monticello and Bluff. He spends money there. They are afraid of him, but he's welcomed just the same. Perhaps everybody knows him.

It'd be like him to ride in the Kayenta. But, Nastebega, I've got to look out for him, because Withers says he's after me. By Nye wears a scar that is proof, said the Indian. Then it must be he found out long ago. ago I had a little money. It might be, but by nigh, the half-breed has a strange step on your trail. What do you mean? demanded Shepard. Noste Bega cannot tell what he does not know, replied the Navajo. Let that be. We shall know some day. By nigh, there is sorrow to tell

that is not the Indians, sorrow for my brother. Shepard lifted his eyes to the Indians, and if he did not see sadness there, he was much deceived. By nigh long ago, you told a story to the traitor. Noste Bega sat before the fire that night. You did not know he could understand your language. He listened, and he learned what brought you to the country of the Indian. That night he made you his brother. All his lonely rides into the canyon have been to find the little golden-haired child,

the lost girl, Faye Larkin. By Nye, I have found the girl you wanted for your sweetheart. Sheffered was bereft of speech. He could not see steadily, and the last solemn words of the Indian seemed far away. By Nye, I have found Fay Larkin, repeated Noste Baga. Faye Larkin, gasped Shepard, shake in his head, but she's dead. It would be less sorrow for Bainai if she were dead. Shefford clutched at the Indian.

There was something terrible to be revealed. Like an aspen leaf in the wind, he shook all over. He divined the revelation, divined the coming blow, but that was as far as his mind got. She's in there, said the Indian, pointing toward the hall. Faye Larkin, whispered Shepard. Yes, by nigh. 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. Shepard strode away into a secluded corner of the square, where in the 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 Indian remained with him.

He never lost the feeling of Noste Bega close beside him. When the period of acute pain left him, in some order began to replace the tumult in his mind, he felt in Nastebega the same quality, silence or strength or help, that he had learned to feel in the deep canyon and the lofty crags. He realized then that the Indian was indeed a brother, and Shepard needed him. What he had the fight was more fatal than suffering and love. It was hate rising out of the unsusomish. the dark gulf of his heart, the instinct to kill, the murder in his soul.

Only now did he come to understand Jane Witherstein's tragic story, and the passion of ventures and what had made Lassiter a gunman. The desert had transformed Shepard, the elements had entered into his muscle and bone, into the very fiber of his heart, sun, wind, sand, cold, storm, space, stone, the poisoned cactus, the racking toil, the terrible loneliness. The iron of the desert man, the cruelty of the desert savage, the wildness of the Mustang, the ferocity of hawk and wolf, the bitter struggle of every surviving thing. These were as if they had been melted and merged together, and now made a dark and passionate

stream that was his throbbing blood. He realized what he had become, and he had become, and he was a dark, and he was a dark, and he and gloried in it, yet there, looking on with grave and earnest eyes, was his old self, the man of reason, of intellect, of culture, who had been a good man despite the failure and shame of his life, and he gave heed to the voice of warning of conscience, not by revengefully seeking the Mormon who had ruined Faye Larkin, and blindly dealing a wild justice, could he help this unfortunate girl. This fierce, newborn strength and passion must be tempered by reason, least he become, merely elemental, a man, answering wholly to primitive impulses.

In the darkness of that hour he mined deep into his heart, understood himself, trembled at the thing he faced, and won his victory. He would go forth from that hour a man. He might fight, and perhaps there was death in the balance, but had he would never overthrow him. Then when he looked at future action, he felt a strange, unalterable purpose to save Faylarkin. She was very young. Seventeen or eighteen, she had said, and there could be, there must be some happiness before her.

It had been his dream to chase a rainbow. It had been his determination to find her in the lost surprise valley. Well, he had found her. it never occurred to him to ask Noste Bega how he had discovered that Sago Lily was Faye Larkin. The wonder was, Shefford thought, that he had so long been blind himself. How simply everything worked out now, every thought, every recollection of her was proof. Her strange beauty like that of the sweet and rare lily, her low voice that showed the habit of silence, her shapely hands with the clasped

strong as a man's her light form her swift step her wonderful agility upon the smooth steep trails and the wildness of her upon the heights and the haunting brooding shadow of her eyes when she gazed across the canyon all these fitted so harmoniously the conception of a child lost in a beautiful surprise valley and growing up in its wildness and silence tutored by the sad love of broken Jane and Lassiter. Yes, the saver had been Shefford's dream, and he had loved that dream. He had loved the dream, and he had loved the child. The secret of her hiding-place, as revealed by the story, told him, and his slow growth from dream to action,

these had strangely given, Fay Larkin to him. Then had come the bitter knowledge that she was dead. In the light of this subsequent revelation, how easy to account for his loving Mary, too. Never would she be merry again to him. Faye Larkin and the Sagal Lily were one and the same. She was here near him, and he was powerless for the present to help her or to reveal himself. She was held back there in that gloomy hall among those somber Mormons, alien,

to the women, bound in some fatal way, to one of the men, and now by reason of her weakness in 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 his breast. 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 insight which had been the gift of the desert to him. She was not dead. He had found her. What mattered obstacles?

Even that implacable creed to which she had been sacrificed. In the face of this blessed and overwhelming truth. It was as mighty as the love suddenly dawning upon him. A strong and terrible and deathly sweet wind seemed to fill his soul with the love of her. It was her fate that had drawn him, and now it was her agony, her innocence, her beauty, that bound him for all time.

Patience and cunning and toil, passion and blood, the unquenchable spirit of a man to save. These were nothing to give. Life itself were little. Could he but free her? Patience and cunning. His sharpening mind cut these out. as his greatest assets for the present, and his thoughts flashed like light through his brain.

Judge Stone and his court would fail to convict any Mormon in Stonebridge, just the same as they had failed to convict in the northern towns. They would go away, and Stonebridge would fall to the slow, sleepy tenor of its former way. The hidden village must become known to all men, honest and outlawed in that country, but this fact would hardly make any quick change in the plans of the Mormon. They did not soon change. They would send the sealed wives back to the canyon, and after the excitement had died down, visit them as usual.

Nothing perhaps would ever change these old Mormons but death. Shepard resolved to remain in Stonebridge and ingratiate himself deeper into the regard of the Mormons. He would fine work there, if the sealed wives were not returned to the hidden village. In case the women went back to the valley, Shefford meant to resume his old duty of driving Withers pack trains. Wanting that opportunity, he would find some other work,

some excuse to take him there. In due time, he would reveal to Fay Larkin that he knew her. How the thought thrilled him, she might deny, might persist in her fear, might fight to keep her secret, but he would learn it, hear her story, hear what had become of Jane Witherstein and Lasseter, and if they were alive, which now he believed, he would find them, and he would take them and Faye out of the country. The duty, the great task, held a grim fascination for him.

He had a foreboding of the cost. He had a dark realization of the force he meant to oppose. There were duty here and pity and unselfish love, but these alone did not actuate Shepard. Mystically, fate seemed again to come like a gleam and bid him follow. When Shepard and Naste Bega returned to the town hall, the trial had been ended. The hall was closed, and only a few Indians and cowboys remained in the square, and they were about to depart. on the street, however, and the paths, and in the doorways of stores were knots of people, talking earnestly.

Shefford walked up and down, hoping to meet Withers or Joe Lake. Noste Bega said he would take the horses to water and feed and then returned. There were indications that Stonebridge might experience some of the excitement and perhaps violence common to towns like Monticello and Durango. There was only one saloon in Stonebridge, and it was full of roistering cowboys and horse-ranglers. Shepard saw the bunch of Mustangs in charge of the same Indian

that belonged to Shad and his gang. The men were inside drinking. Next door was a tavern called Hopewell House, a stone structure of some pretensions. There were Indians lounging, outside. Shefford entered through a wide door and found himself in a large bare room, boarded like a loft, with no ceiling except the roof. The place was full of men and noise. Here he encountered Joe Lake, talking to Bishop Kane and other Mormons.

Shepard got a friendly greeting from the bishop, and then was well received by the strangers to whom Joe introduced him. "'Have you seen withers?' asked Shepard. Reckin he's around somewhere, replied Joe. Better hang up here, for he'll drop in sooner or later. When are you going back to Cayenta, went on, Sheffert? Hard to say, we'll have to call off her hunt. Noste Bega is here, too.

Yes, I've been with him. The older Mormons drew aside, and then Joe mentioned the fact that he was half-starved. Shefford went with him into another clappered room, which was evidently a dining-room. There were half a dozen men at the long table. The seat at the end was a box, and scarcely large enough were safe enough for Joe and Shepard, but they risked it.

Saw you in the hall, said Joe. Hell, wasn't it? Joe, I never knew. How much I dare say to you, so I don't talk much. But it was hell, replied Shepard. You needn't be so scared of me, spoke up, Joe,

testily. That was the first time Shepard had heard the Mormon speak that way. I'm not scared, Joe, but I like you, respect you. I can't say so much of your people. Did you stick out the whole mix? asked Joe. No, I had enough when, when they got through with Mary. Shepard spoke low and dropped his head. He heard the Mormon grind his teeth. There was silence for a little space, while neither Your man looked at the other. Reckon the judge was pretty decent, presently said Joe. Yes, I thought so. He might have.

But Shepard did not finish that sentence. How'd the thing end? It ended all right. Was there no conviction, no sentence? Shefford felt a curious eagerness. Nah, he snorted. The court might have saved its breath. I suppose.

Well, Joe, between you and me, as old friends now, that trial established one fact, even if it couldn't be proved. Those women are sealed wives. Joe had no reply for that. He looked gloomy, and there was a stern line in his lips. Today he seemed more like a Mormon. Judge Stone knew that, as well as I knew, went on Shepard. Any man of penetration could have seen it.

What an ordeal that was for good women to go to. 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? Reckon it made Judge Stone sick, too. After Mary went under, he conducted that trial like a man cutting out steers at a roundup. He wanted to get it over. He never forced any question. Bad job to ride down Stonebridge way. It's out of creation. There's only six men in the party with a poor lot of horses, really. Government officers are not, they're not safe, and they've taken a hunch. Have they left already? inquired Shepard? We're packed an hour ago. I didn't see them go, but somebody said they went, took the

trail for bluff, which is sure the only trail they could take, unless they wanted to go to Colorado by way of Kayenta. That might have been the safest trail. Joe, what might happen to them? asked Shepard, quietly, with eyes on the Mormon. Aw, you know that rough trail. Bad on horses, weathered slopes, slipping ledges, a rock might fall on you any time. Then Shad's here with his gang, and bad payutes. What became of the women, Shepard asked presently. They're around among friends. Where are their children? Left over there with the old wight.

women couldn't be fetched over, but there are some pretty young babies in that bunch need their mothers. I should think so, replied Sheffert constrainedly. When will their mothers get back to them? Tonight, maybe. This mob of cowpunchers and wranglers, get out of town. It's a bad mix, Sheffert. Here's a hunch on that.

These fellows will get full of whiskey, and trouble might come if they approach the women. You mean they might get drunk enough to take the oaths of those poor women? Take the meaning literally to pretend to believe the women what they 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 yet a while. Reckon, there won't be any trouble here.

It'll be over there in the valley. Shefford, getting the... women over there safe is a job that's been put to me. I've got a bunch of fellows are ready. Can I count on you? I'm glad to say you're well thought of. Bishop Kane likes you, and what he says goes. Yes, Joe. You can count on me, replied Shefford. End of Chapter 11, Part 1. Chapter 11, Part 2 of the Rainbow Trail by Zane Gray. This Libravox recording is in the public domain. After the trial, Part 2.

They finished their meal and then repaired to the big office room of the house. Several groups of men were there, and loud talk was going on outside. Shepard saw Withers talking to Bishop Kane and two other Mormons, both strangers to Shepard. The traitor appeared to be speaking with unwanted force, emphasizing his words with energetic movements of his hands. Reckon something's up, whispered Joe hoarsely. It's been in the air all day. Withers must have been watching for Shepard.

Here's Shepard now, he said to the trio of Mormons, has Joe and Shepard reached the group? I want you to hear him speak for himself. What's the matter? asked Shepard. 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 the traitor. A little while back, I told the bishop, I meant to put you on the pack 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 the straight hunch. Willits has said things about you, one of them. one that sticks in my craw was that you'd do anything even pretend to be inclined toward mormonism just to be among those mormon women over there willets is your enemy and he's worse than i thought now i want you 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 that now 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 glenespah no she's the prettiest navajo in the country willets was after her that's all my dear man i can't believe that of a christian missionary we've known willets for years he's a man of influence he has money back of him 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 the first time I've known a missionary to do this sort of thing, nor is it the first time for Willets. Bishop Cain, I live among the Indians. I see a lot I never speak of.

My work is to trade with the Indians, that's all. But I'll not have Willits or any other damned hypocrite run down my friend here. John Sheffert is the finest young man that ever came to me in the desert, and he's got to be put right before he all, or I'll not set foot in Stonebridge again. Willits was after Glen Nespa.

Shefford punched him, and later threw him out of the old Indians Hogan up on the mountain. That explains Willett's enmity. He was after the girl. What's more, gentlemen, he got her, added Shepard. Glenn Nespa has not been home for six months. I saw her at Blue Canyon. I would like to face this, Willits, before you all.

easy enough replied withers with a grim chuckle he's just outside the trader went out joe lake followed at his heels and the three mormons were next shefford brought up the rear and lingered in the door while his eyes swept the crowd of men and indians his feeling was in direct contrast to his movements he felt the throbbing of fierce anger but it seemed the face came between him and his passion a sweetened tragic face that would have had power to check him in a vastly more critical moment than this. And in an instant he had himself in hand and strangely, suddenly, felt the strength that had come to him. Willett stood in earnest colloquy with a short squat Indian, the half-breed shad. They leaned against a hitching rail. Other Indians were there and outlaws. It was a mixed group, rough and hard-looking.

Hey Willits called the traitor, and his loud, ringing voice, not pleasant, stilled to movement and sound. When Willets turned, Shefford was halfway across the wide walk. The missionary not only saw him, but also Naste Bega, who was striding forward. Joe Lake was ahead of the traitor. The Mormons followed with decision, and they all confronted with. Willets. He turned pale. Shad had cautiously moved along the rail, nearer to his gang, and then they, with the others of the curious crowd, drew closer. Willets, here Shepard, now said to his face, declared the traitor. He was angry and

evidently wanted the fact known, as well as the situation. Willits had paled, but he showed boldness. For an instant Shepard studied the smooth face. with its sloping lines the dark wine-colored eyes willets i understand you've maligned me to bishop kane and others began sheffered curtly i called you an atheist returned the missionary harshly yes and more than that and i told these men why you vented your spite on me willets uttered a half-laugh an uneasy contemptuous expression of scorn and repudiation the charges of such a 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 seemed to be absorbed in thought, yet no serious consideration of the situation made itself manifest.

Shepard felt puzzled. Perhaps there was no fire to strike from this man. The desert had certainly not made him flint. He had not toiled or suffered or fought. But I can hurt you. thundered Sheffered, with startling suddenness. Here, look at this Indian. Do you know him? Glen Nespa's brother. Look at him. Let us see you face him while I accuse you.

You made love to Glen Nespa, took her from her home. Harping, infidel, replied Willits, hoarsely, so that's your game. Well, Glen Nespa came to my school of her own accord, and she will say so. Why will she? Because you blinded the same. A simple Indian girl, Willits, I'll waste little more time on you. And swift and light as a panther, Shepard leaped upon the man, and, fasting powerful hands round the thick neck, bore him to his knees, and bent back his head over the rail.

There was a convulsive struggle, a hard flinging of arms, a straining wrestle, and then Willets was in a dreadful position. Shefford held him in iron grasp. you damned white-livered hypocrite i'm liable to kill you cried shefford i watched you and glenespa 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 head back over the rail i'll kill you man repeated shefford piercingly do you want to go to your god unprepared say you made love the glennespa tell that you persuaded her to leave her home quick willets raised a shaking hand and then shefford relaxed the paralyzing grip and let his head come forward the half strangled man gasped out of the shepherds then sheffered relaxed the paralyzing grip and let his head come forward the half strangled man gasped out of the shepherds, a few incoherent words, that his livid, guilty face made unnecessary. Shefford gave him a shove, and he fell into the dust at the feet of the Navajo.

Gentlemen, I leave him to Nastebega, said Sheffert, with a strange change from passion to calmness. Late that night when the roistering visitors had gone, or were deep in drunken slumber, a melancholy and strange procession filed out of stone. Bridge. Joe Lake and his armed comrades were escorting the Mormon women back to the hidden valley. They were mounted on burrows and Mustangs, and in all that dark and somber line, there was only one figure which shone white under the pale moon. At the starting, until the white-clad figure had appeared, Shepard's heart had seemed to be in his throat, and thereafter its beat

was muffled and painful in his breast. Yet there was some sweet sadness in the knowledge that he could see her now, be near her, watched over her. By and by the overcast clouds drifted, and the moon shone bright. The night was still. The great dark mountain loomed to the stars. The numberless waves of rounded rock that must be crossed and circled lay deep in shadow. There was only a steady pattering of light hoofs. Sheffert'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. These sealed wives rode where their mounts were led or driven, as blind in their hoods, as veiled Arab women in their palakines,

and their heads drooped wearily and their shoulders bent as if under a burden. It took an hour of steady riding to reach the ascent to the plateau, and here, with the beginning of rough and smooth and shadowed trail, the work of the escort began. The line lengthened out, and each man kept to the several women assigned to him. Shefford had three, and one of them

was the girl he loved. She rode, as if the world and time and life, were not to her. As soon as he dared trust her, his voice and his control, he meant to let her know, the man, whom perhaps she had not forgotten, was there with her, a friend. Six months, it had been a lifetime to him, surely eternity to her. Had she forgotten, he felt like a coward, who had basely deserted her. Oh, had he only known. She rode a burrow that was slow, continually blocking the passage for those who were in the

behind and eventually it became lame. Thus the other women forged ahead. Shefford dismounted and stopped her burrow. It was a moment before she noted the halt, and twice in that time Shefford tried to speak and failed. 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 burrow and got up on knack yaw the stirrups were long for her and he had to change them his fingers were all thumbs as he fumbled with the buckles suddenly he became aware that there had been a subtle change in her he knew it without looking up and he seemed to be unable to go on with his task if his life had depended upon keeping his head lowered he could not have done it. The listlessness of her drooping form was no longer manifest. The peak of the dark hood pointed toward him. He knew then that she was gazing at him. Never so long as he lived would that moment be forgotten. They were alone. The others had gotten so far ahead that no sound

came back. The stillness was so deep it could be felt. The moon shone with white, cold, radiance, and the shining slopes of smooth stone waved away, crossed by shadows of pinions. Then she leaned a little toward him. One swift hand flew up to tear the black hood back so that she could see. In its place flashed her white face and her eyes were like the night. You, she whispered. His blood came leaping to sting neck and cheek and temple. What dared he interpret from that single word. Could any other word have meant so much? No one else, he replied unsteadily. Her white hand flashed again to him, and he met it with his own. He felt himself standing cold and motionless in the moonlight. He saw her wonderful, with a 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 the lovely face with its sad eyes and tragic lips. He drew Nacchiaw's bridle forward, and led him up the moonlit trail. End of Chapter 11, Part 2 Chapter 12, Part 1 of the Rainbow Trail by Zane Gray. This Librevox recording is in the public domain. The Revelation, Part 1 The following afternoon, cowboys and horse-ranglers, keen-eyed as Indians for tracks and trails,

began to arrive in the quiet valley to which the Mormon women had been returned. Upon every cedar stump there were hobbled horses, packs, and rolled bedding in tarpaulins. Shafford and Joe Lake had pitched camp in the old site near the spring. The other men of Joe's escort went to the homes of the women, and that afternoon, As the curious visitors began to arrive, these homes became barred and dark and quiet, as if they had been closed and deserted for the winter. Not a woman showed herself. Shefford and Joe, by reason of the location of their camp and their alertness,

met all the newcomers. The ride from Stonebridge was a long and hard one, calculated, to wear off the effects of the whiskey imbibed by the adventure seekers. This fact alone saved the situation. Nevertheless, Joe expected trouble. Most of the visitors were decent, good-natured fellows, merely curious and simple enough to believe that this really was what the Mormons had claimed,

a village of free women. But there were those among them who were coarse, evil-minded, and dangerous. By suppertime there were two dozen or more of these men in the valley, camped along the west wall. Fires were lighted, smoke curled up over the cedars, gay songs disturbed the usual serenity of the place.

Later in the early twilight, the curious visitors by twos and threes walked about the village, peering at the dark cabins and jesting among themselves. Joe had informed Shefford that all the women had been put into a limited number of cabins so that they could be protected. So far as Shepard saw or heard, there was no unpleasant incident in the village.

However, as the sauntering visitors returned toward their camps, they loitered at the spring, and here developments threatened. In spite of the fact that the majority of these cowboys and their comrades were decent-minded and beginning to see the real relation of things, they were not disposed to be civil to Shepard. They were certainly not Mormons. and his position apparently as a Gentile among these Mormons was one open to criticism. They might have been jealous, too. At any rate, remarks were passed in his hearing, meant for his ears,

that made it exceedingly trying for him not to resent. Moreover, Joe Lake's increasing impatience rendered the situation more difficult. Shefford welcomed the arrival of Noste Bega, The Indian listened to the loud talk of several loungers around the campfire, and thereafter he was like Shepard's shadow, silent, somber, watchful. Nevertheless, it did not happen to be one of the friendly and sarcastic cowboys that precipitated the crisis. A horse-rangler named Hurley, a man of bad repute,

as much outlaw as anything, took up the bantering. Say, Shepard, what in his own? hell's your job here anyway, he queried, as he kicked the cedar branch into the campfire. The brightening blaze showed him, swarthy, unshaven, a large, featured, ugly man. I've been doing odd jobs for withers, replied Shepard. Expect to drive pack trains in here for a while. You must stand strong with these Mormons. Must be a Mormon yourself. No, replied Shepard briefly.

Well, I'm stuck on your job. Do you need a person? Packer, I can throw a diamond hitch better than any fellow in this country. I don't need help. Maybe you'll take me over to see the ladies, he went on, with a coarse laugh. Shepard did not show that he had heard. Hurley waited, leering as he looked, from the keen listeners to Shepard. Want to have them all to yourself, huh, he jeered? Shepard struck him, sending him tumbling heavily like a log. Hurley cursing as he Half rose jerked his gun out. Noste Bega, swift as light,

kicked the gun out of his hand, and Joe Lake picked it up. Deliberately, the Mormon cocked the weapon and stood over Hurley. Get up, he ordered, and Shepard heard the ruthless Mormon in him then. Hurley rose slowly. Joe prodded him in the middle with a cocked gun.

Shepard startled, expected the gun to go off. So did the others, especially Hurley, who shrank in panic from the dark Mormon. Russell said Joe, and gave a man a harder prod. Assuredly, the gun did not have a hair trigger. Joe, maybe it's loaded, protested one of the cowboys. Hurley shrank back and turned the hurry away, with Joe close after him.

They disappeared in the darkness. A constrained silence was maintained around the campfire for a while. presently some of the men walked off and others began the converse. Everybody heard the sound of hoofs passing down the trail. The patters ceased, and in a few moments Lake returned. He still carried Hurley's gun. The crowd dispersed then. There was no indication of further trouble.

However, Shepard and Joe and Noste Bega divided the night in watches, so that someone would be wide awake. early the next morning there was an exodus from the village of the better element among the visitors no fun hanging round here one of them expressed it and as good-naturedly as they had come they rode away Six or seven of the desperado class remained behind, bent on mischief, and they were reinforced by more arrivals from Stonebridge. They avoided the camp by the spring, and when Shefford and Lake attempted to go to them, they gave them a wide berth. This caused Joe to assert that they were up to some dirty work.

All morning they lounged around under the cedars, keeping out of sight, and evidently the reinforcement from Stonebridge had brought liquor. When they gathered together at their camp, half-drunk, all noisy, some wanting to swagger off into the village, and others trying to hold them back, Joe Lake said grimly that somebody was going to get shot. Indeed, Shepard saw that there was every likelihood of bloodshed. Reckon we'd better take to one of the cabins, said Joe.

Thereupon the three repaired to the nearest cabin, and entering kept watch from the windows. During a couple of hours, however, they did not see or hear anything of the ruffians. Then came a shot from over in the village, a single yell, and after that a scattering volley. The silence and suspense which followed were finally broken by hoofbeats. Noste Bega called Joe and Shefford to the window he had been stationed at, From here they saw the unwelcome visitors ride down the trail to disappear in the cedars toward the outlet of the valley. Joe, who had numbered them, said all but one of them had gone. Reckon he got it, added Joe.

So indeed it turned out one of the men, a well-known rustler named Harker, had been killed by whom no one seemed to know. He had brazenly tried the force's way into one of the houses. and the act had cost him his life. Naturally, Shepard, never free from his civilized habit of thought, remarked apprehensively, that he hoped this affair would not cause the poor women to be arrested again and hailed before some rude court. Law grunted Joe, there ain't any.

The nearest sheriff is in Durango, that's Colorado, and he'd give us a medal for killing Harker. It was a good job, for it'll teach him. teach these rowdies a lesson. Next day the old order of life was resumed in the village, and the arrival of a heavily laden pack-train under the guidance of withers attested to the fact that the Mormons meant not only to continue to live in the valley,

but also to build and plant and enlarge. This was good news to Shepard. At least the village could be made less lonely, and there was plenty of work to give him excuse for staying there. Furthermore, Withers brought a message from Bishop Kane to the effect that the young man was offered a place as a teacher in the school, in cooperation with the Mormon teachers. Shefford experienced no twinge of conscience when he accepted. It was the fourth evening after the never-to-be-forgotten moonlight ride to the valley that

Shefford passed under the dark pinion trees on his way to Fay Larkin's cottage. He paused in the gloom, and memory beset him. The six months were annihilated, and it was the night he had fled. But now, all was silent. He seemed to be trying to drag himself back. A beginning must be made, only how to meet her, what to say, what to conceal. He tapped on the door, and she came out. After all, it was a meeting vastly different from what his feeling made him imagine it might have been.

She was nervous, frightened, as were all the other women, for that matter. She was alone in the cottage. He made haste to reassure her about the improbability of any further trouble, such as had befallen the last week. As he had always done on those former visits to her, he talked rapidly, using all his wit, and here his emotion made him eloquent. He avoided personalities except to tell about his prospects of work,

in the village, and he sought above all to lead her mind from thought of herself and her condition. Before he left her, he had the gladness of knowing he had succeeded. When he said good-night he felt the strange falsity of his position. He did not expect to be able to keep up the deception for long. That roused him, and half the night he lay awake thinking. Next day he was the life of the work and study and play in that village. village. Kindness and goodwill did not need inspiration, but it was keen, deep passion, that made him a plodder for influence and friendship. Was there a woman in the village whom

he might trust in case he needed one? And his instinct guided him to her whom he had liked well, Ruth. Ruth Jones, she had called herself at the trial, and when Shefford used the name, she laughed mockingly. Ruth was not very religious, and sometimes she was bitter and hard. She wanted life, and here she was a prisoner in a lonely valley. She welcomed Sheffert's visits. He imagined that she had slightly changed, and whether it was the ad at six months with its trouble and pain

or a growing revolt, he could not tell. After a time, he divined that the inevitable retrogression had set in. She had not enough faith to uphold the burden she had accepted, nor the courage to cast it off. She was ready to love him. That did not frighten, Sheffered, and if she did love him, he was not so sure it would not be an anchor for her. He saw her danger, and then he became what he had never really been in all the days of his ministry, the real helper. Unselfishly, for her sake, he found power to influence her, and self.

selfishly, for the sake of Fay Larkin, he began slowly to win her to a possible need. The days passed swiftly, Mormons came and went, though in the open day as laborers new cabins went up and a store and other improvements. Some part of every evening, Shefford spent with Fay, and these visits were no longer unknown to the village. Women gossiped. in a friendly way about shefford but with jealous tongues about the girl joe lake told shefford the run of the village talk anything concerning the sago lily the droll mormon took to heart he had been hard hit and he admitted it sometimes he went with shefford the call upon her but he talked little and never remained long sheffert had anticipated antagonism on the part of joe however he did not find it

shefford really lived through the busy day for that hour with fay in the twilight and every evening seemed the same he would find her in the dark alone silent brooding hopeless Her mood did not puzzle him, but how to keep her from plunging deeper into despair baffled him. He exhausted all his power trying to do for her what he had been able to do for Ruth. Yet he failed. Something had blunted her. The shadow of that baneful trial hovered over her, and he came the sense of strange terror in her. It was mostly always present. Was she thinking of Jane Witherstein and Lasseter, left dead or in her?

left dead or imprisoned in the valley from which she had been brought so mysteriously. Shefford wearied his brain revolving these questions. The fate of her friends and the cross she bore, of these was tragedy-born. But the terror that Shefford divined came of waiting for the visit of the Mormon whose face she had never seen. Shefford prayed that he might never meet this man. Finally he grew desperate. When he first arrived at the girl's home, she would speak. She showed gladness, relief,

and then straightaway she dropped back into the shadow of her gloom. When he got up to go, then there was a wistfulness, an unspoken need, an unconscious reliance in her reluctant good-night. Then the hour came when he reached his limit. He must begin his revelation. You never ask me anything, let alone about myself, he said. I'd like to hear, she replied timidly. Do I strike you as an unhappy man?

No, indeed. Well, how do I strike you? This was an entirely new tack he had veered to. Very good and kindless women, she said. I don't know about that. If I am so, it doesn't bring me happiness. do you remember what I told you once about my being a preacher,

disgrace, ruin, and all that, and my rainbow-chasing dream out here after a lost girl? I remember all you said, she replied, very low. Listen, his voice was a little husky, but behind it there seemed a tide of resistless utterance. Loss of faith and name did not send me to this wilderness. But I had love, love for that lost girl, Fay Larkin.

I dreamed about her till I loved her. I dreamed that I would find her, my treasure, at the foot of a rainbow. Dreams? When you told me she was dead, I accepted that. There was truth in your voice. I respected your reticence. But something died in me then. I lost myself, the best of me, the good that might have uplifted me.

I went away, down upon the barren desert, and there I rode and slept, and grew into another and a harder man. Yet strange to say, I never forgot her, though my dreams were done. As I toiled and suffered and changed, I loved her. If not her, the thought of her more and more. Now I have come back to these walled valleys, to the smell of pinion, to the flowers in the nooks, to the wind on the heights, to the silence and loneliness and beauty.

And here the dreams come back, and she is with me always. Her spirit is all that keeps me kind and good, as you say I am. But I suffer. I long for her alive. If I love her dead, how could I love her living?

Always I torture myself with a vain dream, that she might not be dead. I have never been anything but a dreamer, and here I go about my work by day and lie awake at night with that lost girl in my mind. I love her. Does that seem strange to you? But it would not, if you understood. Think, I had lost faith, hope. I set myself a great work to find Faye Larkin. And by the fire and the iron and the blood that I felt it would cost to save her, Some faith must come to me again. My work is undone. I've never saved her, but listen, how strange it is to feel now, as I let myself go,

that just loving her, and the living here in the wilderness that holds her somewhere have brought me hope again. Some faith must come, too. It was through her that I met this Indian, Noste Bega. He has saved my life,

taught me much. What would I ever have? have learned of the naked and vast earth, of the sublimity of the wild uplands, of the storm and night and sun, if I had not followed a gleam she inspired. In my hunt for a lost girl, perhaps, I wandered into a place where I shall find a God and my salvation. Do you marvel that I love Faye Larkin, that she is not dead to me? Do you marvel that I love her when I know were she alive, chained in alexion,

canyon, or bound, or lost in any way, my destiny would lead me to her, and she should be saved. Shefford ended, overcome with emotion. In the dusk he could not see the girl's face, but the white form that had drooped so listlessly seemed now, charged, by some vitalizing current. He knew he had spoken irrationally. Still, he held it no dishonor to have told her. he loved her as one dead.

If she took that love to the secret heart of living, Faye Larkin, then perhaps a spirit might light in her darkened soul. He had no thought yet that Faye Larkin might ever belong to him. He divined the crime.

He had seen her agony, and this avowal of his was only one step toward her deliverance. Softly she rose, retreated into the shadow. Forgive me if I disturb you, distressed you, he said. I wanted to tell you. She was somebody known to you.

I am not happy. And are you happy? Let her memory be a bond between us. Good night. Good night. Faint has the fairest whisper, breathed her reply. And though it came from a child forced in the womanhood, it whispered of girlhood not dead,

of sweet incredulity, of a maize tumult, of a wandering, frantic desire to run and hide, of the bewilderment incident to a first hint of love. Shefford walked away into the darkness. The whisper filled his soul. Had a word of love ever been spoken to that girl? Never, not the love, which had been on his lips. Fay Larkin's lonely life spoke clearly in her whisper. end of chapter twelve part one chapter twelve part two of the rainbow trail by zane gray this librovoc's recording is in the public domain the revelation part two

next morning as the sun gilded the looming peaks and shafts of gold slanted into the valley she came swiftly down the path to the spring shefford paused in his task of chopping wood Joe Lake on his knees, with his big hands and a pan of dough, lifted his head to stare. She had left off the somber black hood, and although that made a vast difference in her, still it was not enough to account for what struck both men. Good morning, she called brightly. They both answered, but not spontaneously. She stopped at the spring, and with one sweep of her strong arm, filled the bucket and lifted it.

Then she started back down the path, and, pausing opposite the camp, set the bucket down. Joe, do you still pride yourself on your sourdough, she asked? Reck and I do, replied Joe with a grin. I've heard your boasts, but never tasted your bread, she went on. I'll ask you to eat with us some day. Don't forget, she replied. And then shyly, she looked at Shefford. She was like the fresh dawn and the gold.

of the sun shone on her head. Have you chopped all that wood so early, she asked. Sure, replied Shepard, laughing. I have to get up early to keep Joe from doing all the camp chores. She smiled, and in the Shepard, she seemed the gleam to be radiant. It'd be a lovely morning to climb way high. Why, yes, it would, replied Shepard, awkwardly. I wish I didn't have my work.

Joe, will you climb with me some day? I should smile I will, declared Joe. But I can run right up the walls. I reckon, Mary, it wouldn't surprise me to see you fly. Do you mean I'm like a canyon swallow or an angel? Then as Joe stared speechlessly, she said goodbye and taking up the bucket went on with her swift, graceful step. She's perked up, said the Mormon, staring.

after her, never heard her say more than yes or no till now. She did seem bright, replied Shefford. He was stunned. What had happened to her? Today, this girl had not been married, the sealed wife, or the Seagull Lily, alien, among Mormon women. Then it flashed upon him. She was Faye Larkin.

She who had regarded herself as dead had come back to life. In one short night what had transformed her. what had taken place in her heart. Shepard dared not accept, nor allow lodgment in his mind, a thrilling idea that he had made her forget her misery. Shepard, did you ever see her like that? asked Joe. Never.

Haven't you something to do with it? Maybe I have, I hope so. Reckon you've seen how she's faded since the trial. No, replied Shepard swiftly, but I've not seen her face in daylight since then. Well, take my hunch, said Joe soberly. She's begun to fade like the canyon lily when it's broken, and she's going to die unless...

Why, man, ejaculated Shepard. Didn't you see? Sure I see, interrupted the Mormon. I see a lot you don't. She's so white. You can look through her. She's grown thin all in a week. She doesn't eat.

Oh, I know. because I've made it my business to find out. It's no news to the women, but they'd like to see her die, and she will die unless. My God, acclaimed Sheffered, huskily, I never noticed. I never thought.

Joe, hasn't she any friends? Sure, you and Ruth and me. Maybe Nastebega, too. He watches her a good deal. We can do so little when she needs so much. Nobody can help her unless it's you and on the Mormon. That's plain talk. She seemed different this morning.

Why she was alive, she talked, she smiled. Sheffered, if you cheer her up, I'll go to hell for you. The big Mormon on his knees with his hands in a pan of dough and his shirt all covered with flour, presented an incongruous figure of a man, actuated by pathos and passion. yet the contrast made his emotion all the simpler and stronger. Shepard grew closer to Joe in that moment.

Why do you think I can cheer her up, help her, queried Shepard? I don't know, but she's different with you. It's not that you're a Gentile, though, for all the women are crazy about you. You talk to her, you have power over her. Shefford, I feel that. She's only a kid. Who is she, Joe? Where did she come from? As Shefford, very low, with his eyes cast down. I don't know. I can't find out. Nobody knows. It's a mystery to all the younger Mormons anyway.

Shefford burned to ask questions about the Mormon, whose sealed wife the girl was, but he respected Joe too much to take advantage of him in a poignant moment like this. Besides, it was only jealous of him. that made him burn to know the Mormon's identity, and jealousy had become a creeping, insidious, growing fire. He would be wise not to add fuel to it. He rejected many things before. He thought of one that he could voice to his friend. Joe, it's only her body that belongs to, too, her soul is lost, too. John Shefford, let that go. My mind's tired. I've been taught so-and-so. and I'm not bright. But after all, men are much alike. The thing with you and me is this. We don't want to see her grave. Love spoke there. The Mormon had seized upon the single elemental point that concerned him and his friend in their relation to this unfortunate girl.

His simple, powerful statement united them. It gave the lie to his hint of denseness. It stripped the truth naked. It was such a wonderful thing. thought, provoking statement, that Shepard needed time to ponder how deep the Mormon was. To what limit would he go? Did he mean that here? Between two men who love the same girl, class, duty, honor, creed were nothing, if they stood in the way of her deliverance and her life. Joe Lake, you Mormons are impossible, said Shepard deliberately. You don't want to see her grave, so long as she lives, remains on the earth. White, and gold like the flower you call her, that's enough for you. It's her body you think of,

and that's the great and horrible error in your religion. But death of soul is infinitely worse than death of body. I have been thinking of her soul. So here we stand, you and I, you to save her life, I to save her soul. What will you do? Why, John, I turned Gentile, he said, with terrible softness. It was a softness. that scorned Shefford for asking, and likewise it flung defiance at his creed and into the face of hell. Shefford felt the sting and the exaltation. And I'd be a Mormon, he said.

All right, we understand each other. Reckon there won't be any call for such extremes. I haven't an idea what you mean, what can be done. But I say go slow. So we won't all find, graves. first cheer her up somehow, make her want to live, but go slow, John, and don't be with her late. That night, Shefford found her waiting for him in the moonlight, a girl who was as transparent as crystal clear water, who had left off the somber gloom with the black hood, who tremulously

embraced happiness without knowing it, who was one moment timid and wild like a half-frightened fawn, and the next, exquisitely half-conscious of what it meant to be thought dead, but to be alive, to be awakening, wandering, palpitating, and to be loved. Shefford lived the hour as a dream, and went back to the quiet darkness under the cedars, to lie wide-eyed, trying to recall all she had said, for she had talked as if utterance had long been damned behind a barrier of silence. There followed other hours like that one, indescribable hours, so sweet they stung,

and in which, keeping pace with his love, was the nobler stride of a spirit that more every day lightened her burdened. The thing he had to do sooner or later was to tell her he knew she was Faye Larkin, not dead but alive, and that, not love nor religion, but sacrifice, nailed her down to her martyrdom. Many and many a time he had tried to force himself to tell her only to fail.

He hated the risk ending this sweet, strange, thoughtless, girlish mood of hers. It might not be soon one back, perhaps never. How could he tell her what chains bound her? And so, has he vacillated, between Joe's cautious adjudice, vice to go slow, and his own pity, the days and weeks slipped by. One haunting fear kept him sleepless half the night and sick even in his dreams, and it was that the Mormon whose sealed wife she was might come, surely would come, some night. Shefford could bear it, but what would the visit do to Fay Larkin?

Shefford instinctively feared the awakening in the girl of womanhood, of deeper inside of a spiritual realization of what she was, of a physical dawn. He might have spared himself needless torture. One day, Joe Lake eyed him with penetrating glance. Reckon you don't have to sleep right on that stonebridge trail, said the Mormon significantly. Shefford felt the blood burn his neck and face. He had pulled his tarpaulin closer to the trail, and his motive was an open to the was an open page to the keen mormon why asked shefford there won't be any mormons riding in here soon by night to visit the women replied joe bluntly haven't you figured there might be government spies watching the trails no i haven't

well take a hunch then added the mormon gruffly and shefford divined as well as if he had been told that warning word had gone the stone bridge gone despite the fact that naste baga had reported every trail free of watchers there was no sign of any spies cowboys outlaws or indians in the vicinity of the valley a passionate gratitude to the mormon overcame shefford and the unreasonableness of it the nature of it perturbed him greatly but something hammered into his brain if he loved one of these sealed wives how could he help being jealous the result of joe's hint was that shefford put off the hour of revelation lived in his dream helped the girl grow farther and farther away from her trouble until that inevitable hour arrived when he was driven by accumulated emotion as much as the exigency of the case he had not often walked with her beyond the dark shade of the pinions round the cottage but this night when he knew he must tell her he led her away down the path through the cedar grove to the west end of the valley where it was wild and lonely and sad and silent the moon was full and the great peaks were crowned as with snow a coyote uttered his cutting cry there were a few melancholy notes from a night-bird of the stone walls the air was clear and cold with a tang of frost in it shefford gazed about him at the vast uplifted insulating walls and that feeling of his which was more than a sense told him how walls like these and the silence and shadow and mystery had been nearly all of fay larkin's life he felt them all in her

he stopped out in the open near the line where dark shadow of the wall met the silver moonlight on the grass and here by a huge flat stone where he had come often alone and sometimes with ruth he faced fay larkin in the spirit to tell her gently that he knew her and sternly to force her secret from her am i your friend he began ah my only friend she said Do you trust me, believe I mean well by you, want to help you? Yes, indeed. Well, then, let me speak of you. You know one topic we've never touched upon. You. She was silent, and looked wonderingly, a little fearfully, at him,

as if vague, disturbing thoughts were entering the fringe of her mind. Our friendship is a strange one, is it not? He went on. How do I know? i never had any other friendship what do you mean by strange well i'm a young man you're a-a married woman we are together a good deal and like to be why is that strange she asked suddenly shefford realized that there was nothing strange in what was natural a remnant of sophistication clung to him and that had spoken he needed to speak to her in a way which in her simplicity she would understand. Never mind strange, say that I am interested in you, and, as you're not happy, I want to help you,

and say that your neighbors are curious and oppose my idea. Why do they? They're jealous and want you themselves, she replied, with sweet directness. They've said things I don't understand. But I felt they. They hated in me what would be all right in themselves. Here to simplicity she added truth and wisdom, as an Indian might have expressed them. Shame was unknown to her, and she had as yet only vague perceptions of love and passion.

Shefford began to realize the quickness of her mind, that she was indeed awakening. They are jealous, were jealous, before I ever came here. That's only human nature. I was trying to get to a point. your neighbors are curious they oppose me they hate you it's all bound up in in the fact of your difference from them your youth beauty that you're not a mormon that you nearly betrayed their secret at the trial in stonebridge please please don't speak of that she faltered but i must he replied swiftly that trial was a torture to you it revealed so much to me i know you are a sealed life I know there has been a crime. I know you've sacrificed yourself. I know that love and religion have nothing to do with what you are. Now, is not all that true? I must not tell, she whispered. But I shall make you tell, he replied, and his voice rang. Oh, no, you cannot, she said. I can, with just one word. Her eyes were great, starry, shadowy, shadowy,

dark in the white beauty of her face. She was calm now. She had strength. She invited him to speak the word, and the wistful, tremulous quiver of her lips was for his earnest thought of her. Wait a little, said Shefford unsteadily. I'll come to that presently. Tell me this. Have you ever thought of being free? Free, she echoed, and there was singular depth and richness in her voice. That was the first sense. spark of fire he had struck from her. Long ago, the minute I was unwatched, I'd have leaped from a wall had I dared. Well, I wasn't afraid.

I'd love to die that way, but I never dared. Why, queried Shepard, piercingly? She was silent then. Suppose I offered to give you freedom that meant life. I couldn't take it. Why? Oh, my friend don't ask me any more. i know i can see you want to tell me you need to tell me but i daren't won't you trust me i do i do then tell me no no no

the moment had come how sad tragic yet glorious for him it would be like a magic touch upon this lovely cold white ghost of fay larkin transforming her into a living breathing girl He held his love as a thing aloof, and, as such, intangible, because of the living death she believed she lived. It had no warmth and intimacy for them. What might it not become, with a lightning flash of revelation? He dreaded, yet he was driven to speak. He waited, swallowing hard, fighting the tumultuous storm of emotion, and his eyes dimmed. What did I come to this country for?

asked, suddenly, in ringing, powerful voice. To find a girl, she whispered, I found her. She began the shake. He saw a white hand go to her breast. Where is Surprise Valley? How were you taken from Jane Witherstein and Lasseter? I know they're alive, but where? She seemed to turn to stone. Faye, Faye Larkin, I know you, he cried brokenly. She slipped off the stone to her knees, swayed forward blindly, with her hands reaching out, her head falling back to let the moon fall full upon the beautiful, snow-white, tragically convulsed face. End of Chapter 12, Part 2. Chapter 13, Part 1 of the Rainbow Trail by Zane Gray. This Librevox recording is in the public domain.

the story of surprise valley part one oh i remember so well even now i dream of it sometimes i hear the roll and crash of falling rock like thunder we rode and rode then the horses fell uncle jim took me in his arms and started up the cliff mother jane climbed close after us they kept looking back down there in the gray valley came the morning morning and then the gray valley came the morning I see the first one now. He rode a white horse that was tall. Oh, I remember so well, and I was five or six years old. We climbed up and up into the dark canyon and wound in and out. Then there was the narrow white trail straight up with little cut steps and the great red ruined walls. I looked down over Uncle Jim's shoulder. I saw Mother Jane dragging her side. up. Uncle Jim's blood spotted the trail. He reached a flat place at the top and fell with me. Mother Jane crawled up to us. Then she cried out and pointed. Tall was way below,

climbing the trail. His men came behind him. Uncle Jim went to a great tall rock and leaned against it. There was a bloody hole in his hand. He pushed the rock. It rolled down, banged the loose walls. They crashed and crashed. Then all was terrible thunder and red smoke. I couldn't hear, I couldn't see. Uncle Jim carried me down and down, out of the dark and dust, into a beautiful valley, all red and gold, with a wonderful arch of stone over the entrance. I don't remember well what happened then, for what seemed the long, long time. I could feel how the place looked but not so clear as it is now in my dreams i seem to see myself with the dogs and with mother jane learning my letters marking with red stone on the walls but i remember now how i felt when i first understood we were shut in forever shut in surprise valley where venters had lived so long i was glad the mormons would never get me i was seven or eight years old then

From that time all is clear in my mind. Venters had left supplies and tools and grain and cattle and burrows, so we had a good start to begin life there. He had killed off the wildcats and kept the coyotes out, so the rabbits and quail multiplied till there were thousands of them. We raised corn and fruit and stored what we didn't use. Mother Jane taught me to read and write with the soft red, stone that marked well on the walls. The years passed. We kept track of time pretty well.

Uncle Jim's hair turned white, and Mother Jane grew gray. Every day was like the one before. Mother Jane cried sometimes, and Uncle Jim was sad, because they could never be able to get me out of the valley. It was long before they stopped looking and listening for someone. Venters would come back. Uncle Jim always said, but Mother Jane did not think so. I love Surprise Valley. I wanted to stay there always. I remembered Cottonwoods, how the children there hated me, and I didn't want to go back. The only unhappy time I ever had in the valley were when Ring and Whitey, my dogs, grew old and died. I roamed the valley. I climbed to every nook upon the mossy ledges. I learned to run up the steep cliffs.

I could almost stick on the straight walls. Mother Jane called me a wild girl. We had put away the clothes we wore when we got there, to save them, and we made clothes of skins. I always laughed when I thought of my little dress, how I grew out of it. I think Uncle Jim and Mother Jane talked less as the years went by, and after I learned all she could teach me,

We didn't talk much. I used to scream into the caves just to hear my voice, and the echoes would frighten me. The older I grew, the more I was alone. I was always running round the valley. I would climb to a high place and sit there for hours doing nothing. I just watched and listened. I used to stay in the cliff-dwellers' caves and wonder about them.

I loved to be out in the wind, and my happiest time was in the summer's storms, with the thunder echoes under the walls. At evening, it was such a quiet place, after the night birds cry, no sound. The quiet made me sad, but I loved it. I loved to watch the stars as I lay awake. So it was beautiful and happy for me there, till, till.

Two years or more ago, there was a bad storm, and one of the great walls caved. The walls were always weathering, slipping. Many and many a time have I heard the rumble of an avalanche, but most of them were in other canyon. This slide in the valley made it possible, Uncle Jim said, for men to get down into the valley, but we could not climb out unless helped from above.

Uncle Jim never rested well after that, but it never worried me. Today, over a year ago, while I was across the valley, I heard strange shouts and then screams. I ran to our camp. I came upon men with ropes and guns. Uncle Jim was tied, and a rope was round his neck. Mother Jane was lying on the ground. I thought she was dead until I heard her moan.

I was not afraid. I screamed and flew at Uncle Jim to tear the ropes off him. The men held me back. They called me a pretty cat. Then they talked together, and some were for hanging Lasseter. That was the first time I ever knew any name for him but Uncle Jim, and some were for leaving him in the valley. Finally they decided to hang him.

But Mother Jane pleaded so, and I screamed and fought, so that they left off. Then they went away, and we saw them climb out of the valley. Uncle Jim said they were Mormons, and some among them had been born in cottonwoods. I was not told why they had such a terrible hate for him. He said they would come back and kill him. Uncle Jim had no guns to fight with.

We watched and watched. In five days they did come back with more men, and some of them wore black masks. They came to our cave with ropes and guns. One was tall. He had a cruel voice, The others ran to obey him. I could see white hair and sharp eyes behind the mask.

The men caught me and brought me before him. He said Lassiter had killed many Mormons. He said Lassiter had killed his father and should be hanged. But Lassiter would be let live, and Mother Jane could stay with him, both prisoners there in the valley. If I would marry the Mormon, I must marry him, except the Mormon faith, and bring up my children as mormons if i refused they would hang lasseter leave the heretic jane withersstein alone in the valley and take me and break me to their rule

i agreed but mother jane absolutely forbade me to marry him then the mormons took me away it nearly killed me to leave uncle jim and mother jane i was carried and lifted out of the valley and rode a long way on a horse They brought me here, to the cabin where I live, and I have never been away, except that time the Stonebridge. Only little by little did I learn my position. Bishop Kane was kind, but stern, because I could not be quick to learn the faith. I am not a sealed wife, but they're trying to make me one. The master Mormon, he visited me often at night till lately. He threatened me. He never told me a name except St. George. I don't know him, except his voice. I never saw his face in the light.

Faye Larkin ended her story. Toward its clothes, Shefford had grown involuntarily restless, and when her last tragic whisper ceased, all his body seemed shaken with a terrible violence of his joy. He strode to and fro in the dark shadow of the stout. The receding blood left him cold, with a pricking, sickening sensation over his body, but there seemed to be an overwhelming tide, accumulating deep in his breast, a tide of passion

and pain. He dominated the passion, but the ache remained, and he returned to the quiet figure on the stone. Faye Larkin, he exclaimed, with a deep breath of relief that the secret was disclosed, So you're not a wife. You're free. Thank heaven. But I felt it was sacrifice.

I knew there had been a crime. For crime it is, you child, you can't understand what crime. Oh, I almost wish you and Jane and Lasseter had never been found. But that's wrong of me. One year of agony that shall not ruin your life, Faye, I will take you away. Where is she whispered? away from this mormon country to the east he replied and he spoke of what he had known of travel of cities of people of happiness possible for a young girl who had spent all her life hidden between the narrow walls of a silent lonely valley he spoke swiftly and eloquently till he lost his breath there was an instant of flashing wonder and joy on her white face and then the radiance paled the glow died

her soul was the darker for that one strange leaping glimpse of a glory not for such as she i must stay here she said shudderingly fay how strange to say fay aloud to you fay do you know the way to surprise valley i don't know where it is but i could go straight to it she replied take me there show me your beautiful valley let me see where you ran and climbed and spent so many lonely years ah how i'd love to but i dare not and why should you want me to take you we can run and climb here i want to i mean to save jane witherstein and lasseter he declared she uttered a little cry of pain save them yes save them get them out of the valley take them out of the country far away were they and you but i can't go she wailed i'm afraid i'm bound it can't be broken if i dared if i tried to go they would catch me they would hang uncle jim and leave mother jane alone there to starve fay lasseter and jane both will starve at least they will die there if we do not save them you have been terribly wronged you're a slave you're not a wife they said i'd be burned in hell if i don't marry him mother jane never taught me about god i don't know but he he said god was there i dare not break it fay you have been deceived by old men let them have their creed but you mustn't accept it john what is god to you

dear child i am not sure of that myself he replied huskily when all this trouble is behind us surely i can help you to understand and you can help me the fact that you are alive that lasseter and jane are alive that i shall save you all that lifts me up. I tell you, Fay Larkin, will be my salvation. Your words trouble me. Oh, I shall be torn one way and another. But, John, I daren't run away. I will not tell you where to find Lasseter and Mother Jane. I shall find them. I have the Indian. He found you for me. Nastebega will find Surprise Valley. Nastebega, oh, I remember, there was an Indian with the Mormons who found us, but he was a piute. Nostebega never told me how he learned about you, that he learned was enough, and Faye,

he will find Surprise Valley. He will save Uncle Jim and Mother Jane. Faye's hands clasped Shepherds in strong, trembling pressure. The tears streamed down her wreaths. white cheeks, a tragic and eloquent joy convulsed her face. Oh, my friend save them, but I can't go. Let them keep me. Let them kill me. Him, Faye, he shall not harm you, replied Shepard, in passionate earnestness. She caught the hand he had struck out with. You talk. You look like Uncle Jim

when he spoke of the Mormons, she said. Then I used to be afraid of him. He was so different. John, you must not do anything about me. Let me be. It's too late. He and his men, they would hang you. And I couldn't bear that. I've enough to bear without losing my friend.

Say you won't watch and wait. For him. Shefford had to promise her, like an Indian. She gave expression to primitive feeling, for it certainly never occurred to her, that, whatever Shefford might do, he was not the kind of man to wait in hiding for an enemy. Faye had faltered through her last speech,

and was now weak and nervous and frightened. Shepard took her back to the cabin. Faye, don't be distressed, he said. I won't do anything right away. You can trust me. I won't be rash. I'll consult you before I make a move. I haven't any idea what I could do anyway.

You must bear up. Why? it looks as if you're sorry I found you. Oh, I'm glad, she whispered. Then if you're glad, you mustn't break down this way again. Suppose some of the women happen to run into us. I won't again. It's only you.

You surprised me. I used to think how I'd like you to know. I wasn't really dead, but now it's different. It hurts me here. Yet I'm glad. If my being alive makes you, a little happier. Shefford felt that he had to go then.

He could not trust himself any further. Good night, Faye, he said. Good night, John, she whispered. I promise to be good tomorrow. She was crying softly when he left her. Twice he turned to see the dim, white, slender form against the gloom of the cabin. Then he went on under the pinions,

blindly down the path, with his heart as heavy as lead that night as he rolled in his blanket and stretched wearily he felt that he would never be able to sleep the wind in the cedars made him shiver the great stars seemed relentless passionless white eyes mocking his little destiny and his pain the huge shadow of the mountain resembled the shadow of the insurmountable barrier between fay and him her pitiful childish promise to be good was in his mind when he went to her home on the next night he wondered how she would be and he realized a desperate need of self-control but that night fay larkin was a different girl in the dark before she spoke he felt a difference that afforded him surprise and relief he greeted her as usual and then it seemed though not at all clearly that he was listening to a girl strangely and unconsciously glad to see him who spoke with deeper note in her voice who talked where always she had listened whose sadness was there under an eagerness a subdued gaiety as new to her as sweet as it was bewildering and he responded with emotion so that the hour passed swiftly and he found himself back in camp in a kind of dream unable to remember much of what she had said sure of only this strange sweetness suddenly come to her upon the following night however he discovered what had wrought this singular change in fay larkin

she loved him and she did not know it how passionately sweet and sad and painful was that realization for shefford the hour spent with her then-and-and-sheffered the hours spent with her then was only a moment he walked under the stars that night and they shed a glorious light upon him he tried to think to plan but the sweetness of remembered word or look made mental effort almost impossible he got as far as the thought that he would do well to drift to wait till she learned she loved him and then perhaps she could be persuaded to let him take her and lacer and Jane away together. And from that night he went out his work and the part he played in the village with a zeal and a cunning that left him free to seek Fay

when he chose. End of Chapter 13, Part 1 Chapter 13 Part 2 of the Rainbow Trail by Zane Gray. This Librevox recording is in the public domain. The story of Surprise Valley. Part 2. Sometimes in the afternoon, always for a while in the evening, he was with her.

They climbed the walls and sat upon a lonely height to look afar. They walked under the stars and the cedars and the shadows of the great cliffs. She had a beautiful mind. Listening to her, he imagined, he saw, down into beautiful Surprise Valley, with all its weird shadows, its colored walls, and painted caves, its golden shafts of morning light, and the red haze at sunset. And he felt the silence that must have been there, and the singing of the wind in the cliffs, and the sweetness and fragrance of the flowers, and the wildness of it all. Love had worked a marvelous transformation in this girl

who had lived her life in a canyon. The burden upon her did not, way heavily. She could not have an unhappy thought. She spoke of the village of her Mormon companions, of daily happenings, of Stonebridge, of many things in a matter-of-fact way that showed how little they occupied her mind. She even spoke of sealed wives in a kind of dreamy abstraction. Something had possession of her, something as strong as the nature which had developed her, and in its power she and her simplicity was utterly unconscious, a watching and feeling girl, a strange, witching, radiant beauty, lurked in her smile, and Shefford heard her laugh in his dreams. The weeks slipped by, the Black Mountain took on a white cap of snow.

In the early morning there was ice in the crevices on the heights and frost in the valley. and the sheltered canyon where sunshine seemed to linger, it was warm and pleasant, so that the winter did not kill the flowers. Shepard waited so long for Faye's awakening that he believed it would never come, and believing he had not the heart to force it upon her. Then there was a growing fear with him. What would Faye Larkin do when she awakened to the truth? fay was indeed like that white and fragile lily which bloomed in the silent lonely canyon but the same nature that had created it had created her would she droop as the lily wood in a furnished blast more than that he feared a sudden flashing into life of strength power passion hate she did not hate yet because she did not yet realize love she was utterly innocent of any wrong having been done her more and more he began the fear and a foreboding grew upon him he made up his mind to broach the subject of surprise valley and of escaping with lasseter and jane

still every time he was with fay the girl and her beauty and her love were so wonderful that he put off the ordeal till the next night as time flew by He excused his vacillation on the score that winter was not a good time to try it across the desert. There was no grass for the Mustangs, except in well-known valleys, and these he must shun. Spring would soon come. So the days passed, and he loved Fay more all the time, desperately living out to its limits the sweetness of every moment with her, and paying for his bliss in the increas of the increas. he seen trouble that beset him when once away from her charm.

One starry night about ten o'clock he went, as was his custom to drink at the spring. Upon his return to the cedars, Nastebega, who slept under the same tree with him, had arisen with his blanket hanging half off his shoulder. Listen, said the Indian. Shefford took one glance at the dark, somber face, with its inscrutable. eyes, now so strange in piercing, and then, with a kind of cold excitement, he faced the way the Indian looked and listened, but he heard only the soft moan of the night wind in the cedars. Noste Vega kept the rigidity of his position for a moment, and then he relaxed and stood at

ease. Shepard knew the Indian had made a certainty of what must have been a doubtful sound, and Shepard leaned his ear to the wind and strained his hearing. Then the soft night breeze brought a faint patter, the slow trot of horses on a hard trail. Someone was coming into the village at a late hour. Shepard thought of Joe Lake, but Joe lay right behind him,

asleep in his blankets. It could not be withers, for the traitor was in Durango at that time. Shepard thought of Willets and Shad. Who's coming, he asked low of the Indian? Nostebega pointed down the trail without speaking. Shepard peered through the white, dim haze of starlight, and presently he made out moving figures, horses with riders, the string of them,

one, two, three, four, five, and he counted up to eleven. Eleven horsemen, riding into the village. He was amazed, and suddenly, keenly, anxious. This visit might be one of Shad's raids. Shad's gang, he whispered. No, by nigh, replied Noste Bega, and he drew Shepard farther into the shade of the cedars.

His voice, his action, the way he kept a hand on Shepard's shoulder, all this told much to the young man. Mormons come on a night visit, Shepard realized it with a shock, then Swift has a lightning flash, he was rent by another shock, one that brought cold moisture to his brow and to his heart of flame of hell. He was shaking when he sank down to find the support of a log.

Like a shadow, the Indian silently moved away. Shepard watched the eleven horses past a camp, go down the road to disappear in the village. They vanished, and the soft clipclops of hoofs died away. There was nothing left to prove he had not dreamed. Nothing to prove it except this sudden terrible demoralization of his physical and spiritual being. While he peered out into the valley toward the black patch of cedars and pinions

that hid the cabins, moments and moments passed, and in them he was gripped with cold and fire. Was the Mormon who had abducted Faye, the man with a cruel voice, was he among those eleven horsemen. He might not have been. What a torturing hope, but vain, vain, for inevitably he must be among them.

He was there in the cabin already. He had dismounted, tied his horse, and knocked on her door. Did he need to knock? No, he would go in. He would call her in that cruel voice, and then... Shefford pulled a blanket from his bed

and covered his cold and trembling body. He had sunk down off the log, was leaning back upon it. The stars were pale, far off, and the valley seemed unreal. He found himself listening, listening with sick and terrible earnestness, trying to hear against the thrum and beat of his heart, straining to catch a sound in all that cold, star-blanched silent valley. But he could hear no sound. It was as if death held the valley in its perfect silence.

How we hated that silence. There ought to have been a million horrible, bellowing demons, making the night hideous. Did the stars serenely look down upon the lonely cabin of these exiles? Was there no thunderbolt to drop down from that dark and looming mountain upon the silent cabin where tragedy had entered? In all the world, under the sea, in the abysmal caves, in the vast spaces of air, there was no such terrible silence as this. A scream, a long cry, a moan. These were natural to a woman.

And why did not one of these sealed wives? Why did not Faye Larkin? Damn this everlasting acquiescent silence. Perhaps she would fly out of her cabin, come running along the path. Shepard peered into the bright patches of starlight and into the shadows of the cedars. but he saw no moving form in the open,

no dim white shape against the gloom, and he heard no sound, not even a whisper of wind in the branches overhead. Noste Bega returned to the shade of the cedars and lying down on his blankets, covered himself, and went to sleep. The fact seemed to bring bitter reality the shepherd. Nothing was going to happen.

The valley was to be the same this night as any other night. Sheffert accepted the truth. He experienced a kind of self-pity. The night he had thought so much about, prepared for, and had forgotten, had now arrived. Then he threw another blanket round him, and cold, dark, grim,

he faced that lonely vigil, meaning to sit there, wide-eyed, to endure and to wait. Jealousy and pain. Following his frenzy, abided with him long hours, and when they passed he divined that selfishness passed with them. What he suffered then was for Faye Larkin, and for her sisters in misfortune. He grew big enough to pity these fanatics.

The fiery racing tide of blood that had made of him only an animal had cooled with thought of others. Still, he feared the stultifying thing, which must have been hate. what a tempest had raged within him this blood of his that had received a stronger strain from his desert life might in a single moment flood out reason and intellect and make him a vengeful man so in those starlit hours that dragged interminably he looked deep into his heart and tried to fortify himself against a dark and evil moment to come midnight and the valley seemed a tomb did he alone keep wakeful the sky was a darker blue the stars burned a whiter fire the peaks stood looming and vast tranquil sentinels of that valley and the wind rose to sigh to breathe to mourn through the cedars it was a sad music the indian lay prone dark face to the stars joe lake lay prone sleeping as quietly with his dark face exposed to the starlight the gentle movement of the cedar branches changed the shape of the bright patches on the grass where shadow and light met the walls of the valley waved upward dark darky darkly below and growing paler, to shine faintly at the rounded rims, and there was a tiny, silvery tinkle

of running water over stones. Here was a little nook of the vast world. Here were tranquility, beauty, music, loneliness, life. Shefford wondered, did he alone keep watchful? Did he feel that he could see dark, wide eyes peering into the gloom? And it came to him after a time that he was not alone in his vigil, nor was Faye Larkin alone in her agony. There was someone else in the valley, a great and breathing and watchful spirit. It entered in the shepherd's soul, and he trembled.

What had come to him, and he answered, only added pain and new love, and a strange strength, from the firmament and the peaks and the silence and the shadows. the bright belt with its three radiant stars sank behind the western wall and there was a paler gloom upon the valley then a few lights twinkled in the darkness that enveloped the cabins a woman's laugh strangely broke the silence profaning it giving the lie to that sombre yoke which seemed to consist of the very shadows the voices of men were heard and then the slow clip-clop of trotting horses on the hard trail shefford saw the mormons file out into the paling starlight ride down the valley and vanish in the gray gloom he was aware that the indians sat up to watch the procession ride by and that joe turned over as if disturbed one by one the stars went out the valley became a place of gray shadows in the east a light glowed shefford sat there haggard and worn watching the coming of the dawn the kindling of the light and had the power been his, the dawn would never have broken, and the rose and gold never have tipped the lofty peaks. Shefford attended to his camp chores as usual. Several times

he was aware of Joe's close scrutiny, and finally, without looking at him, Shepard told of the visit of the Mormons. A violent expulsion of breath was Joe's answer, and it might have been a curse Straight away, Joe ceased his cheery whistling and became as somber as the Indian. The camp was silent. The men did not look at one another. While they sat at breakfast, Shepard's back was turned toward the village. He had not looked in that direction since dawn. Ugg, suddenly exclaimed Noste Bega.

Joe Lake muttered low and deep, and this time there was no mistake about the nature of his speech. Sheffered did not have the courage to turn to see what had caused these exclamations. He knew since today had dawned that there was calamity in the air. Shepard, I reckon if I know women, there's a little hell coming to you, said the Mormon, significantly. Shefford wheeled as if a powerful force had turned him on a pivot. He saw Faye Larkin. She seemed to be almost running. She was unhooded, and her bright hair streamed down.

Her swift live action was without its usual grace. She looked wild, and she almost fell crossing the stepping stones of the brook. Joe hurried to meet her, took hold of her arm and spoke, but she did not seem to hear him. She drew him along with her, up the little bench under the cedars, straight towards Sheffered. Her face held a white, mute agon. as if in the hour of strife it had hardened into marble. But her eyes were dark purple fire, windows of an extraordinary intense and vital life.

In one night the girl had become a woman. But the blight shepherd had dreaded to see, the withering of the exquisite soul and spirit and purity, he had considered inevitable, just as inevitable as the death of something similar and the flower she resembled when it was broken and defiled, nothing of this was manifest in her. Straight and swiftly she came to him back in the shade of the cedars

and took hold of his hands. Last night he came, she said. Yes, Faye, I know, replied Sheffert, haltingly. He was tremblingly conscious of a maze at her, of something wonderful in her. She did not heed, Joe, who stepped aside a little. She did not see Noste Bega,

who sat motionless on a log, apparently oblivious to her presence. You knew he came? Yes, Faye, I was awake when they rode in. I watched them. I sat up all the night. I saw them right away. If you knew when he came,

why didn't you run to me to get to me before he did? Her question was unanswerable. It had the little. force of a blow it stunned him. Its sharp, frank directness sprang from a simplicity and a strength that had not been nurtured in the life he had lived. So far men had wandered from truth and nature. I came to you. As soon as I was able, she went on, I must have fainted. I just had to drag

myself around, and now I can tell you. He was powerless to reply, as if she had put another unanswerable question. What did she mean to tell him? What might she not tell him? She loosed her hands from his and lifted them to his shoulders, and that was the first conscious action

of feeling of intimacy which she had ever shown. It quite robbed Shefford of strength, and in spite of his sorrow, there was an indefinable thrill in her touch. He looked at her, saw the white and gold beauty that was hers yesterday and seemed changed today, and he recognized Faye Larkin in a woman he did not know. Listen, he came.

Faye, don't tell me, interrupted Shefford. I will tell you, she said. Did the instinct of love teach her how to mitigate his pain? Shefford felt that, as he felt the newborn strength in her. Listen, she went on. He came when I was undressing for bed. I heard the horse. He knocked on the door. Something terrible happened to me then. I felt sick, and my head wasn't clear. I remember next his being in the room. The lamp was out. I couldn't see very well. He thought I was sick, and he gave me a drink, and he let the air blow in on me through the window. I remember I lay back in the chair, and I thought, and I listened. When would you come? I didn't feel that you could leave me there, alone with him. For his coming was different this time. That pain like a blade in my side.

When it came, I was not the same. I loved you. I understood then. I belonged to you. I couldn't let him touch me. I had never been his wife. When I realized this, that he was there, that you might suffer for it. I cried right out. He thought I was sick. He worked over me. He gave me medicine. And then he prayed. I saw him in the dark on his knees praying for me. That seemed strange. Yet he was kind, so kind, that I begged him to let me go.

I was not a Mormon. I couldn't marry him. I begged him to let me go. Then he thought I had been deceiving him. He fell into a fury. He talked for a long time. He called upon God to visit my sins upon me. He tried to make me pray, but I wouldn't, and then I fought him.

I'd have screamed for you, had he not smothered me, I got weak, and you never came. I know, I thought you would come, but you didn't. Then I gave out, and after some time I must have fainted. Faye, for heaven's sakes, how could I come to you, burst out, Sheffered, hoarse and white with remorse, passion, pain. If I'm any man's wife, it's your. It's a thing you feel, isn't it? I know that now, but I want to know what to do.

Faye, he cried huskily. I'm sick of it all. If it weren't for you, I'd climb the wall and throw myself off. That would be easy for me. I'd love to die that way. All my life I've been high up on the walls. The fall would be nothing. Oh, you mustn't talk like that.

Do you love me, she asked, with a low, and deathless sweetness. Love you? With all my heart, nothing can change that. Do you want me, as you used to want the Fay Larkin, lost in Surprise Valley?

Do you love me that way? I understand things better than before, but still not all. I am, Faye Larkin. I think I must have dreamed of you all my life. I was glad when you came here. I've been happy lately.

I forgot till last night. Maybe it needed that, To make me see, I loved you all this time, and I fought him like a wildcat. Tell me the truth. I feel I'm yours. Is that true? If I'm not, I'll not live another hour. Something holds me up. I am the same. Do you want me? Yes, Faylark, and I want you, replied Shepard, steadily, with his grip on her arms. Then take me away. I don't want to live here another hour. "'Fay, I'll take you, but it can't be done at once. We must plan. I need help.

There are Lassiter and Jane to get out of Surprise Valley. Give me time, dear, give me time. It'll be a hard job, and we must plan so we can positively get away. Give me time, Faye.' "'Suppose he comes back,' she queried, with a singular depth of voice. "'We'll have to risk that,' replied Shepard miserably, but he won't come soon. He said he would, she flashed. Shepard seemed to freeze inwardly with her words. Love had made her a woman, and now the woman in her was speaking. She saw the truth as he could not see it, and the truth was nature.

She had been hidden all her life from the world, from knowledge as he had it. Yet when love betrayed her womanhood to her, she acquired all its subtlety. If I wait and he does come, will you keep him from me? she asked. How can I? I'm staking all on the chance if it's not coming soon. But, Faye, if he does come, and I don't give up our secret, how on earth can I keep you from him? demanded Shepard. If you love me, you will do it, she said, as simply as if she were fate. But how, cried Shepard, almost beside himself.

You are a man. any man would save the woman who loves him from, from, oh, from a beast, how would Lassiter do it? Lassiter, you can kill him. It was there, deep and full in her voice, the strength of the elemental forces that had surrounded her, primitive passion and hate and love, as they were in woman in the beginning.

My God, Shefford cried aloud, with a spirit, when all that was red in him, sprang again into a flame of hell. That was what had been wrong with him last night. He could kill this stealthy night-rider, and now face to face with Faye, who had never been so beautiful and wonderful, as in this hour when she made love, the only and the sacred thing of life, and now he had it in him to kill. Yet murder, even to kill a brute, that was not for John Shepard, not the way for him to save a woman.

Reason and wisdom still fought the passion in him. If he could but cling to them, have them with him in the dark and contending hour. She leaned against him now, exhausted, her soul in her eyes, and they saw only him. Shefford was all but powerless to resist the longing to take her into his arms, to hold her to his heart, to let himself go. Did not her love give her to him? Shepard gazed helplessly at the stricken Joe Lake at the somber Indian, as if from them he expected help. I know him now, said Faye, breaking the silence with startling suddenness. What?

I've seen him in the light. I flashed a candle in his face I saw him. I know him now. He was there at Stonebridge with us, and I never knew him. But I know him now. His name is— For God's sakes, don't tell me who he is, implored Shepard. Ignorance was Shepard's safeguard against himself,

to make a name of this heretofore intangible man, to give him an identity apart from the crowd, to be able to recognize him that for Shepard would be fatal. Faye, tell me no more, he said brokenly. I love you, and I will give you my life. Trust me. I swear I'll save you. Will you take me away soon?

Yes. She appeared satisfied with that, and dropped her hands and moved back from him. A light flitted over her white face, and her eyes grew dark and human, losing their fire in changing, shadowing thought of submission, of trust of hope. I can lead you to Surprise Valley, she said. I feel the way it's there,

and she pointed to the west. Faye will go soon. I must plan. I'll see you tonight. Then we'll talk. Run home now, before some of the women see you here. She said goodbye and started away under the cedars,

out into the open, where her hair shone like gold in the sunlight, and she took the stepping-stones with her old free grace and strolled down the path swift in life as an Indian, once she turned the wave of hand. Shefford watched her with a torture of pride, love, hope, and fear, contending within him. End of Chapter 13, Part 2 Chapter 14 of the Rainbow Trail

by Zane Gray. This Libravox recording is in the public domain. The Navajo. That morning a piute wrote into the valley. Shepard recognized him as the brave who had been in love with Glen Nespa. The moment Nostebega saw his visitor, he made a singular motion with his hands, a motion that somehow to Shepard suggested despair,

and then he waited, somber, and statue. for the messenger to come to him. It was the piute who did all the talking, and that was brief. Then the Navajo stood motionless, with his hands crossed over his breast. Shepard drew near and waited. By nigh, said the Navajo.

Nastebega said his sister would come home some day. Glenn Nespa is in the Hogan of her grandfather. He spoke in his usual slow, guttural voice, and he might have been bronze, for all the emotion he expressed. Yet, Shepard, instinctively felt the despair that had been hinted to him, and he put his hand on the Indian's shoulder. If I am the Navajo's brother, then I am brother to Glen Nespa, he said, I will go with you to the Hogan of Hosting Doughton.

Nostebega went away into the valley for the horses, Shepard, hurried to the village, made his excuses at the school, and then called to explain the fay that trouble of some kind had come to the Indian. Soon afterward, he was riding Nakyaugh on the rough and winding trail up through the broken country of cliffs and canyon, to the great league-long sage and cedar slope of the mountain. It was weeks since he had ridden the Mustang. Nackew was fat and lazy. He loved his master, but he did not like the climb, and so fell far behind the lean and wiry pony

that carried Naste Bega. The sage levels were as purple as the haze of the distance, and there was a bittersweet tang on the strong, cool wind. The sun was gold behind the dark line of fringe on the mountaintop. The flock of sheep swept down, one of the sage levels, looking like a narrow stream of white and black and brown. It was always amazing for Shepard to see how swiftly these Navajo sheep grazed along. Wild Mustangs plunged out of the cedar clumps and stood upon the ridges,

whistling defiance or curiosity, and their manes and tails waved in the wind. Shefford mounted slowly to the cedar bench in the midst of which were hidden the few Hogan's, and he halted at the edge to dismount and take a look at the downward sleeping world of color, of wide space at the wild desert upland, from which there unrolled its magnificent panorama. Then he passed on into the cedars. How strange to hear the lambs bleating again! lambing time had come early. But still spring was there in the new green of grass,

in the bright upland flower. He led his Mustang out of the cedars into the cleared circle. It was full of colts and lambs. And there were the shepherd dogs and a few old rams and ewes. But the circle was a quiet place this day. There were no Indians in sight. Shefford loosened the saddle girths on Nackew, and leaving him to graze went toward the Hogan of Hosting Doughton.

A blanket was hung across the door. Shepard heard a low chanting. He waited beside the door, till the covering was pulled in. Then he entered. Hosting Doughton met him, clasped his hand. The old Navajo could not speak. His fine face was working in grief. Tears streamed from his dim old eyes,

and rolled down his wrinkled cheeks. His sorrow was no different from a white man's sorrow. Beyond him, Shepard saw Noste Baga standing with folded arms, somehow terrible in his somber impassiveness. At his feet crouched the old woman, hosting Doughton's wife, and beside her, prone and quiet, half-covered with a blanket, lay Glen Nespa. She was dead.

to Shefford, she seemed older than when he had last seen her, and she was beautiful, calm, cold, dark, with only bitter lips to give the lie to peace. There was a story in those lips. At her side, half hidden under the fold of a blanket, lay a tiny bundle. Its human shape, startled, Shefford. Then he did not need to be told the tragedy. When he looked again at Glen Nespas' face, he seemed to understand all that had made her older, to feel the pain that had lined and set her lips. She was dead, and she was the last of Noste Bega's family. In the old grandfather's agony, in the wild chance of the stricken grandmother,

in the brother's stern and terrible calmness, Sheffered felt more than the death of a loved one. The shadow of ruin of doom of death hovered over the girl, and her family, and her tribe, and her race. There was no consolation to offer these relatives of Glen Nespa. Shepard took one more fascinated gaze at her dark, eloquent, prophetic face, at the tragic, tiny shape by her side, and then, with bowed head, he left the Hogan. Outside, he paced to and fro with an aching heart for Nostebega,

with something of the white man's burden of crime, toward the Indian weighing upon his soul. Old Hosting Dogen came to him with shaking hands and words memorable of the time Glen Nespa left his Hogan. Me no savvy, Jesus Christ, Me hungry, me no eat, Jesus Christ. That seemed to be all of his trouble

that he could express to Shepard. He could not understand the religion of the missionary. This Jesus Christ, who had called his granddaughter away, and the great fear of an old Indian was not death but hunger. Shepard remembered a custom of the Navajos, a thing barbarous looked at with a white man's mind. If an old Indian failed on a long march, he was enclosed by a wall of stones,

given plenty to eat and drink, and left there to die in the desert. Not death did he fear, but hummed. hunger, old Holstein-Dotin expected to starve now that the young and strong squaw of his family was gone. Shepard spoke in his halting Navajo and assure the old Indian that Noste Bega would never let him starve. At sunset, Shepard stood with Noste Baga facing the west.

The Indian was magnificent in repose. He watched the sun go down upon the day that had seen the burial. of the last of his family. He resembled an impassive destiny, upon which no shocks fell. He had the light of that flaring golden sky in his face, the majesty of the mountain in his mien,

the silence of the great gulf below on his lips. This educated Navajo, who had reverted to the life of his ancestors, found in the wildness and loneliness of his environment, a strength, no white teacher, could ever have given him. Shepard sensed in him a measureless grief,

an impenetrable gloom, a tragic acceptance of the meaning of Glen Nespa's ruin and death, the vanishing of his race from the earth. Death had written the law of such bitter truth round Glen Nespa's lips, and the same truth was here

in the grandeur and gloom of the Navajo. By nigh, he said, with the beautiful sonorous roll of his voice. Glen Nespa is in her grave, and there are no paths to the place of her sleep. Glenn Nespa is gone. Gone where? Nastebega, remember I lost my own faith,

and I have not yet learned yours. The Navajo has one mother, the earth, her body, has gone to the earth, and it will become dust, but her spirit is in the air, it shall whisper to me from the wind i shall hear it on the running waters it will hide in the morning music of a mocking-bird and in the lonely night-cry of the canyon hawk her blood will go to make the red of the indian flowers and her soul will rest at midnight in the lily that opens only to the moon she will wait in the shadow for me and live in the great mountain that is my home and forever stepped behind me on the trail you will kill willets demanded shefford the navajo will not seek the missionary but if you meet him you'll kill him

by nigh would naste beg a kill after it's too late what good could come the navajo is above revenge if he crosses my trail i think i couldn't help but kill him muttered shefford in a passion that wrung the threat from him the indian put his arm around the white man's shoulders by nigh long ago i made you my brother and now you make me your brother and now you make me your brother Is it not so? Glenn Nespa's spirit calls for wisdom, not revenge. Willits must be a bad man, but will let him live. Life will punish him. Who knows if he was all to blame? Glenn Nespa was only one pretty Indian girl.

There are many white men in the desert. She loved the white man when she was a baby. The thing was a curse. Listen by Nye, and the Navajo will talk. Many years ago, the Spanish Padres, the first white man, came into the land of the Indian. Their search was for gold. But they were not wicked men. They did not steal and kill.

They taught the Indian many useful things. They brought him horses, but when they went away, they left him unsatisfied with his life and his God. Then came the pioneers. They crossed the great river and took the pasture lands, hunting grounds of the Indian. They drove him backward, and the Indian grew sullen. He began the fight. The white man's government made treaties with the Indian, and these were broken. Then war came, fierce and bloody war. The Indian was driven to the waste places. The stream of pioneers, like a march of ants, spread on into the desert. Every valley where grass grew, every river,

became a place for farms and towns. Cattle choked the waterholes where the buffalo and deer had once gone to drink. The forest in the hills were cut and the springs dried up, and the pioneers followed to the edge of the desert. Then came the prospectors mad,

like the Padres for the gleam of gold. The day was not long enough for them to dig in the creeks and the canyon. They worked in the night, and they brought weapons and rum to the Indian to buy from him the secret of the places where the shining gold lay hidden. Then came the traders, and they traded with the Indian. They gave him little for much, and that little changed his life. He learned a taste for the sweet foods of the white man.

Because he could trade for a sack of flour, he worked less in the field, and the very fiber of his bones softened. Then came the missionaries. They were proselytizers for converts to their religion. The missionaries are good men. There may be a bad missionary, like, well, it's the same as there are bad men in other callings, or bad Indians. They say Shad is a half-breed, but the Paiutes can tell you he is of full blood, and he, like me, was sent to the white man's school.

In the beginning, the missionaries did well for the Indian. They taught him cleaner ways of living, better farming, useful work with tools, many good things. But the wrong to the Indian was the undermining of his faith. It was not humanity that sent the missionary to the Indian. Humanity would have helped the Indian in his ignorance of sickness and work. and left him his God.

For to trouble the Indian about his God worked at the roots of his nature. The beauty of the Indian's life is his love of the open, of all that is nature of silence, freedom, wildness. It is a beauty of mind and soul. The Indian would have been content to watch and feel. To a white man, he might be dirty and lazy,

content to dream life away without trouble, or what the white man calls evolution. The Indian might seem cruel because he leaves his old father out in the desert to die. But the old man wants to die that way, alone with his spirits and the sunset. And the white man's medicine keeps his old father alive days and days after he ought to be dead, which is more cruel. The Navajos used to fight with other tribes, and then they were strong. men than they are today.

But leaving religion, greed, and war out of the question, contact with the white man would alone have ruined the Indian. The Indian and the white man cannot mix. The Indian brave learns the habits of the white man, acquires his diseases, and has not the mind or body to withstand them. The Indian girl learns to love the white man, and that is death of her Indian soul.

If not of life. So the red man is passing. Tribes once powerful have died in the life of Noste Bega. The curse of the white man is already heavy upon my race in the south. Here in the north, in the wildest corner of the desert, chased here by the great soldier Carson, the Navajo has made his last stand. By nigh, you have seen the shadow in the Hogan of Hostene Doughton.

Glenn Nespa has gone to her grave, and no sisters, no children, will make paths to the place of her sleep. Nastebega will never have a wife, a child. He sees the end. It is the sunset of the Navajo. By Nigh, the Navajo is dying, dying, dying. End of Chapter 15, Part 1 of the Rainbow Trail by Zane Gray. This Librovoc's recording is in the public domain. Wild Justice, Part 1

A crescent moon hung above the lofty peaks over the valley, and a train of white stars ran along the bold rim of the western wall. A few young frogs peeped plaintively. The night was cool, yet had a touch of balmy spring, and a sweeter fragrance as if the cedar and pinions had fronings had frown. in the warm sun of that day. Shepard and Faye were walking in the aisles of moonlight and the patches of shade, as Noste Bega, more than ever a shadow of his white brother, followed them silently.

Faye, it's growing late, feel the dew, said Shepard. Come, I must take you back. But the time so short I have said nothing that I wanted to say, she replied. Say it quickly, then, as we will. go. After all, it's only, will you take me away soon? Yes, very soon. The Indian and I have talked, but we've made no plan yet. There are only three ways to get out of this country. By Stonebridge, by Cayenta, Durango, and by Red Lake. We must choose one. All are dangerous. We must lose time finding Surprise Valley. I hope the Indian could find it. Then we'll

We'd bring Lassiter and Jane here, and hide them near till the dark, then take you and go. That would give us a night's start, but you must help us to surprise Valley. I can go right to it, blindfolded, or in the dark. Oh, John, hurry, I dread the wait he might come again. Joe says they won't come very soon. Is it far where we're going? Out of the country? Ten days hard riding.

Oh, that night ride to and from Stonebridge nearly killed me, but I could walk very far and climb forever. Faye will get out of the country if I have to carry you. When they arrived at the cabin Faye turned on the porch step, and, with her face near a level with his, white and sweet in the moonlight, with her eyes shining and unfathomable, she was more than beautiful.

You've never been inside my house, she said. Come in. I've something for you. But it's late, he remonstrated. I suppose you've got me a cake or pie, something to eat. You women, all think Joe and I have to be fed. No, you'd never guess. Come in, she said, and the rare smile on her face was something Sheffered would have gone far to see.

Well then for a minute, he crossed the porch the threshold and entered her home. Her dim white shape moved in the darkness, and he followed into a room, where the moon shone through the open window, given soft mellow, shadowy light. He discerned objects, but not clearly, for his senses seemed absorbed in the strange warmth and intimacy of being for the first time with her in her home. no it's not good to eat she said and her laugh was happy here suddenly she abruptly ceased speaking shefford saw her plainly and the slender form had stiffened alert and strained she was listening what was that she whispered i didn't hear anything he whispered back he stepped softly nearer the open window and listened clip-clop clip-clop clip-clop hard hoofs on the hard path outside.

A strong and rippling thrill went over Sheffered. In the soft light, her eyes seemed unnaturally large and black and fearful. Clip-Clop, clip-clop. The horse stopped outside, then followed a metallic click of spur against stirrup, thought of boots on hard ground, heavy footsteps upon the porch, A swift cold contraction of throat, of breast, convulsed Sheffered.

His only thought was that he could not think. Oh, Mary! A voice liberated both Shefford's muscles and mind, a voice of strange, vibrant power, authority of religion and cruelty of will. These Mormon attributes constituted that power. And Shepard suffered a transformation. which must have been ordered by demons the sudden flame seemed to curl and twine and shoot along his veins with blasting force a rancorous and terrible cry leaped to his lips

oh mary then came a heavy tread across the threshold of the outer room shefford dared not look at fay yet dimly from the corner of his eye he saw her a pale shadow turned the stone with her arms out. If he looked, if he made sure of that, he was lost. When had he drawn his gun, it was there a dark and glinting thing in his hand. He must fly, not through cowardice and fear, but because in one more moment he would kill a man. Swift has a thought he dove through the open window, and leaping up he ran under the dark pinions toward the camp. Joe Lake had been and outlaid himself he sat by the fire smoking his pipe. He must have seen or heard Shepard coming, for he rose with unwanted alacrity,

and he kicked the smouldering logs into a flickering blaze. Shepard, realizing his deliverance, came panting, staggering into the light. The Mormon uttered an exclamation. Then he spoke anxiously, but what he said was not clear in Shepard's thick and throbbing ears. He dropped this pipe, a sign of perturbation, and he stared. But Shepard, without a word, lunged swiftly away into the shadow of the cedars.

He found relief in action. He began a steep ascent of the east wall, a dangerous slant that he had never dared even in daylight, and he climbed it without a slip. Danger, steep walls, perilous heights, night, and black canyon the same. These he never thought of, but something drove him the desperate effort that the hours might seem short. The Red Sun was tipping the eastern wall when he returned to camp, and he was neither calm nor sure of himself, nor ready for sleep or food, only he had put the night behind him. The Indian showed no surprise the Joe Lake's jaw dropped, and his eyes rolled, moreover. over, Joe bore a singular aspect, the exact nature of which did not at once dawn upon

Shefford. By God, you've got nerve, or you're crazy, he ejaculated hoarsely. Then it was Shefford's turn to stare. The Mormon was haggard, grieved, frightened, and utterly amazed. He appeared to be trying to make certain of Shepard's being there in the flesh, and then to find reason for it. I've no nerve, and I am crazy, replied Shepard. But Joe, what do you mean?

Why do you look at me like that? I reckon if I get your horse that'll square us. Did you come back for him? You'd better hit the trail quick. It's you now who's crazy, burst out, Shepard. Wish to God I was, replied Joe. It was then Shepard realized catastrophe, and cold fear gnawed at his vitals.

so that he was sick. Joe, what has happened, he asked, with the blood thick in his heart. Hadn't you better tell me, demanded the Mormon, and a red wave blotted out the haggard shade of his face. You talk like a fool, said Shepard sharply, and he strode right up to Joe.

See here, Shepard, we've been pards. You're making it hard for me. Reckon you ain't square. Shepard shot out a long arm and his hand clutched the Mormon's burly shoulder. Why am I not square? What do you mean? Joe swallowed hard and gave himself a shake. Then he eyed his comrade steadily. I was afraid you'd kill him. I reckon I can't blame you. I'll help you get away,

and I'm a Mormon. Do you take the hunch? But don't deny you killed him. Killed whom? Gassed Shepard. Her husband. Shefford seemed strickened by a slow, paralyzing horror. The Mormon's changing face grew huge and indistinct and awful in his sight. He was clutched and shaken in Joe's rude hands, yet scarcely he felt them. Joe seemed to be bellowing at him, but the voice was far off. Then Shepard began the sea to hear through some cold and terrible deadness that had come between him and everything.

So you killed him, hoarsely supplicated the Mormon. Shepard had not yet control of speech. Something in his gaze appeared to drive Joe frantic. Damn you, tell me quick, say you killed him. If you want to know my stand, why I'm glad, Shepard, don't look so stony. For her sake, say you killed him. Shefford stood with a face,

as gray and still as stone. With a groan, the Mormon drew away from him and sank upon a log. He bowed his head, his broad shoulders heaved. Husky sounds came from him. Then, with a violent wrench, he plunged to his feet and shook himself like a huge, savage dog. Reckon it's no time to weaken, he said huskily, and with the words a dark, hard, somber bitterness came to his face. face. Where is she? whispered Shefford.

Shut up in the schoolhouse, he replied. Did she? Did she? She neither denied nor confessed. Have you seen her? Yes. How did she look? Cool and quiet has the Indian there. Game as hell. She always had stuff in her. Oh, Joe, it's unbelievable, cried Shefford. That lovely, innocent girl. She couldn't, she couldn't. She fixed him. Don't think of that. It's too late. We ought to have saved her. God, she begged me to hurry to take her away. Think what we can do now to save her, cut in the Mormon. Shepard sustained a vivifying shock. To save her, he echoed.

Think, man. Joe, I can hit the trail, and let you tell them I killed him, burst out, Shefford, in panting excitement. Reckon I can. so help me god i'll do it the mormon turned a dark and austere glance upon shefford you mustn't leave her she killed him for your sake you must fight for her now save her take her away but the law law scoffed joe in these wilds men get killed and there's no law but if she's taken back the stone bridge those iron-jawed old mormons will make law enough too-to to-two sheffered the thing is get her away once out of the country she's safe mormons keep their secrets i'll take her joe will you help me shefford even in his agitation felt the mormons silence to be a consent that need not have been asked and shefford had a passionate gratefulness toward his comrade that stultifying and blinding prejudice which had always seemed to remove a mormon outside the pail of certain virtue suffered final eclipse and joe lake stood out as a man strange and crude but with a heart and a soul

joe tell me what to do said shefford with a simplicity that meant he needed only to be directed pull yourself together get your nerve back replied joe reckoned you'd better show yourself over there. No one saw you come in this morning. Your absence from camp isn't known. It's better you seem curious and shocked like the rest of us. Come on, we'll go over, and afterward we'll get the Indian and play him. They left camp, and crossing the brook, took the shaded path toward the village. Hope of saving Faye, the need of all his strength and nerve and cunning to affect that

and gave Shepard the supreme courage to overcome his horror and fear. On that short walk, under the pinions, to Faye's cabin, he had suffered many changes of emotion, but never anything like this change, which made him fierce and strong to fight, deep and crafty to plan, hard as iron to endure. The village appeared very quiet, though groups of women stood at the doors of cabins, if they talked it was very low. Henninger and Smith, two of the three Mormon men

living in the village, were standing before the closed door of the schoolhouse. A tigorous feeling thrilled, Shefford, when he saw them on guard there. Shepard purposely avoided looking at Faye's cabin as long as he could keep from it. When he had to look, he saw several hooded, whispering women in the yard,

and Beale, the other Mormon, man standing in the cabin door. Upon the porch lay the long shape of a man covered with blankets. Shepard experienced a horrible curiosity. Say, Beal, I fetched Shepard over, said Lake. He's pretty much cut up. Beale wagged the solemn head, but said nothing. His mind seemed absent or steeped in gloom, and he looked up as one silently praying. joe lake strode upon the little porch and reaching down he stripped the blanket from the shrouded form shefford saw a sharp cold ghastly face waggoner he whispered yes replied lake wagner shefford remembered the strange power in his face and now that life had gone that power was stripped of all disguise death in shepard's years of ministry had lain under his gaze many times and in a multiplicity of aspects but never before had he seen it stamped so strangely sheffered did not need to be told that here was a man who believed he had conversed with god on earth who believed he had a divine right to rule women

who had a will that would not yield itself to death utterly waggoner then was the devil who had come masked to surprise valley had forced a martyrdom upon pha larkin and this was the mormon who had made pha larkin a murderess shefford had hated him living and now he hated him dead death here was robbed of all nobility of pathos of majesty it was only retribution why justice, but alas, that it had to be meted out by a white-souled girl whose innocence was as great as the unconscious savagery which she had assimilated from her lonely and wild environment. Shefford laid a despairing curse upon his own head, and a terrible remorse knocked at his heart. He had left her alone.

This girl, in whom loved, had made the great change, like a coward he had left her alone. That curse he had visited upon himself, because he had been the spirit and motive of this wild justice, and his should have been the deed. Joe Lake touched Shepard's arm, and pointed at the haft of a knife protruding from Wagoner's breast. It was a wooden haft. Shepard had seen it before somewhere. Then he was struck with what perhaps Joe meant him to see. A singular impression the haft gave. A singular impression the haft gave. of one sweeping, accurate, powerful stroke. A strong arm had driven that blade home.

The haft was sunk deep. There was a little depression in the cloth. No blood showed, and the weapon looked as if it could not be pulled out. Sheffert's thought went fatally and irresistibly to Faye Larkin's strong arm. He saw her flash that wide arm and lift the heavy bucket from the spring,

with an ease he wondered at. He felt the strong clasp of her hand, as she had given it to him, in a flying leap across a crevice upon the walls. Yes, her fine hand, and the round, strong arm possessed the strength to have given that blade its singular directness and force. The marvel was not in the physical action. It hid inscrutably in the mystery of deadly passion, rising out of a gentle and sad heart. Joe Lake drew up the blanket and shut from Sheffert's fascinated gaze, that spare form, that accusing knife, that face of strange, cruel power. Anybody been sent for? asked Lake of Beale.

Yes, an Indian boy went for the piute. We'll send him the Stonebridge, replied the Mormon. How soon do you expect anyone here from Stonebridge? Tomorrow, maybe by noon. meantime, what's to be done with this? Elder Smith thinks the body should stay right here where it fell, to they come from Stonebridge. Wagner was found here, then?

Right here. Who found him? Mother Smith. She came over early, and the sight made her scream. The women all came running. Mother Smith had to be put to bed. Who found Mary? See here, Joe, I told you,

all I knowed once before, replied the Mormon, testily. I've forgotten, was sort of bewildered. Tell me again. Who found her? The women, folks. She laid right inside the door in a dead faint. She hadn't undressed. There was blood on her hands and a cut or scratch. The women fetched her too, but she wouldn't talk. Then Elder Smith came and took her. They've got her locked up. Then Joe led Sheff Sheffered away from the cabin farther on into the village. When they were halted by the somber grieving women, it was Joe who did the talking. They passed the schoolhouse and here, Shefford, quickened his step.

He could scarcely bear the feeling that rushed over him, and the Mormon gripped his arm as if he understood. "'Shefford, which one of these younger women do you reckon your best friend, Ruth?' asked Lake earnestly. ruth by all means just lately i haven't seen her often but we've been close friends i think she'd do much for me maybe there'll be a chance to find out maybe we'll need ruth let's have a word with her i haven't seen her out among the women They stopped at the door of Ruth's cabin. It was closed. When Joe knocked, there came a sound of footsteps inside, a hand, drew aside the window-blind, and presently the door opened. Ruth stood there, dressed in somber hue. She was a pretty slender, blue-eyed, brown-haired, young woman. Shefford imagined from her pallor and the set look of shock upon her face that the tragedy had affected her more powerfully than it had the other women. When he remembered that she had been more friendly with Faye Larkin than any other neighbor, he made sure he was right in his conjecture.

Come in, was Ruth's greeting. No, we just wanted to say a word. I noticed you've not been out. Do you know all about it? She gave them a strange glance. Any of the women folk been in? asked Joe. Hester ran over. She told me through the window,

then I barred my door to keep the other women out. What for? asked Joe curiously. Please come in, she said, in reply. They entered. She closed the door after them. The change that came over her then was the loosening of restraint.

Joe, what will they do with Mary? She queried tensely. The Mormon studied her with dark, spark-s speculative eyes, hangar, he replied, in brutal harshness. Oh, mother of saint, she cried, and her hands went up. You're sorry for Mary, then? asked Joe bluntly. My heart is breaking for her. Well, so's, said the Mormon huskily, and mine's kind of damn shaky.

Ruth glided to Shevard with a woman's swift softness. You've been my good, my best friend. you were hers too. Oh, I know. Can't you do something for her?' "'I hope the God I can,' replied Shepard. Then the three stood looking from one to the other in a strong and subtly realizing moment drawn together. Ruth whispered Joe hoarsely, and then he glanced fearfully around at the window and door as if listeners were there. It was certain that his dark face had paled. He tried to whisper more, only to fail.

Shepard divined the weight of Mormonism that burdened Joe late then. Joe was faithful to a love for Faylarkin, noble in his friendship to Shepard, desperate in a bitter strait with his own manliness. But the power of that creed by which he had been raised struck his lips mute, for to speak on meant to be false to that creed. already in his heart, he had decided, yet he could not voice the thing. Ruth, Shefford took up the Mormon's unfinished whisper. If we plan to save her, if we need you, will you help?

Ruth turned white, but an instant and splendid fire shone in her eyes. Try me, she whispered back. I'll change places with her, so you can get her away. They can't do much to me. Shefford wrung her hands. Joe licked his lips and found his voice. We'll come back later. Then he led the way out, and Shepard followed. They were silent all the way back to camp. Nastebega sat at repose where they had left him, a thoughtful, somber figure.

Shepard went directly to the Indian, and Joe tarried at the campfire, where he raked out some red embers and put one upon the bowl of his pipe. He puffed clouds of white smoke, then found a seat beside the others sheffert go ahead talk it'll take a deal of talk i'll listen then i'll talk it'll be naste baga who makes the plan out of it all shefford launched himself so swiftly that he scarcely talked coherently but he made clear the points that he must save fay get her away from the village let her lead him to surprise valley rescue lacer and jane witherstein and take them all out of the country. Joe Lake dubiously shook his head. Manifestly, the Surprise Valley part of the situation presented a new and serious obstacle.

It changed the whole thing. To try to take the three out by way of Cayenta and Durango was not to be thought of, for reasons he briefly stated. The Red Lake Trail was the only one left, and if that were taken, the chances were against Shefford. It was five days over sand to Red Lake, impossible to hide a trail,

and even with a day's start, Shepard could not escape the hard-riding men who had come from Stonebridge. Besides, after reaching Red Lake, they were days and days of desert travel, needful, to avoid places like Blue Canyon, tuba, Moen Cope, and the Indian villages. We'll have to risk

all that, declared Shefford, desperately. It's a full risk, retorted Joe. Listen. By tomorrow noon, all of Stonebridge, more or less, we'll be riding in here. You've got to get away tonight with a girl or never, and tomorrow you've got to find that Lassiter and the woman in Surprise Valley. This valley must be back deep in the canyon country. Well, you've got to come out this way again. No

trail through here would be safe. Why, you'd put all your heads in a rope. You mustn't come through this way. It'll have to be tried across country, off trails, and that means hell, day, and night travel, no camp, no feed for horses, maybe no water. Then, you'll have the best trackers in Utah, like hounds on your trail. When the Mormon ceased his forceful speech, there was a silence fraught with hopeless meaning. He bowed his head in gloom, Shepard, growing sick again to his marrow, fought a cold, hateful sense of despair.

By Nigh, in his extremity, he called to the Indian. The Navajo has heard, replied Noste Bega, strangely speaking in his own language. With a long, slow heave of breast, Shepard felt his despair leave him, in the indian lay his salvation he knew it joe lake caught the subtle spirit of the moment and looked up eagerly end of chapter fifteen part one chapter fifteen part two of the rainbow trail by zane gray this librivox recording is in the public domain wild justice part two

Noste Bega stretched an arm toward the east and spoke in Navajo, but Shepard, owing to the hurry and excitement of his mind, could not translate. Joe listened, gave a violent start, leaped up with all his big frame quivering, and then fired question after question at the Indian. When the Navajo had replied to all, Joe drew himself up as if facing an irrevocable decision, which would wring his very soul what did he cast off in that moment what did he grapple with shefford had no means to tell except by the instinct which baffled him but whether the mormon's trial was one of spiritual rending or the natural physical fear of a perilous virtually impossible venture the fact was he was magnificent in his acceptance of it He turned the shepherd, white, cold, yet glowing. Noste Bega believes he can take you down a canyon to the big river, the Colorado. He knows the head of this canyon.

Non-Nesot, Boko, it's called, Canyon of the Rainbow Bridge. He has never been down it. Only two or three living Indians had ever seen the great stone bridge, but all have heard of it. They worship it as a god. There's water runs down this canyon, and water runs to the river. Noste Bega thinks he can take you down to the river. Go on, cried Shepard breathlessly, as Joe paused.

The Indian plans this way. God, it's great. If only I can do my end. He plans to take Mustangs today and wait with them for you tonight or tomorrow till you come with a girl. You'll go get Lasseter and the woman out of Surprise Valley. Then you'll strike east for Nonesoshe Boko. If possible, you must take a pack of grub.

You may be days going down and waiting for me at the mouth of the canyon, at the river. Joe, where will you be? I'll ride like hell for Cayenta, get another horse there, and ride like hell for the San Juan River. There's a big flat boat at the Durango, crossing. I'll go down the San Juan and that, into the big river. I'll drift down by day, tie up by night, and watch for you at the mouth of every canyon till I come to Nanoshe Boko. Shepard could not believe the evidence of his ears. He knew the treacherous San Juan River.

He had heard of the great, sweeping, terrible, red Colorado and its roaring rapids. Oh, it seems impossible, he gasped. You'll just lose your life for nothing. The Indian will turn the trick, I tell you, take my hunch. It's nothing for me to drift down a swift river. I worked a ferry boat once. Shepard, to whom flying straws would have seemed stable, caught the inflection of defiance and daring and hope of the Mormon spirit.

What then, after you meet us up the mouth of the non-naysoshi boat, He queried, We'll all drift down to Lee's Ferry, as at the head of Marble Canyon. We'll get out on the south side of the river, thus avoiding any Mormons at the ferry. Noste Bega knows the country, its open desert, on the other side of these plateaus. He can get horses from Navajos. Then he'll strike south for Willow Springs. Willow Springs?

That's Presby's trading post, said Shepard. Never met him, but he'll see you safe out of the painted desert. The thing that worries me most is how not to miss you all at the mouth of Noneshoshi. You must have sharp eyes, but I forget the Indian. A bird couldn't pass him. And suppose Naneshose Boko has a steep walled, narrow mouth opening into rapids. Oh, well, the Indian will figure that, too. Now let's put our heads together and plan how to turn this end of the trick here.

Getting the girl. After a short colloquy, it was arranged that Shepard would go to Ruth and talk to her of the aid she had promised. Joe averred that this aid could be best given by Ruth going in her somber gown and hood to the schoolhouse. And there, while Joe and Shepard engaged the guard outside, she would change apparel. in places with Faye, and let her come forth. What will they do the Ruth, demanded Shepard? We can't accept her sacrifice if she's to suffer or to be punished. Reckon Ruth has a strong hunch that she can get away with it.

Did you notice how strange she said that? Well, they can't do much to her. The bishop may damn her soul, but Ruth? Ear Lake hesitated and broke off, nodded improbably. He had meant to say, that of all the Mormon women in the valley, Ruth was the least likely to suffer from punishment inflicted upon her soul.

Anyway, it's our only chance, went on Joe, unless we kill a couple of men. Ruth will gladly take what comes to help you. All right, I consent, replied Sheffert with emotion, and now, after she comes out, the supposed Ruth, what then? You can be natural like, go with her, back to Ruth's cabin, then stroll off into the cedars, then climb the west wall.

Meanwhile, Nostebega will ride off with a pack of grub and Naciel and several other Mustangs. He'll wait for you, or you'll wait for him, as the case may be, at some appointed place. When you're gone, I'll jump my horse and hit the trail for Kayenta and the San Juan. Very well that's settled, said Shepard soberly. I'll go at once to see Ruth. You and Nostebega decide on where I'm to meet him. Reckon you'd do just as well to walk round and come up the Ruth's from the other side, instead of going through the village, suggested Joe.

Shefford approached Ruth's cabin in a roundabout way, nevertheless. She saw him coming, before he got there, and, opening the door, stood pale, composed, and quietly bade him enter. Briefly, in low and earnest voice, Shefford acquainted her with the plan. You love her so much, she said wistfully, wonderingly. Indeed I do. Is it too much to ask of you to do this thing, he asked?

Do it, she queried, with a flash of spirit? Of course I'll do it. Ruth, I can't thank you. I can't. I've only a faint idea what you're risking. That distresses me. I'm afraid of what may happen to you. She gave him another of the strange glances. I don't risk so much as you think, she said significantly.

Why? She came close to him, and her hands clasped his arms, and she looked up at him, her eyes darkening, and her face growing paler. Will you swear to keep my secret, she asked, very low? Yes, I swear. I was one of Wagoner's sealed wives. God Almighty, broke out Shefford, utterly overwhelmed.

Yes, that's why I say I don't risk so much. I will make up a story to tell the bishop and everybody. I'll tell that Wagoner was jealous, that he was brutal to marry, that I believed she was goaded to her mad deed, that I thought she ought to be free. They'll be terrible, but what can they do to me? my husband is dead, and if I have to go to hell to keep from marrying another married Mormon, I'll go.

In that low, passionate utterance, Shefford read, the death blow to the old Mormon polygamous creed. In the uplift of his spirit, in the joy at this revelation, he almost forgot the stern matter at hand. Ruth and Joe Lake belonged to a younger generation of Mormons. Their nobility, in this instance, was in part of Roman. revolt at the conditions of their lives. Doubt was knocking at Joe Lake's heart.

The conviction had come to this young sealed wife. Bitter and hopeless, while she had been fettered, strong and mounting now, that she was free. In a flash of inspiration, Shefford saw the old order changing. The Mormon creed might survive, but that part of it, which was an affront to nature, a horrible yoke on women's necks was doomed. It could not live. It could never have survived more than a generation or two of religious fanatics.

Shepard had marked a different force and religious fervor in the younger Mormons, and now he understood them. Ruth, you talk wildly, he said, but I understand, I see. You are free, and you're going to stay free. It stuns me to think of that moment. man of many wives. What did you feel when you were told he was dead? I dare not think of that. It makes me wicked, and he was good to me. Listen. Last night about midnight he came to my window and woke me. I got up and let him in. He was in a terrible state. I thought he was crazy.

He walked the floor and called on his saints and prayed. When I wanted to light a lamp, he wouldn't let me. He was afraid I'd see his face. But I saw well enough in the moonlight, and I knew something had happened. So I soothed and coaxed him. He had been a man as closed-mouthed as a stone, yet, then I got him to talk. He had gone to Mary's, and upon entering, thought he heard someone with her. She didn't answer him at first. When he found her in her bedroom, she was like a ghost. He accused her. Her silence made him furious. Then he berated her, brought down the wrath of God upon her, threatened her with damnation. All of which

she never seemed to hear. But when he tried to touch her, she flew at him like a she-panther. That's what he called her. She said she'd kill him, and she drove him out of her house. He was all weak and unstrung, and I believe scared, too, when he came to me. She must have been a fury. Those quiet, gentle women are furies when they're once roused. Well, I was hours up with him, and finally he got over it. He didn't pray any more.

He paced the room. It was just daybreak when he said the wrath of God had come to him. I tried to keep him from going back to Mary, but he went. An hour later, the woman ran to tell me. me he had been found dead at Mary's door. Ruth, she was mad, driven. She didn't know what she was doing, said Shefford brokenly. She was always a strange girl, more like an Indian than anyone I ever knew.

We called her the Sago Lily. I gave her the name. She was so sweet, lovely, white, and gold like those flowers. And to think, oh, it's horrible for her. You must save her. If you get her away, there never will be anything come of it. The Mormons will hush it up. Ruth, time is flying, rejoined Shefford hurriedly.

I must go back to Joe. You be ready for us when we come. Where is something loose, easily thrown off, and don't forget the long hood. I'll be ready in watching, she said. The sooner the better, I say. He left her and returned toward camp in the same circling route. by which he had come. The Indian had disappeared,

and so had his Mustang. This significant fact, augmented Shepard's hurried, thrilling excitement. But one glance at Joe's face changed all that to a sudden numbness, a sinking of his heart.

What is it, he queried? Look there, exclaimed the Mormon. Shepard's quick eye caught sight of horses and men down the valley. He saw several Indians, and three or four white men. They were making camp.

Who are they, demanded Shepard? Shad and some of his gang, reckon that Paiute told the news. By tomorrow, the valley will be full as a horse-rangler's corral. Lucky Nastebega got away before that gang rode in. Now things won't look as queer as they might have looked.

The Indian took a pack of grub, six Mustangs, and my guns. Then there was your rifle in your saddle-sheath, so you'll be well healed, in case you come in the close quarters. Reckon, you can look for a running fight. For now, as soon as your flight is discovered, Shad will hit your trail. He's in with the Mormons, you know him, and what you have to deal with. But the advantage will be all yours.

You can ambush the trail. We're in fort, and the sooner we're off the better, replied Shepard Grimmie. grimly. Reckon that's gospel. Well, come on. The Mormon strode off and Shefford, catching up with him, kept at his side. Sheffert's mind was full, but Joe's dark and gloomy face did not invite communication. They entered the Pinyon Grove and passed a cabin where the tragedy had been enacted. The tarpaulin had been stretched across the front porch. Beale was not in sight, nor were any of the women. I forgot, said Shepard suddenly.

Where am I to meet the Indian? Clim the west wall, back of camp, replied Joe. Noste Bega took the Stonebridge Trail. But he'll leave that, climb the rocks, then hide the outfit and come back to watch for you. Reckon he'll see you when you topped the wall. They passed on into the heart of the village. Joe tarried at the window of the cabin,

and passed a few remarks to a woman there, and then he inquired for Mother Smith at her house. When they left here, the Mormon gave Shefford a nudge. Then they separated. Joe, going toward the schoolhouse, while Shefford bent his steps in the direction of Ruth's home. Her door opened before he had a chance to knock, he entered. Ruth, white and resolute, greeted him with a wistful smile.

Already, she asked, Yes, are you, he replied, low-voiced. I've only to put on my hood. I think luck favors you. Hester was here, and she said Elder Smith, told someone, that Mary hadn't been offered anything to eat yet, so I'm taking her a little. It'll be a good excuse for me to get in the schoolhouse to see her.

I can throw off this dress, and she could put it on in a minute. Then the hood. I mustn't forget to hide her golden hair. You know how it flies. But this is a big hood. Well, I'm ready now. And this is our last time together. Ruth, what can I say?

How can I thank you? I don't want any thanks. It'll be something to think of always, to make me happy. Only, I'd like to feel you you cared a little. The wistful smile was there, a tremor on the sad lips, and a shadow of soul-hungry.

her in her eyes. Shefford did not misunderstand her. She did not mean love, although it was a yearning for real love that she mutely expressed. Care, I shall care all my life, he said, with strong feeling. I shall never forget you.

It's not likely I'll forget you. Goodbye, John. Shepard took her in his arms and held her close. Ruth, goodbye, he said, huskily. Then he released her. She adjusted the hood, and, taking up a little tray which held food covered with a napkin, she turned to the door. He opened it, and they went out. They did not speak another word. It was not a long walk from Ruth's house to the schoolhouse, yet, if it were being measured

by Shefford's emotion, the distance would have been unending. The sacrifice offered by Ruth and Joe would have been noble under any circumstances had they been Gentiles or persons with no particular religion. But considering that they were Mormons, that Ruth had been a sealed wife, that Joe had been brought up under the strange secret and binding creed, their action was no less than tremendous in its import. Shefford took it to mean vastly more than loyalty to him and pity for Fay Larkin. as ruth and joe had arisen to this height so perhaps would other young mormons have arisen it needed only the situation the climax to focus these long insulated slow developing and inquiring minds upon the truth that one wife one mother of children for one man at one time was a law of nature love and righteousness

shefford felt as if he were marching with the whole younger generation of mormons as if somehow he had been a humble instrument in the working out of their destiny and the awakening that was to eliminate from their religion the only thing which kept it from being as good for man and perhaps as true as any other religion and then suddenly he turned the corner of the schoolhouse to encounter joe talking with the mormon henniger elder smith was not present why hello ruth greeted joe you fetched mary some dinner now that's good of you may i go in asked ruth reckon so replied henniger scratching his head he appeared to be tractable and probably was good-natured under pleasant conditions she ought to have something to eat and nobody appears to have remembered that were so set up He unbarred the huge clumsy door and allowed Ruth to pass in. Joe, you can go in if you want, he said, but hurry out before Elder Smith comes back from his dinner. Joe mumbled something, gave a husky cough, and then went in. Shepard experienced great difficulty in presenting to this mild Mormon a natural and unagitated front,

when all his internal structure seemed to be in a state of turmoil he did not see how it was possible to keep the fact from showing in his face so he turned away and took aimless steps here and there appears like we have rain observed henniger it's right warm and them clouds are unseasonable yes replied shefford hope so a little rain would be good for the grass joe tells me shad rode in and some of his fellows so i see about eight in the party shefford was gritting his teeth and preparing to endure the ordeal of controlling his mind and expression when the door opened and Joe stalked out. He had his sombrero pulled down so that it hid the upper half of his face. His lips were a shade off, healthy color. He stood there with his back to the door. Say what Mary needs is quiet to be left alone, he said.

Ruth says, if she rests, sleeps a little, she won't get fever. Henniger, don't let anybody disturb her till night. All right, Joe, replied the Mormon. and I take it good of Ruth and you to concern yourself. A slight tap on the inside of the door sent Shepard's pulses to throbbing. Joe opened it with a strong and vigorous sweep that meant more than the mere action.

Ruth, reckon you didn't stay long, he said, and his voice rang clear. Sure you feel sick and weak, by seeing her flustered even me. A slender, darker, garbed woman, wearing a long black hood, stepped uncertainly out. She appeared to be Ruth. Sheffert's heart stood still, because she looked so like Ruth.

But she did not step steadily. She seemed dazed. She did not raise the hooded head. Go home, said Joe, and his voice rang a little louder. Take her home, Shepard. Or better, walk her round some. She's faintish. And see here, Heniger.

Shefford led the girl away with a hand in apparent carelessness on her arm. After a few rods, she walked with a freer step and then a swifter. He found it necessary to make the hold on her arm a real one so as to keep her from walking too fast. No one, however, appeared to observe them. When they passed Ruth's house then, Shefford began to lose his fear that this was not Faye Larkin. He was far from being calm or clear-sighted. He thought he recognized that free step. Nevertheless, he could not make sure.

When they passed under the trees, crossed the brook, and turned down along the west wall, then doubt ceased in Shefford's mind. He knew this was not Ruth. Still so strange was his agitation, so keen his suspense, that he needed confirmation of ear, of eye. He wanted to hear her voice to see her face.

Yet, just as strangely, there was a twist of feeling, a reluctance, a sadness that kept off the moment. They reached the low, slow, swelling slant of wall, and started to ascend. How impossible not to recognize Faylarkin now in that swift grace and skill on the steep wall. Still, though he knew her, he perversely clung to the unreacted. of the moment. But when a long braid of dead gold hair tumbled from under the hood, then his heart leaped, that identified Faye Larkin. He had freed her. He was taking her away, then a sadness embittered his joy. As always before, she distanced him in the ascent

to the top. She went on without looking back, but Shefford had an irresistible desire to look again and the last time at this valley where he had suffered and loved so much. End of Chapter 15, Part 2 Chapter 16 of the Rainbow Trail by Zane Gray. This Libravox recording is in the public domain. Surprise Valley From the summit of the wall the plateau waved away in red and yellow ridges,

with here and there little vassad. valleys green with cedar and pinion. Upon one of these ridges silhouetted against the sky appeared the stalking figure of the Indian. He had espied the fugitives. He disappeared in a niche and presently came again into view round a corner of cliff.

Here he waited, and soon Shepard and Faye joined him. By nigh, it is well, he said. Shefford eagerly asked for the horses. and nastebega silently pointed down the niche which was evidently an opening into one of the shallow canyon then he led the way walking swiftly it was sheffert and not fay who had difficulty in keeping close to him this speed caused shefford to become more alive to the business instead of the feeling of the flight the indian entered a crack between low cliffs a very narrow canyon full of rocks and clumps of cedar, and in half an hour or less he came to where the Mustangs were halted among some cedars. Three of the Mustangs, including Nac-Yaw, were saddled. One bore a small pack, and the remaining two had blankets strapped on their backs. Faye, can you ride in that long

skirt? asked Shefford. How strange it seemed that his first words to her were practical when all his impassioned thought had been only mute. but the instant he spoke he experienced a relief of relaxation i'll take it off replied fay just as practically and in a twinkling she slipped out of both waist and skirt she had worn them over the short white flannel dress with which shefford had grown familiar as knackaw appeared to be the safest mustang for her to ride shefford helped her upon him and then attended to the stirrups when he had a job of her to ride when he had adjusted them to the proper length he drew the bridle over knackaw's head and upon handing it to her found himself suddenly looking into her face she had taken off the hood too the instant their eyes met he realized that she was strangely afraid to meet his glance as he was to meet hers that seemed natural but her face was flushed and there were unmistakable signs upon it of growing excitement, of mounting happiness. Save for that fugitive glance, she would have been the Faye Larkin of yesterday.

How had he expected her to look he did not know, but it was not like this, and never had he felt her strange quality of simplicity so powerfully. Have you ever been here through this little canyon, he asked? Oh, yes, lots of times. You'll be able to lead us to Surprise Valley, you think? i know it i shall see uncle jim and mother jane before sunset i hope you do he replied a little shakily perhaps we'd better not tell them of-the about what happened last night her beautiful grave and troubled glance returned to meet his and he received the shock that he considered was amazed after a more swift consideration he believed he was amazed because that look instead of his betraying fear or gloom or any haunting shadow of darkness betrayed apprehension for him,

grave, sweet, troubled love for him. She was not thinking of herself at all, of what he might think of her, of a possible gulf between them, of a vast and terrible change in the relation of soul to soul. He experienced a profound gladness. Though he could not understand her, he was happy that the horror of Wagner's death had escaped her. He loved her. He meant to give his life to her, and right then and there he accepted the burden of her deed, and meant to bear it without ever letting her know of the shadow between them. Faye, we'll forget what's behind us, he said. Now to find Surprise Valley,

lead on. Nak yaw's gentle. Pull him the way you want to go. We'll follow. Shefford mounted the other saddled Mustang, and they set off. fay in advance presently they rode out of this canyon up to level cedar patched solid rock and here fay turned straight west evidently she had been over the ground before the heights to which she had climbed with her were up to the left great slopes and looming promontories and the course she chose was as level and easy as any he could have picked out in that direction when a mile or more of this up and down travel had been traversed fay halted and appeared to be at fault the plateau was losing its rounded smooth wavy characteristics and to the west grew bolder more rugged more cut up in low crags and butes after a long sweeping glance fay headed straight for this rougher country thereafter from time to time she repeated this action fay how do you know you're going in the right direction asked sheffert anxiously i never forget any ground i've been over i keep my eyes close ahead all that seems strange to me is the wrong way what i've seen before must be the right way because i saw it when they brought me from surprise valley shefford had to acknowledge that she was following an indian's instinct for ground he had once covered

still shefford began to worry and finally dropped back to question nastebega by nigh she has the eye of a navajo replied the indian look iron-shot horses have passed here see the marks and the stone shefford indeed made out faint cut tracks that would have escaped his own sight they had been made long ago but they were unmistakable she's following the trail by memory She must remember the stones, trees, sage, cactus, said Shepard, in surprise. Pictures in her mind, replied the Indian. Thereafter the farther she progressed, the less at fault she appeared and the faster she traveled. She made several miles an hour, and about the middle of the afternoon entered upon the more broken region of the plateau. View became restricted, low walls and ruined cliffs of red rock, with some of the mountainouser, cedars at their base and gullies growing into canyon and canyon opening up into larger ones.

These were passed and crossed and climbed and rimmed in travel that grew more difficult as the going became wilder. There was a steady ascent up and up all the time, though not steep, until another level, green with cedar and pinion, was reached. It reminded Shefford of the forest near the mouth of the soggy. It was so dense he could not see far ahead of Fay, and often he lost sight of her entirely. Presently he rode out of the forest into a strip of purple sage. It ended abruptly, and above that abrupt line, seemingly far away, rose a long red wall. Instantly he recognized that to be the opposite wall of a canyon, which as yet he could not see. Faye was acting strangely, and he hurried forward.

She slipped off Nackew and fell, sprang up, and ran wildly to stand upon a promontory. Her arms uplifted. Her hair amass of moving gold in the wind, her attitude, one of wild and eloquent significance. Shefford ran, too, and as he ran, the red walls in his eager sight seemed to enlarge downward, deeper and deeper, and then it merged into a strip of green. Suddenly beneath him yawned a red-walled gulf, a deceiving gulf seen through transparent haze,

a softly shining green and white valley, strange, wild, beautiful, like the picture in his memory. Surprise Valley, he cried, in wandering recognition. Fay Larkin waved her arms as if they were wings to carry her swiftly downward,

and her plaint of cry fit at the wildness of her manner and the lonely height where she leaned. Shefford drew her back from the rim. Faye, we are here, he said, I recognize the valley, I miss only one thing, the arch of stone. His words seemed to recall her to reality. The arch that fell when the wall slipped in the great avalanche. See, there is the place we can get down to the world. there, oh, let us hurry. The Indian reached the rim, and his falcon gaze swept the valley. Ugh, he exclaimed. He too recognized the valley that he had vainly sought for half a year.

Bring the lassoes, said Shepard. With Fay leading, they followed the rim toward the head of the valley. Here the wall had caved in, and there was a slope of jumbled rock a thousand feet wide, and more than that in depth. It was easy to descend because there were so many rocks waist-high that afforded a handhold. Shefford marked, however, that Fay never took advantage of these.

More than once he paused to watch her, swiftly she went down. She stepped from rock to rock, lightly. She crossed cracks and pits. She ran along the sharp and broken edge of a long ledge. She poised on a pointed stone. and, sure-footed as a mountain sheep, she sprang to another that had scarce surface for foothold. Her moccasins flashed, seemed to hold wondrously on any angle,

and when a rock tipped or slipped with her, she leaped to a shoreer stand. Shefford watched her performance, so swift, agile, so perfectly balanced, showing such wonderful accord between eye and foot, and then, when his gaze swept down upon that wild valley, where she had roamed alone for twelve years, he marveled no more. The farther down he got, the greater became the size of rocks, until he found himself amid huge pieces of cliff as large as houses. He lost sight of Fay entirely, and he anxiously threaded a narrow, winding, descending way between the broken masses.

Finally he came out upon flat rock again. Faye stood on another rim looking down. He saw that the slide had moved far out into the valley, and the lower part of it consisted of great sections of wall. In fact, the base of the great wall had just moved out with the avalanche, and this much of it held its vertical position. Looking upward, Shefford was astounded and thrilled to see how far he was. he had descended, how the walls leaned like a great, wide, curving, continuous rim of mountain.

Here, here, called Faye, here's where they got down. Where they brought me up. Here are the sticks they used. They stuck him in this crack, down to that ledge. Shepard ran to her side and looked down. There was a narrow split in this section of wall, and it was perhaps sixty feet in depth. The floor of rock below led out in a ledge, with a sheer drop to the valley level. As Shefford gazed pondering on a way to descend lower, the Indian reached his side. He had no sooner looked than he proceeded to act. Selecting one of the sticks, which were strong pieces of cedar, well hewn and trimmed, he jammed it between the walls of the crack till it stuck fast. Then, sitting astride this one, he jammed in another some three feet below.

When he got down upon that one, it was necessary for Shepard to drop him a third stick. In a comparatively short time, the Indian reached the ledge below. Then he called for the lassoes. Shepard threw them down. His next move was an attempt to assist Faye, but she slipped out of his grasp and descended the ladder with a swiftness that made him hold his breath. Still when his turn came, her spirit so governed him that he went down as swiftly and even leaped sheer the last ten feet. Noste Beg and Faye were leaning over the ledge. Here's the place, she said excitedly, let me down on the rope. It took two thirty-foot lassoes tied together to reach the floor of the vogue.

valley. Shepard folded his vest, put it round Faye, and slipped the loop of the lasso under her arms. Then he and Noste Bega lowered her to the grass below. Faye, throwing off the loop, bounded away like a wild creature, uttering the strangest cries he had ever heard, and she disappeared along the wall. I'll go down, said Shepard to the Indian. You stay here to help pull us up. hand over hand sheffered descended and when his feet touched the grass he experienced the shock of the most singular exaltation in surprise valley he breathed softly the dream that had come to him with his friend's story the years of waiting wandering and then the long fruitless hopeless search in the desert uplands these were in his mind as he turned along the wall where fay had disappeared he faced a wide terrace green with grass and moss and starry with strange white flowers and dark foliage spear-pointed spruce trees

below the terrace sloped the bench covered with thick copse and this merged into a forest of dwarf oaks and beyond that was a beautiful strip of white aspens to their leaves quivering in the stillness the air was close sweet warm fragrant and remarkably dry it reminded him of the air he had smelled in dry caves under cliffs he reached the point from where he saw a meadow dotted with red and white spotted cattle and little black burrows there were many of them and he remembered with a start the agony of toil and peril venters had endured bringing the progenitors of this stock into the valley What a strange, wild, beautiful story it all was, but a story connected with this valley could not have been otherwise. Beyond the meadow on the other side of the valley extended the forest, and that ended in the rising bench of thicket, which gave place to Green Slope and Mossy Terrace of sharp-tip spruces.

And all this led the eye irresistibly up to the red wall where a vast dark, wonderful cavern yawned, with its rust-colored streaks of staying on the wall, and the queer little houses of the quiff-dwellers, with their black, vacant, silent windows, speaking so weirdly of the unknown past. Shepard passed a place where the ground had been cultivated, but not as recently as the last six months. There was a scant shock of corn and many meager standing stalks. He became aware of a low, whining. hum and a fragrance overpowering in its sweetness.

And there round another corner of wall, he came upon an orchard, all pink and white and blossoms, and melodious, with the buzz and hum of innumerable bees. He crossed a little stream that had been dammed, went along a pond, down beside an irrigation ditch that furnished water to orchard and vineyard, and from there he strode into a beautiful cove between two jutting corners of red wall. It was level and green, and the spruces stood gracefully everywhere. Beyond their dark trunks, he saw caves in the wall. Suddenly the fragrance of blossoms was overwhelmed by the stronger fragrance of smoke from a wood fire. Swiftly he strode under the spruces. Quail fluttered before him as tame as chickens. Big gray

rabbits scarcely moved out of his way. The branches above him were full of mockingbirds, and then, there before him, stood three figures. Faye Larkin was held close to the side of a magnificent woman, barbarously clad in garments made of skins and pieces of blanket. Her face worked in noble emotion. Sheffert seemed to see the ghost of that fair beauty, Venters had said, was Jane Withersteins. Her hair was gray. Near her stood a lean, stoop-shouldered man, whose long hair was perfectly white. His gaunt face was bare of beard. It had strange, sloping sad lines, and he was staring with mild, surprised eyes. The moment held Shepard mute till sight of Fay Larkin's tear-wet face broke the spell. He leaped forward, and his strong hands reached

for the woman and the man. Jane Witherstein, Lassiter, I have found you. Oh, sir, who are you? she cried, with rich and deep and quivering voice. This child came running, screaming, she could not speak. We thought she had gone mad and escaped to come back to us. I am John Shepard, he replied swiftly. I am a friend of Byrne Venters, of his wife Bess. I learned your story.

I came west. I searched a year. I found Fay, and we've come to take you away. You found Fay? But that masked Mormon who forced her to sacrifice herself to save us. What of him? It's not been so many long years. I remember what my father was, and dire and tall, and all those cruel churchmen. Wagoner is dead, replied Shepard. Dead? She is free. Oh, what? How did he die? He was killed.

Who did it? That's no matter, replied Shepard, stonily. And he met her gaze with steady eyes. He's out of the way. Faye was never his wife. Faye's free. We've come to take you out of the country. We must hurry.

We'll be tracked, pursued. But we've horses and an Indian guide. We'll get away. I think it better to leave here at once. There's no telling how soon. will be hunted. Get what things you want to take with you. Oh, yes, Mother Jane, let us hurry, cried Faye. I'm so full, I can't talk. My heart hurts so. Jane Witherstein's face shone with an exceedingly radiant light and a glory blended

with a terrible fear in her eyes. Faye, my little Faye. Placeter had stood there with his mild, clear blue eyes upon Shepard. I'm sure glad to see you all he drawed and extended his hand as if the meeting were casual. What'd you say your name was? Shepard repeated it as he met the proffered hand. How's Byrne and Bess, Lasseter inquired? They were well, prosperous, happy when I last saw them. They had a baby.

Now ain't that fine, Jane, did you hear? Bess had a baby. And Jane, didn't I always say Byrne would come. back to get us out? Sure, it's just the same. How cool, easy, slow, and mild, this Lassiter seemed. Had the man grown old, Shepard wondered, the past to him manifestly was only yesterday, and the dangers of the present was as nothing. Looking in Lassiter's face, Shefford was baffled. If he had not remembered the greatness of this old gunman, he might have believed that the lonely years in the valley had unbalanced his

mind. In an hour like this, coolness seemed inexplicable, assuredly, would have been impossible in an ordinary man. Yet what hid behind that drawing coolness? What was the meaning of those long, sloping, shadowy lines of face? What spirit lay in the deep, mild, clear eyes? Shefford experienced a sudden check to what had been his first growing impression of a drifting, broken old man. Lassiter, pack what little you can carry, mustn't be much. And we'll get out of here, said Shepard. I sure will. Reckon, I ain't going to need a pack train.

We saved the clothes we wore in here. Jane never thought it no use. But I figured we might need them some day. They won't be stylish, but I reckon they'll do better than these skins. And there's an old coat that was venters. The mild, dreamy look became intensified in Lassiter's eyes. Did Venters have any horses when you know to him, he asked? He had a farm full of horses, replied Shepard with a smile.

And there were two blacks, the grandest horses I ever saw. Black Star and Night. You remember, Lassiter? Sure, I was wondering if you got the blacks out. They must be growing old by now, grand horses they was. But Jane had another horse, a big devil of a sorrel. His name was Wrangel. Did Ventress ever tell you about him?

And that race with Jerry Card. A hundred times, replied Shepard. Rangel run the blacks off their legs. But Jane never would believe that, and I couldn't change her all these years. Reckon, maybe we'll get to see them blacks. Indeed, I hope, I believe you will, replied Shepard, feelingly. Sure won't that be fine, Jane, did you hear?

Black Star and Night are living, and we'll get to see them. But Jane Witherstein only clasped they in her arms, and looked at Lasseter with wet and glistening eyes. Shepard told them to hurry and come to the cliff where the ascent from the valley was to be made. He thought best to leave them alone to make their preparations and bid farewell to the cavern home they had known for so long. Then he strode back along the river.

the wall, loitering here to gaze into a cave, and there to study crude red paintings in the nooks, and sometimes he halted thoughtfully and did not see anything. At last he rounded a corner of cliff to a spy Noste Bega sitting upon the ledge, reposeful and watchful as usual. Shefford told the Indian they would be climbing out soon, and then he sat down to wait and let his gaze rove over the valley. He might have sat there a long while, so sad and reflective, and wondering was his thought,

but it seemed a very short time till Faye came in sight with her free, swift grace, and Lasseter and Jane some distance behind. Jane carried a small bundle, and Lasseter had a sack over his shoulder that appeared no inconsiderable burden.

Them beings as sure heavy he drawed, as he deposited the sack upon the ground. Shepard curiously took hold of the sack and was amazed to find that a second and hard, muscular effort was required to lift it. Beans, he queried? Sure, replied Lassiter. That's the heaviest sack of beans I ever saw.

Why, it's not possible it can be. Lasseter, we've a long, rough trail. We've got the pack light. Well, I ain't going to leave this sack here behind, reckon i've been all of twelve years in filling it he declared mildly shefford could only stare at him fay may need them beans went on lasseter why because they're gold gold ejaculated shefford sure and they represent some work twelve years of digging and washing shefford laughed constrainedly well lacer that alters the case considerably a sack of gold nuggets or grains or beans or beans as you call them, certainly must not be left behind. Come now, we'll tackle this climbing job.

He called up to the Indian and grasping the rope, began to walk up the first slant, and then by dint of hand-over-hand effort and climbing with knees and feet, he succeeded, with Noste Begaz's help, in making the ledge. Then he let down the rope to haul up the sack and bundle. That done, he directed Fay to,

fastened the noose round her as he had fixed it before. When she complied, he called to her to hold herself out from the wall while he and Naste Bega hauled her up. Hold the rope tight, replied Faye, I'll walk up. And to Shepard's amaze in admiration, she virtually walked up that almost perpendicular wall by slipping her hands along the rope and stepping as she pulled herself up. There, if never before, he saw her own. He saw her the fruit of her years of experience on steep slopes. Only such experience could have made the feet possible. Jane had to be hauled up, and the task was a painful one for her.

Lasseter's turn came then, and he showed more strength in agility than Shepard had supposed him capable of. From the ledge they turned their attention to the narrow crack with its ladder of sticks. Faye had already ascended and now hung over the rim. her white face and golden hair framed vividly in the narrow stream of blue sky above mother jane uncle jim you're so slow she called while fay we haven't been second cousins to a canyon squirrel all these years replied lasseter this upper half of a climb bid fair to be as difficult for jane if not so painful as the lower it was necessary for the indian to go up and drop the rope which was well as well as to be difficult for jane to go up and drop the rope which was well as to be very for the little bit of the road which was looped around her and then with him pulling from above and sheffered assisting jane as she climbed she was finally gotten up without mishap when lasseter reached the level they rested a little while and then faced a great slide of jumbled rocks fay led the way light supple tireless and shefford never ceased looking at her at last they surmounted the long slope and winding along the rim

reached the point where fay had led out of the cedars. Noste Bega, then, was the one to whom Shepard looked for every decision or action of the immediate future. The Indian said he had seen a pool of water in a rocky hole. That day was spent, that here was a little grass for the Mustangs, and it would be well to camp right here. So while Nastebega attended to the Mustangs, Shepard set about such preparations for camp and supper as their light pack afforded. The question of beds was easily answered, for the mats of soft needles under pinion and cedar

would be comfortable places to sleep. When Shepard felt free again, the sun was setting. Lasseter and Jane were walking under the trees. The Indian had returned the camp, but Fay was missing. Shefford imagined he knew where to find her. and upon going to the edge of the forest he saw her sitting on the promontory. He approached her, drawn in spite of a feeling that perhaps he ought to stay away. Faye, would you rather be alone, he asked.

His voice startled her. I want you, she replied, and held out her hand. Taking it in his own, he sat beside her. The red sun was at their backs, surprised valley, lay hazy, dusky, shadowy beneath them. The opposite wall seemed fired by crimson flame, save far down at its base, which the sun no longer touched,

and the dark lines of red slowly rose, encroaching upon the bright crimson. Changing, transparent, yet dusky veils, seemed to float between the walls, long red rays, where the sun shone through not sure crack in the rim, split the darker spaces deep down at the floor the forests darkened, the strip of aspen paled, the meadow turned gray, and all under the shelves and in the great caverns a purple gloom deepened.

Then the sun set, and swiftly twilight was there below while day lingered above. On the opposite wall the fire died, and the stone grew cold. A canyon night hawk voiced his lonely. weird and melancholy cry, and it seemed to pierce and mark the silence. A pale star peering out of a sky that had begun to turn blue marked the end of twilight, and all the purple shadows moved and hovered and changed till softly and mysteriously they embraced black night. Beautiful, wild, strange, silent surprise valley.

Sheffert saw it before and beneath him. A dark abyss now, the abode of loneliness. He imagined faintly what was in Faye Larkin's heart. For the last time she had seen the sun set there, and night come with its dead silence and sweet mystery and phantom shadows, its velvety blue sky, and white trains of stars. He who had dreamed and longed and searched found that the hour had become incalculable for him in its import.

End of Chapter 16. Chapter 17 Part 1 of the Rainbow Trail by Zane Gray. This Libravox recording is in the public domain. The Trail to Nane Soshi, Part 1. When Shephard awoke next morning and sat up on his bed of pinion boughs, the dawn had broken cold, with a ruddy gold brightness under the trees. Noste Bega and Lassiter were busy around a campfire. The Mustangs were halted nearby.

Jane Witherstein combed out her long, tangled tresses with a crude wooden comb. And Fay Larkin was not in sight. As she had been missing from the group at sunset, so she was now at sunrise. Sheffert went out to take his last look at Surprise Valley. on the evening before the valley had been a place of dusky red veils and purple shadows and now it was pink-walled clear and rosy and green and white with wonderful shafts of gold slanting down from the notched eastern rim fay stood on the promontory and sheffered did not break the spell of her silent farewell to her wild home a strange emotion abided with him and he knew he would always all his life regret leaving surprise valley then the indian called come face said shefford gently and she turned away with dark haunted eyes and a white still face the sombre indian gave a silent gesture for shefford to make haste while they had breakfast the mustangler saddled and packed and soon all was in readiness for the flight

fay was given knack yall jane the saddled horse shefford had ridden and lacer the indians roan shefford and nastebega were to ride the blanketed mustangs and the sixth and last one bore the pack Noste Bega set off, leading his horse, the others of the party lined in behind, with Shefford at the rear. Noste Bega led at a brisk trot and sometimes on level stretches of ground at an easy canter, and Shefford had a grim realization of what this flight was going to be for these three fugitives, now so unaccustomed to riding. Jane and Lasseter, however, needed no watching. and they showed they had never forgotten how to manage a horse.

The Indian back trailed yesterday's path for an hour, then headed west to the left, and entered a low pass. All parts of this plateau country looked alike, and Shepard was at some pains to tell the difference of this strange ground from that which he had been over. In another hour they got out of the rugged, broken rock to the wind-worn and smooth, shallow canyon. Shepard calculated that they were coming to the end of the plateau.

The low walls slanted lower. The canyon made a turn. Nastebega disappeared, and then the others of the party. When Shepard turned the corner of wall, he saw a short strip of bare rocky ground with only sky beyond. The Indian and his followers had hoppet in a group. Shepard rode to them, halted himself, and in one sweeping glance realized the meaning of their silent gaze. But immediately Noste Bega started down and the Mustangs, without word or touch, followed him.

Shefford, however, lingered on the promontory. His gaze seemed impelled and held by things afar, the great yellow and purple corrugated world of distance, now on a level with his eyes. He was drawn by the beauty and the grandeur of that scene, and transfixed by the realization that he had dared to venture to find a way through this vast, wild, and upflung fastness. He kept looking afar, sweeping the three-quartered circle of horizon till his judgment of distance was confounded, and his sense of proportion dwarfed one moment and magnified the next.

Then he withdrew his fascinated gaze To adopt the Indians' method Of studying unlimited spaces in the desert To look with slow contracted eyes From near to far His companions had begun to zigzag Down a long slope, bear of rock, With yellow gravel patches showing between the scant strips of green

And here and there a scrub cedar Half a mile down the slope merged into green level, But close keen gaze made out this level to be a rolling plain, growing darker green, with blue lines of ravines and thin, undefined spaces that might be mirage. Miles and miles of it swept and relied and heaved to lose its waves in apparent darker levels. A round red rock stood isolated, marking the end of the barren plain. And farther on were other rocks, all isolated, all of different shapes. They resembled huge grazing cattle, but as Shepard gazed and his sight gained strength,

from steady holding it to separate features, these rocks were strangely magnified. They grew and grew into mounds, castles, domes, crags, great red wind-carved beutes. One by one they drew his gaze to the wall. of upflung rock. He seemed to see a thousand domes of a thousand shapes and colors, and among them a thousand blue clefts, each one a little mark in his sight, yet which he knew was a canyon. So far he gained some idea of what he saw, but beyond this wide area of curved lines rose another wall, dwarfing the lower, dark red horizon long, magnificent in frowning boldness, and because of its limitless deceiving surfaces, breaks and lines incomprehensible to

the sight of man. Away to the eastward began a winding, ragged, blue line, looping back upon itself and then winding away again, growing wider and bluer. This line was the San Juan Canyon. Where was Joe Lake at that moment? Had he embarked yet on the river? did that blue line so faint so deceiving hold him and the boat. Almost it was impossible to believe.

Shepard followed the blue line all its length, a hundred miles, he fancied, down toward the west where it joined a dark, purple, shadowy cleft. And this was the Grand Canyon of the Colorado. Shepard's eyes swept along with that winding mark farther and farther to the west, round to the left until the cleft growing larger and coming closer, losing its deception, was seen to be a wild and winding canyon.

Still further to the left, as he swung in fascinated gaze, it split the wonderful wall, a vast plateau now with great red peaks and yellow mesas. The canyon was full of purple smoke. It turned, it gaped, it lost itself. and showed again in that chaos of a million cliffs. And then farther on it became again a cleft, a purple line at last to fail entirely into deceiving distance. Shefford imagined there was no scene in all the world equal to that.

The tranquility of lesser spaces was not here manifest. Sound movement life seemed to have no fitness here. Ruin was there and desolation and decay. the meaning of the ages was flung at him and a man became nothing when he had gazed at the san juan canyon he had been appalled at the nature of joe lakes herculean task he had lost hope faith the thing was not possible but when shefford gazed at that sublime and majestic wilderness in which the grand canyon was only a dim line he strangely lost his terror and something else came to him from the same place from the grand canyon from the grand canyon was only a dim line he strangely lost his terror and something else came to him from the the hymn from across the shining spaces. If Noste Bega led them safely down to the river, if Joe Lake met them at the mouth of Nonesosha, Boko,

if they survived the rapids of that terrible gorge, then Shepard would have to face his soul and the meaning of this spirit that breathed on the wind. He urged his Mustang to the descent of the slope, and as he went down, slowly drawing nearer to the other fugitives, his mind alternated between the strange intimation of faith the subtle uplift of his spirit and the growing gloom and shadow in his love for fay larkin not that he loved her less but more the possible god hovering near him like the indian's spirit stepped on the trail made his soul the darker for fay's crime and he saw with light with deeper sadness with sterner truth more than once the indian turned on his mustang to look up the slope and the light flashed from his dark somber face shefford instinctively looked back himself and then he realized the unconscious motive of the action

deep within him there had been a premonition of certain pursuit and the indians reiterated backward glance had at length brought the feeling upward thereafter as they descended shefford gradually added to his already wrought emotions of mounting anxiety no sign of a trail showed where the base of the slope rolled out to meet the green plain the earth was gravelly with dark patches of heavy silt almost like cinders and round black rocks flinty and glassy cracked away from the hoofs of the mustangs there was a level bench a mile wide than a ravine and then an ascent and after that rounded ridge and ravine one after the other like huge swells of a monstrous sea Indian paintbrush vied in its scarlet hue with a deep magenta of cactus. There was no sage, soapweed and meager grass, and a bunch of cactus here and there, lent the green to that baron, and it was green only at a distance. Nastebega kept on a steady, even trot.

The sun climbed. The wind rose and whipped dust from under the Mustangs. Shefford looked back often, and the farther out in the plain he reached, the higher loomed the plateau they had descended, and as he faced ahead again, the lower sank the red domed and castled horizon to the fore. The ravines became deeper, with dry rock bottoms, and the high ridged tops sharper, without croppings of yellow crumbling ledges. Once across the central depression of that plain, a gradual ascent. became evident, and the round rocks grew cleaner in sight, began to rise, shine, and grow, and thereafter every slope brought them nearer. The sun was straight overhead and hot when Nostebega halted the party under the first

lonely scrub cedar. They all dismounted to stretch their limbs and rest the horses. It was not a talkative group. Lasseter's comments on the never-ending green plain elicited no response. Jane Witherstein looked the far with the past in her eyes. Shefford felt Faye's wistful glance

and could not meet it. Indeed, he seemed to want to hide something from her. The Indian bent of falcon gaze on the distant slope, and Shepard did not like that intent searching, steadfast watchfulness. Suddenly, Nostebega stiffened and whipped the halter.

he held. Ugg, he exclaimed, All eyes followed the direction of his dark hand. Puffs of dust rose from the base of the long slope they had descended. Tiny dark specks moved with a pace of a snail.

Shad added the Indian. I expected it, said Shepard, darkly as he rose. And who Shad, drawed Lassiter, in his cool, slow speech. Briefly, Shefford explained, and then looking at Noste Bega, he added, The hardest riding outfit in the country. We can't get away from them.

Jane Witherstein was silent, but Fay uttered a low cry. Shefford did not look at either of them. The Indian began swiftly to tighten the saddle cinches of his roam, and Shepard did likewise for Naciel. Then Shepard drew his rifle out of the saddle sheath, and Joe Lake's big guns from the saddle-bag. Here, Lasseter, maybe you haven't forgotten how to use these, he said. The old gunman started as if he had seen ghosts.

His hands grew claw-like as he reached for the guns. He threw open the cylinders, spilled out the shells, snapped back the cylinders. Then he went through motions, too swift for Shepard to follow. But Shepard heard the hammers falling so swiftly. they blended their clicks almost in one sound. Lasseter reloaded the guns with a speed comparable with the other actions. A remarkable transformation had come over him.

He did not seem the same man. The mild eyes had changed. The long, shadowy, sloping lines were tense cords, and there was a cold, ashy shade, on his face. Twelve years he muttered to himself, I dropped them old guns back there where I rolled the rock, twelve years. Shepard realized the twelve years were as if they had never been, and he would rather have had this old gunman with him than a dozen ordinary men.

The Indians spoke rapidly in Navajo, saying that once in the rocks they were safe. Then, after another look, at the distant dust puffs, he wheeled his Mustang. It was doubtful if the party could have kept near him had they been responsible for the gate of their mounts. The fact was that the way the Indian called to his Mustangs or some leadership in the one road drew the others to a like trot or climb or canter. For a long time, Shepard did not turn round. He knew what to expect. And when he did turn, he was startled at the gain made by the pursuers. but he was encouraged as well by the looming red rounded peaks seemingly now so close. He could see the dark splits between the sloping curved walls,

the pinion patches in the amphitheater, under the circled walls. That was a wild place they were approaching, and once in there he believed pursuit would be useless. However, they were miles still to go, and those hard-riding devils behind made alarm decrease in the intervening distance. Shepard could see the horses plainly now. How they made the dust fly. He counted up to six, and then the dust and moving line caused the others to be indistinguishable.

At last, only a long, gently rising slope separated the fugitives from that labyrinthing network of wildly carved rock. But it was the clear air that made the distance seem short. Mile after mile the Mustangs climbed, and when they were perhaps halfway across the last slope to the rocks the first horse of the pursuers mounted to the level behind. In a few moments the whole band was strung out in sight.

Noste Bega kept his Mustang at a steady walk in spite of the gaining pursuers. There came a point, however, when the Indian. Indian, reaching comparatively level ground, put his mount to a swinging canter. The other Mustangs broke into the same gate. It became a race, then, with a couple of miles between fugitives and pursuers only imperceptibly lessened. Noste Vega had saved his Mustangs, and Shad had ridden his to the limit. Shepard kept looking back, gripping his rifle, hoping it would not come to a fight, yet slowly losing the reluctance.

Sage began the shell on the slope, and other kinds of brush and cedars straggled everywhere. The great rocks loomed closer, the red color mixed with yellow, and the slopes lengthening out, not so steep, yet infinitely longer, than they had seemed at a distance.

Shepard ceased to feel the dry wind in his face. They were already in the lee of the wall. He could see the rock, squirrels scampering to their holes. The Mustangs valiantly held to the gate, and at last the Indian disappeared between two rounded corners of cliff. The others were close behind. Shefford wheeled once more. Shad and his gang were a mile in the rear, but coming fast, despite winded horses. Shefford rode around the wall into a widening space, thick with cedars. It ended in a bare slope of smooth rock.

here the Indian dismounted. When the others came up with him, he told them to lead their horses and follow. Then he began the ascent of the rock. It was smooth and hard, though not slippery. There was not a crack. Shepard did not see a broken piece of stone. Nostebega climbed straight up for a while,

and then wound around a swell, to turn this way and that, always going up. shefford began to see similar mounds of rock all around him of every shape that could be called a curve there were yellow domes far above and small red domes far below ridges ran from one hill of rock to another there were no abrupt breaks but holes in pits and caves were everywhere and occasionally deep down an amphitheater green with cedar and pinion the indian appeared to have a clear idea of where he wanted to go, though there was no vestige of a trail on those bare slopes. At length, Shepard was high enough to see back upon the plain, but the pursuers were no longer in sight. Nostebega led to the top of that wall, only to disclose to his followers

another and higher wall beyond, with a ridged, bare, wild, and scalloped depression between. Here footing began to be precarious for both man and beast. When the ascent of the second wall began, it was necessary to zigzag up, slowly and carefully, taken advantage of every level bulge or depression. They must have consumed half an hour, mounting the slope to the summit. Once there, Shepard drew a sharp breath

with both backward and forward glances. Shad and his gang in a single file, showed dark upon the bare stone ridge behind, and to the fore they're twisted and dropped and curved the most dangerous slopes Shepard had ever seen. The fugitives had reached the height of a stone wall, of the divide, and many of the drops upon this side

were perpendicular and too steep to see the bottom. Nastebega led along the ridgetop and then started down, following the waves in the rock. he came out upon a rounded promontory from which there could not have been any turning of a horse the long slant leading down was at an angle shefford declared impossible for the animals yet the indians started down his mustang needed urging but at last edged upon the steep descent shefford and the others had to hold back in wait it was thrilling to see the intelligent mustang he did not step he slid his four hoofs a few inches at a time and kept directly behind the indian if he fell he would knock naste baga off his feet and they would both roll down together there was no doubt in shepherds mind that the mustang knew this as well as the indian foot by foot they worked down to a swelling bulge and here naste baga left this mustang and came back for the pack horse it was even more difficult to a swelling bulge and here noste baga left this mustang and came back for the pack horse it was even more difficult

It was even more difficult to get this beast down. Then the Indian called for Lassiter and Jane and Faye to come down. Shepard began to keep a sharp lookout behind and above. He did not see how the three fared on the slope, but evidently there was no mishap. Noste Bega mounted the slope again, and at the moment sight of Shad's dark bays, silhouetted against the sky,

caused Shepard to call out. we've got to hurry the indian led one mustang and called to the others shefford stepped close behind they went down in single file inch by inch foot by foot and safely reached the comparative level below shad's gang are riding their horses up and down these walls exclaimed shefford sure replied lasseter both the women were silent nastebega led the way swiftly to the right he rounded a huge dome climbed a low rolling ridge descended and ascended and came out upon the rim of a steep-walled amphitheater along the rim was a yard-wide level with the chasm to the left and steep slope to the right there was no time to flinch at the danger when even a greater danger menaced from the rear nostabaga led and his mustang kept at his heels one misstep would have plunged the animal to his death but he was sure-footed and his confidence helped the others at the apex of the curve the only course led away from the rim and here there was no level four of the mustangs slipped and slid down the smooth rock till they stopped in a shallow depression it cost time to get them out to straighten pack in saddles Shefford thought he heard a yell in the rear, but he could not see anything of the gang.

They rounded this precipice only to face a worse one. Shepard's nerve was sorely tried when he saw steep slants everywhere, all apparently leading down in the chasms, and no place a man, let alone a horse, could put a foot with safety. Nevertheless, the imperturbable Indian never slackened his pace. Always he appeared to find a way, and he never had to turn back. His winding course, however, did not now cover much distance in a straight line, and herein lay the greatest peril.

Any moment Shad and his men might come within range. Upon a particularly tedious and dangerous slide of Rocky Hill, the fugitives lost so much time that Shepard grew exceedingly alarmed. Still, they accomplished it without a little. accident, and their pursuers did not heave in sight. Perhaps they were having trouble in a bad place. The afternoon was waning. The red sun hung low above the yellow mesa to the left, and there was a perceptible shading of light. End of Chapter 17, Part 1. Chapter 17 Part 2 of the Rainbow Trail by St. Gray. This Librevox recording is in the public domain.

the trail to nanesh sotchee part two at last noste bega came to a place that halted him it did not look so bad as places they had successfully passed yet upon closer study shefford did not see how they were to get around the neck of the gully at their feet presently the indian put the bridle over the head of his mustang and left him free he did likewise for two more mustangs while lassiter and shefford rendered a like service to theirs then the indian started down with his mustang following him the pack animal came next then fay and knack yaw then lasseter and his mount with jane and hers next and shefford last they followed the indian picking their steps swiftly looking nowhere except at the stone under their feet the right side of the chasm was rimmed the curve at the head crossed and then the real peril of this trap had to be faced it was a narrow slant of ledge doubling back parallel with the course already traversed a sharp warning cry from nestay bega scarcely prepared shepherd for horse yells and then a rascal's and then a rattling rifle volley from the top of the slope opposite bullets thudded on the cliff whipped up red dust and spanged and droned away faylarkin screamed and staggered back against the wall knackaw was hit and with frightened snort he reared pawed the air and came down pounding the stone the mustang behind him went to his knees sank with his head over the rim and slipping off plunged into the depths in an instant a dull crash came up for a moment there was imminent peril for the horses more in the yawning hole

then in the spanging of badly aimed bullets lacedor drew jane up a little slope out of the way of the frightened mustangs and shefford risking his neck rushed the fay she was holding her arm which was bleeding unheeding the rain of bullets he half carried half dragged her along the slope of the low bluff where he hid behind a corner till the indian drove the mustangs round it shefford's swift fingers were wet and red with the blood from fay's arm when he bound the wound with his scarf lanceter had gotten around with jane and was calling shefford to hurry it had been shefford's idea to halt there and fight but he did not want to send fay on alone so he hurried ahead with her the indian had the horses going fast on a long level overhung by bulging walls Lassiter and Jane were looking back. Shepard became aware of a steep slope to his left, looked down to see a narrow chasm and great crevices in the cliffs

with bunches of cedars here and there. Presently Noste Baga disappeared with the Mustangs. He had evidently turned off to go down behind the split cliffs. Shepard and Faye caught up with Lassiter and Jane and panting, hurrying, Looking backward and then forward, they kept on as best they could in the Indian's course. Shepard made sure they had lost him when he appeared down to the left. Then they all ran to catch up with him.

They went around the chasm and then threw one of the narrow cracks to come out upon the rim among cedars. Here the Indian waited for them. He pointed down another long swell of naked stone to a narrow, green split, which was evidently different from all these curved pits and holes and abysses. For this one had straight walls and wound away out of sight. It was the head of a canyon. Nanezoshi Boko, said the Indian. Noste Bega go on, replied Shepard. When Shad comes out on that slope above, he can't see you, where you go down. Hurry on with the horses and women, Lassiter, you go with them. And if Shad

passes me and comes up with you, do your best. I'm going to ambush that piute and his gang. Sure you've picked out a good place, replied Lasseter. In another moment, Shefford was alone. He heard the light soft pat and slide to the hoofs of the Mustangs as they went down. Presently, that sound ceased. He looked at the red stain on his hands, from the blood of the girl he loved, and he had to stifle a terrible wrath that shook his frame. In regard to Shad's pursuit, it had not been blood that he had feared, but captured for Fay. He and Nostebega might have expected a shot if they resisted, but to wound that unfortunate girl it made a tiger out of him.

When he had stilled the emotions that weakened and shook him and reached cold and implacable control of himself, he crawled under the cedars to the rim, and well hidden, he watched and waited. Shad appeared to be slow for the first time, since he had been sighted. With keen eyes, Shepard watched the corner, where he and the others had escaped from that murderous volley, but Shad did not come. The sun had lost its warmth, and was tipping the lofty mesa to his right. Soon, Twilight would make travel on those walls more peril.

perilous and darkness would make it impossible. Shad must hurry or abandon the pursuit for that day. Shepard found himself grimly hopeful. Suddenly he heard the click of hoofs. It came, faint yet clear, on the still air. He glued his sight upon that corner where he expected the pursuers to appear. More cracks of hoofs pierced his ear, clearer and sharper this time. Presently, he gathered that they could not possibly come from beyond the corner he was watching. So he looked far to the left of that place, seeing no one then far to the right. Out over a bulge of stone, he caught sight of the bobbing head of a horse,

than another and still another. He was astounded. Shad had gone below that place where the attack had been made, and he had come up this steep slope. More horses appeared to the number of eight. Shepard easily recognized a low, broad, squat rider to be Shad. Assuredly, the Paiute did not know this country. Possibly, however, he had feared an ambush.

But Shepard grew convinced that Shad had not expected an ambush, or at least did not fear it, and had mistaken the Indian's course. Moreover, if he led his gang a few rods further up that slope, he would do worse than make a mistake. He would be facing a double peril. What fearless horsemen these Indians were. Shad was mounted, as were three others of his gang. Evidently the white men, the outlaws, were the ones on foot. Shepard thrilled and his veins stung when he saw these pursuers come passing what he considered the danger mark.

but manifestly they could not see their danger assuredly they were aware of the chasm however the level upon which they were advancing narrowed gradually and they could not tell that very soon they could not go any farther nor could they turn back the alternative was to climb the slope and that was a desperate chance they came up now about on level with shefford and perhaps three hundred yards distance he gripped his rifle with a fatal assurance that he could kill one of them now still he waited curiosity consumed him because every foot they advanced heightened their peril shefford wondered if shad would have chosen that course if he had not supposed the navajo had chosen at first it was plain that one of the walking piutes stooped now and then to examine the rock he was looking for some faint sign of a horse track shad halted within two hundred yards of where shefford lay hidden his keen eye had caught the significance of the narrowing level before he had reached the end. He pointed and spoke. Shepard heard his voice. The others replied,

they all looked up at the steep slope, down into the chasm right below them, and across into the cedars. The bayou in the rear succeeded in turning his horse and went back, and began the circle up the slope. The others entered into an argument, and they became more closely grouped upon the narrow, narrow bench. Their mustangs were lean, wiry, wild, vicious, and Shepard calculated grimly

upon what a stampede might mean in that position. Then Shad turned his Mustang up the slope, like a goat he climbed. Another Indian in the rear succeeded in pivoting his steed and started back, apparently, to circle round and up. The others of the gang appeared uncertain. They yelled hoarsely at Shad, who halted on the steep slant some twenty paces above them. He spoke and made motions that evidently meant the climb was easy enough. It looked easy for him. His dark face flashed red in the rays of the sun. At this critical moment, Shepard decided to fire. He meant to kill Shad, hoping if the leader was gone, the others would abandon their pursuit. The rifle wavered a little as he aimed.

then grew still. He fired. Shad never flinched, but the fiery Mustang, perhaps wounded, certainly terrified, plunged down with piercing, horrid scream. Shad fell under him. Shrill yells rent the air. Like a thunderbolt, the sliding horse was upon men and animals below. A heavy shock, wild snorts, up-flinging heads and hoofs, a terrible, tramping, thudding, shrieking melee, then a brown, twisting, tangled mass shot down the slant over the rim. Shepard dazedly thought he saw men running. He did not see plunging horses. One slipped, fell, rolled, and went into the chasm. Then up from the depths came a crash, along, slipping roar. In another instant there was a lighter crash and a lighter sliding roar.

horses shaking, paralyzed with fear, were left upon the narrow level. Beyond them, a couple of men were crawling along the stone. Up on the level stood the two Indians, holding down frightened horses and staring at the fatal slope. And Shepard lay there under the cedar, in the ghastly grip of the moment, hardly comprehending that his ill-aimed shot had been a thunderbolt. He did not think of shooting of the piutes. They, however, recovering from their shock, evidently feared the ambush, for they swiftly drew up the slope and passed out of sight. The frightened horses below whistled and tramped along the lower level, finally vanishing. There was nothing left on the bare wall to prove to Shepard that it had been the scene of swift and tragic

death. He leaned from his covert and peered over the rim, hundreds of feet of feet of the sea. He was of feet below, he saw dark growth's opinions. There was no sign of a pile of horses and men. And then he realized that he could not tell the number that had perished. The swift finale had been as stunning to him as if lightning had struck near him. Suddenly it flashed over him what state of suspense and torture. Faye and Jane must be in at that very moment. And leaping up, he ran out of the cedars to the slope,

behind and hurried down at risk of limb. The sun had set by this time. He hoped he could catch up with the party before dark. He went straight down, and the end of the slope was a smooth, low wall. The Indian must have descended with the horses at some other point. The canyon was about fifty yards wide, and it headed under the great slope of Navajo Mountain. These smooth, rounded walls appeared to end at its own. low rim.

Shepard slid down upon a grassy bank, and finding the tracks of the horses, he followed them. They led along the wall. As soon as he had assured himself that Noste Vega had gone down the canyon, he abandoned the tracks, and pushed ahead swiftly.

He heard the soft rush of running water. In the center of the canyon wound heavy lines of bright green foliage, bordering a rocky brook. the air was close warm and sweet with perfume of flowers the walls were low in shelving and soon lost that rounded appearance peculiar to the wind-worn slopes above shefford came to where the horses had ploughed down a gravely bank into the clear swift water of the brook the little pools of water were still muddy shefford drank finding the water cold and sweet without the bitter bite of alkali he crossed and pushed on running on the grassy levels flowers were everywhere but he did not notice them particularly the canyon made many leisurely turns and its size if it enlarged at all was not perceptible to him yet the rims above him were perhaps fifty feet high cottonwood trees began to appear along the brook and blossoming buck-brush in the corners of wall

he had traveled perhaps a mile when nastebega appearing to come out of the thicket confronted him hello called shefford where's fay and the others the indian made a gesture that signified the rest of the party where beyond a little way shepherd took nostepagga's arm and as they walked and he panted for breath he told what had happened back on the slopes the indian made one of his singular speaking sweeps of hand and he scrutinized sheffert's face but he received the news in silence they turned a corner of wall across a wide shallow border-strewn place in the brook and mounted the bank to a thicket beyond this from a clump of cottonwoods lasseter strolled out with a gun in each hand he had been hiding sure i'm glad to see you he said and the eyes that piercingly fixed on shefford were now as keen as formerly they had been mild gone lassiter they're gone broke out shefford where's fay and jane lasseter called and presently the women came out of the thick break and fay bounded forward with her swift stride while jane followed with eager step and anxious face then they all surrounded shefford It was Shad and his gang, panted Shepard, eight in all. Three or four piutes, the other's outlaws.

They lost track of us, went below the place where they shot at us, and they came up on a bad slope. Shefford described the slope in the deep chasm and how Shad led up to the point where he saw his mistake and then how the catastrophe fell. I shot and missed, repeated Shepard, with the sweat and beads on his pale face. I miss Shad. Maybe I hit the horse. He plunged, reared, fell back a terrible fall, right upon the bunch of horses and men below.

In a horrible wrestling, screaming, tangle, they slid over the rim. I don't know how many. I saw some men running along. I saw three other horses plunging. One slipped and went over. I have no idea how many, but Shad and some of his gang went to destruction. Sure that's fine, said Lasseter, but maybe I won't get to use them guns after all. Hardly on that, gang, laughed Shepard. The two piutes and what others escaped turned back. Maybe they'll meet a posse of Mormons, for of course, the Mormons will track us too, and come back to where Shad lost his life. That's an awful place.

Even the piute got lost. Couldn't follow Noste Bega. It would take any pursuers. some time to find out how we got in here. I believe we need not fear further pursuit, certainly not tonight or tomorrow, then we'll be far down the canyon. When Shepard concluded his earnest remarks, the faces of Faye and Jane had lost the signs of suppressed dread. Noste Bega, make camp here, said Shepard, water, wood, grass, why this is something like?

fay how's your arm it hurts she replied simply come with me down to the brook and let me wash and bind it properly they went and she sat upon a stone while he knelt beside her and untied his scarf from her arm as the blood had hardened it was necessary to slid her sleeve to the shoulder using his scarf he washed the blood from the wound and found it to be merely a cut a groove on the surface that's nothing shefford said lightly it'll heal in a day but there'll always be a scar and when we we get back to civilization and you wear a pretty gown without sleeves people will wonder what made this mark on your beard and you'll wear a pretty gown without sleeves people will wonder what made this mark on your beard beautiful arm. Faye looked at him with wonderful eyes. Do women wear gowns without sleeves, she asked. They do. Have I a beautiful arm? She stretched it out, white, blue-veined, the skin fine as satin, the lines graceful and flowing, a round, firm, strong arm. The most beautiful I ever saw, he replied, but the pleasure his compliment gave her was not communicated to him. his last impression of that right arm had been of its strength and his mind flashed with lightning swiftness to a picture that haunted him waggoner laying dead on the porch with that powerfully driven knife in his breast

shefford shuddered through all his being would this phantom come often to him like that hurriedly he bound up her arm with the scarf and did not look at her and was conscious that she felt a subtle change in him the short twilight ended with the fugitives comfortable in camp that for natural features could not have been improved upon darkness found fay and jane asleep on a soft mossy bed a blank blanket tucked around them, and their faces still and beautiful in the flickering campfire light. Lasseter did not linger long awake. Nostebega, seeing Shepard's excessive fatigue, urged him to sleep. Shefford demurred, insisting that he share the night watch, but Noste Bega, by agreeing that Shepard might have the following night's duty, prevailed upon him. Shepard seemed to shut his eyes upon darkness and to open them immediately to the light.

A stream of blue sky above, the gold tints on the western rim, the rosy, brightened colors down in the canyon, were proofs of the sunrise. This morning, Nastebega proceeded leisurely, and his manner was comforting. When all was in readiness for a start, he gave the Mustang he had ridden the Shepard and walked, leading to the, the pack animal. The mode of travel here was a selection of the best levels, the best places to cross the brook, the best bank to climb, and it was a process of continual repetition. As the Indian picked out the course and the Mustangs followed his lead, there was nothing for Shepard to do, but take his choice between reflection that seemed predisposed toward

gloom and an absorption in the beauty, color, wildness, and changing character of Nonesoshi Boko. Assuredly, his experience in the desert did not count in it a trip down into a strange, beautiful, lost canyon such as this. It did not widen, though the walls grew higher. They began to lean and bulge, and the narrow strip of sky above, resembled a flowing blue river. Huge caverns had been hollowed out by some work of nature,

what he could not tell, though he was sure it could not have been wind. And when the brook ran close under one of these overhanging places, the running water made a singular, indescribable sound. A crack from a hoof on a stone rang like a hollow bell and echoed from wall to wall, and the croak of a frog, the only living creature he had so far noted in the canyon, was a weird and melancholy thing. Faye rode close to him, and his heart seemed to rejoice when she spoke,

when she showed how she wanted to be near him. Yet, try as he might, he could not respond. His speech to her, what little there was, did not come spontaneously, and he suffered a remorse that he could not be honestly natural to her. Then he would drive away the encroaching gloom, trusting that little time would dispel it. We are deeper down than surprise, valley, said Faye. How do you know, he asked? Here are the pink and yellow sago lilies.

You remember, we went once to find the white ones. I have found white lilies in Surprise Valley, but never any pink or yellow. Shefford had seen flowers all along the green banks, but he had not marked the lilies. Here he dismounted and gathered several. They were larger than the white ones of higher altitudes, of the same exquisite beauty and fragility, of such rare pink and yellow hues as he had never seen. He gave the flowers to Faye. They bloom only where it's always summer, she said. That expressed their nature. They were the orchids of the summer canyon. They stood up everywhere, star-like, out of the green. It was impossible to prevent the Mustangs treading them underfoot.

And as the canyon deepened and many little springs added their tiny volume to the brook, every grassy bench was dotted with lilies, like a green sky stars spangled. And this increasing luxuriance manifested itself in the banks of purple moss and clumps of lavender daisies and great clusters of yellow violets.

The brook was lined by blossoming buck rush, The rocky corners showed the crimson and magenta of cactus. Legges were green with shining moss that sparkled with little white flowers. The hum of bees filled the air. By and by, this green and colorful and verdant beauty, the almost level floor of the canyon, the banks of soft earth, the thickets and the clumps of cottonwoods, the shelving caverns and the bulging walls,

these features gradually were lost, and Nane Soshi Boko began to deepen in bare red and white stone steps. The walls sheared away from one another, breaking into sections and ledges, and rising higher and higher, and there began to be manifested a dark and solemn concordance with the nature that had created this rent in the earth. There was a stretch of miles where steep steps in hard red rock alternated with long levels of round boulders. Here, one by one, the Mustangs went lame, and the fugitives, dismounting to spare the faithful beasts, slipped and stumbled over those loose and treacherous stones. Faye was the only one who did not show distress. She was glad to be on foot again, and the rolling boulders were as stable as solid rock for her.

The hours passed, the toil increased, the progress diminished. One of the Mustangs failed entirely and was left, and all the while the dimensions of Nane Soce Boko magnified and its character changed. It became a thousand-foot-walled canyon, leaning, broken, threatening, with great yellow slides blocking passage, with huge sections split off from the main wall, with immense dark and gloomy caverns. Strangely, it had no intersecting canyon.

It jealously guarded its secret, its unusual formations of cavern and pillar, and half-arch led the mind to expect any monstrous stone shape left by an avalanche or cataclysm. Down and down the fugitives toiled, and now the streambed was bare of boulders and the banks of earth. The floods that had rolled,

down that canyon here had borne away every loose thing. All the floor was bare red and white stone, polished, glistening, slippery, affording treacherous foothold, and the time came when Nostebega abandoned the stream bed to take to the rock strewn and cactus-covered ledges above. Jane gave out and had to be assisted upon the weary Mustang. Faye was persuaded to Mount knack y'all again. Glaceter plodded along. The Indian bent tired steps far in front, and Shepard trampled on after him,

foot sore and hot. The canyon widened ahead into a great, ragged, iron-hued amphitheater, and from there apparently turned abruptly at right angles. Sunset rimmed the walls, Shefford wondered dully, when the Indian would halt to camp.

and he dragged himself onward with eyes down on the rough ground. When he raised them again, the Indian stood on a point of slope with folded arms, gazing down where the canyon veered. Something in Noste Begah's pose quickened Shepard's pulse, and then his steps. He reached the Indian, and the point where he, too, could see beyond that vast jutting wall that had obstructed his view. a mile beyond was all bright with colors of sunset and spanning the canyon in the graceful shape arid beauty hues of a rainbow was a magnificent stone bridge nane sotay exclaimed the navajo with a deep and sonorous roll in his voice end of chapter seventeen part two chapter eighteen of the rainbow trail by zane gray

this librivox recording is in the public domain at the foot of the rainbow the rainbow bridge was the one great natural phenomenon the one grand spectacle which shepard had ever seen that did not at first give vague disappointment a confounding of reality a disenchantment of contrast with what the mind had conceived but this thing was glorious it silenced him yet did not awe or stun his body and brain weary and dull from the toil of travel received a singular and revivifying freshness he had a strange mystic perception of this rosy-hued stupendous arch of stone as if in a former life it had been a goal he could not reach this wonder of nature though all satisfying all-fulfilling to his artist's soul, could not be a resting place for him, a destination, where something awaited him, a height he must scale to find peace, the end of his strife. But it seemed all these, he could not understand his perception or his emotion. Still here at last, apparently, was the rainbow of his boyish dreams and of his manhood.

A rainbow magnified even beyond those dreams, no longer transparent and ethereal. but solidified a thing of ages sweeping up majestically from the red walls its iris-hued arch against the blue sky nasebega led on down the ledge and shefford plotted thoughtfully after him the others followed a jutting corner of wall again hid the canyon the indian was working round to circle the huge amphitheater it was slow irritating strenuous toil for the way was a jutting was on a steep slant, rough and loose and dragging. The rocks were as hard and jagged as lava, and the cactus further hindered progress. When at last the long half-circle had been accomplished, the golden and rosy lights had faded. Again the canyon opened to view. All the walls were pale and steely, and the stone bridge loomed dark.

Noste Vega said camp would be made at the bridge, which was now close. just before they reached it the navajo halted with one of his singular actions then he stood motionless shefford realized that nastebega was saying his prayer to this great stone god presently the indian motion for sheffert to lead the others and the horses on under the bridge shefford did so and upon turning was amazed to see the indian climbing the steep and difficult slope on the other side all the party watched him until he disappeared behind the huge base of cliff that supported the arch shefford selected a level place for camp some few rods away and here with lancetor unsaddled and unpacked the lame drooping mustangs when this was done twilight had fallen nastebega appeared coming down the steep slope on this side of the bridge then shefford divined why the navajo had made that arduous climb he would not go under the bridge nonesose was a navajo god and nastebega though educated as a white man was true to the superstition of his ancestors nastebega turned the mustangs loose to fare for what scant grass grew on the bench and slope firewood was even harder to find than grass when the camp duties had been performed and the simple meal eaten there was gloom gathering in the canyon and the stars had begun to blink in the pale strip of blue above the lofty walls

the place was oppressive and the fugitives mostly silent shefford spread a bed of blankets for the women and jane at once lay wearily down face stood beside the flickering fire and shefford felt her watching him he was conscious of a desire to get away from her haunting gaze to the gentle good-night he bade her she made no response shefford moved away into a strange dark shadow cast by the bridge against a pale starlight it was a weird black belt where he imagined he was invisible but out of which he could see there was a slab of rock near the foot of the bridge and here shepard composed himself to watch to feel to think the unknown thing that seemed to be inevitably coming to him a slight stiffening of his neck made him aware that he had been continually looking up at the looming arch and he found that insensibly it had changed and grown it had never seemed the same any two moments but that was not what he meant near at hand it was too vast a thing for immediate comprehension he wanted to ponder on what had formed it to reflect upon its meaning as to the age and force of nature yet all he could do at each moment was to see white stars hung along the dark curved line the rim of the arch seemed to shine the moon must be up somewhere the far side of the canyon was now a blank black wall over its towering rim showed a pale glow it brightened the shades in the canyon lightened then a white disk of moon peered over the dark line the bridge turned the silver and the gloomy shadowy belt it had cast blanched and vanished

shefford became aware of the presence of naste baga dark silent statuesque with inscrutable eyes uplifted with all that was spiritual of the indian suggested by a somber and tranquil knowledge of his place there he represented the same to shefford as a solitary figure of human life brought out of the greatness of a great picture non-associo boco needed life wild life of its millions of years and here stood the dark and silent indian there was a surge in sheffert's heart and in his mind a perception of a moment of incalculable change to his soul and at that moment pha larkin stole like a fat him to his side, and stood there, with her uncovered head shining, and her white face, lovely in the moonlight. May I stay with you a little, she asked wistfully, I can't sleep? Surely you may, he replied. Does your arm hurt too badly, or are you too tired to sleep?

No, it's this place. I, I can't tell you how I feel. But the feeling was there in her eyes for Shefford to read. He had too great an emotion. Did he read too much? Did he add from his soul? For him, the wild, starry, haunted eyes mirrored, all he had seen and felt under non-naceoushe.

And for herself, they shone eloquently of courage and love. I need to talk, and I don't know how, she said. He was silent, but he took her hands and drew her closer. Why are you so, so different, she asked bravely. different he echoed yes you are kind you speak the same to me as you used to but since we started you've been different somehow fay think how hard and dangerous this trip's been i've been worried and sick with dread with oh you can't imagine the strain i'm under how could i be my old self it isn't worry i mean He was too miserable to try to find out what she did mean. Besides, he believed, if he let himself think about it, he would know what troubled her.

I, I am almost happy, she said softly. Faye, aren't you at all afraid? No, you'll take care of me. Do you love me like you did before? Why, child, of course I love you, he replied, brokenly, and he drew her closer. He had never embraced her, never kissed her. But there was a whiteness about her then, a wraith of something from her soul,

and he could only gaze at her. I love you, she whispered. I thought I knew it that night. But I'm only finding it out now, and somehow I had to tell you, here. Faye, I haven't said much to you, he said hurriedly, huskily. I haven't had a chance. I love you. I, I ask you.

Will you be my wife?' "'Of course,' she said simply, but the white, moon-blanched face, colored with a dark and leaping blush. We'll be married. As soon as we get out of the desert, he went on, and we'll forget all that's happened. You're so young you'll forget.

I had forgotten already, till this difference came in you, and pretty soon, when I can say something more to you, I'll forget all except Surprise Valley. and my evenings in the starlight with you say it then quick she was leaning against him holding his hands in her strong clasp soulful tender almost passionate You couldn't help it. I'm to blame. I remember what I said. What, he queried in a maze. You can kill him. I said that. I made you kill him.

Kill whom, cried Shepard. Wagoner, I'm the blame. That must be what's made you different. And, oh, I wanted you to know it's all my fault. But I wouldn't be sorry if you weren't. I'm glad he's dead. You think I? Shefford's gasping whisper failed in the shock of the revelation that Fay believed he had killed Wagoner. Then, with the inference, came the staggering truth. Her guiltlessness and a paralyzing joy held him stricken.

A powerful hand fell upon Shefford's shoulder, startling him. Noste Bega stood there, looking down upon him and Faye. Never had the Indians seem so dark, inscrutable of face. but in his magnificent bearing in the spirit that shefford sensed in him there were nobility and power and a strange pride the indian kept one hand on shefford's shoulder and with the other he struck himself on the breast the action was that of an indian impressive and stern significant of an indian's prowess my god breathed sheffert very low oh what does he mean cried fay shefford held her with shaking hands trying to speak to fight away out of these stultifying emotions naste baga you heard she thinks i killed wagner all about the navajo then was dark and solemn disproof of her belief he did not need to speak his repetition of that savage almost boastful blow on his breast added only to the dignity and not to the denial of a warrior fay he means he killed the mormon said shefford he must have for i did not ah murmured fay as she leaned to him with passionate quivering gladness it was the woman

the human, the soul born in her that came uppermost then, now, when there was no direct call to the wild and elemental in her nature. She showed a heart above revenge, the instinct of a saving right of truth as Shefford knew them. He took her into his arms and never had he loved her so well. Noste Bega, you killed the Mormon, declared Sheffert, with a voice that had gained strength. No silent Indian suggestion of a deed would suffice in that moment. Shefford needed to hear the Navajo speak. To have Faye hear him speak. Noste Bega, I know I understand, but tell her, speak so she will know.

Tell it as a white man would. I heard her cry out, replied the Indian in his slow English. I waited. When he came, I killed him. A poignant why was wrenched from Shefford. Noste Bega stood silent. By nigh! And when that sonorous Indian name

rolled indignity from his lips, he silently stalked away into the gloom. That was his answer to the white man. Shepard bent over Faye and as the strain on him broke, he held her closer and closer, and his tears streamed down and his voice broke in exclamations of tenderness and thanksgiving. It did not matter what she had thought.

but she must never know what he had thought. He clasped her as something precious he had lost and regained. He was shaken with a passion of remorse. How could he have believed, Faye Larkin, guilty of murder? Women less wild and less justified than she had been driven to such a deed, yet how could he have believed it of her, when for two days he had been with her had seen her face and deep into her eyes. There was a mystery in his very blindness.

He cast the whole thought from him forever. There was no shadow between Faye and him. He had found her. He had saved her. She was free. She was innocent. And suddenly, as he seemed delivered from contending tumults within, he became aware that it was no unresponsive creature that he folded to his breast.

He became suddenly alive to the warm, throbbing contact of her bosom, to her strong arms clinging round his neck, to the closed eyes, to the rapt whiteness of her face, and he bent to cold lips that seemed to receive his first kisses, as new and strange, but tremulously changed, at last, to meet his own, and then to burn with sweet and thrilling fire. My darling, my dreams come true, he said, you are my treasure. I found you here at the foot of the rainbow. What if it is a stone rainbow?

If all is not as I had dreamed, I followed a gleam, and it led me to love and faith. Hours afterwards, Shefford walked alone to and fro under the bridge. His trouble had given place to serenity, but this night of nights he must live out, wide-eyed to its end.

The moon had long since crossed the streak of star-fired blue above and the canyon was black in shadow at times a current of wind with all the strangeness of that strange country in its hollow moan rushed through the great stone arch At other times there was silence such as Shepard imagined dwelt deep under this rocky world. And still other times an owl hooted and the sound was nameless. But it had a mocking echo that never ended, an echo of night, silence, gloom, melancholy, death, age, eternity. The Indian lay asleep with his dark face upturned, and the other sleepers lay calm and white in the starlight. Sheffert saw in them the meaning of life and the past, the illimitable train of faces that had shown the stars.

There was a spirit in the canyon, and whether or not it was what the Navajo embodied in the great non-associate, or the life of this present, or the death of the ages, or the nature, so magnificently manifested in those silent, dreaming, waiting walls. The truth for Shefford was that this spirit was God. life was eternal man's immortality lay in himself love of a woman was hope happiness brotherhood that mystic and grand by nigh of the navajo that was religion end of chapter eighteen chapter nineteen part one of the rainbow trail by zane gray this librovoc's recording is in the public domain the grand canyon of the colorado part one the night passed the gloom turned gray the dawn stole cool and pale into the canyon when nastebega drove the mustangs in the camp the lofty ramparts of the walls were rimmed with gold and the dark arch of nane soci began to lose its steely gray the women had rested well and were in better condition to travel

Jane was cheerful, and Faye radiant one moment, and in a dream the next. She was beginning to live in that wonderful future. They talked more than usual at breakfast, and Lasseter made droll remarks. Shepard, with his great and haunting trouble, ended forever, with now only danger to face ahead, was a different man, but thoughtful and quiet. This morning the Indian leisurely made preparations for the star, for all the concern he showed he might have known every foot of the canyon below nane sochet but for shefford with the dawn had returned anxiety a restless feeling of the need of hurry what obstacles what impassable gorges might lie between this bridge and the river the indian's inscrutable serenity and phase trust her radiance the exquisite glow upon her face sustained shefford

and gave him patience to endure and conceal his dread at length the flight was resumed with naste baga leading on foot and shepherd walking in the rear a quarter of a mile below camp the indian led down a declivity into the bottom of the narrow gorge where the stream ran he did not gaze backward for a last glance at nane soshi nor did jane or lacer Faye, however, checked Nackeyea at the rim of the descent and turned to look behind. Shefford contrasted her tremulous smile, her half-happy goodbye to this place, with the white stillness of her face when she had bade farewell to Surprise Valley. Then she rode Nackyaw down into the gorge. Shefford knew that this would be his last look at the rainbow bridge. As he gazed, the tip of the great arch, lost its side.

cold, dark, stone color, and began to shine. The sun had just arisen high enough over some low break in the wall to reach the bridge. Shefford watched, slowly, in wondrous transformation, the gold and blue and rose and pink and purple blended their hues, softly, mistily, cloudily, until once again the arch was a rainbow. Ages before life had evolved upon the earth, it had spread its grand arch from wall to wall, black and mystic at night, transparent and rosy in the sunrise. At sunset the flaming curve limned against the heavens. When the race of man had passed, it would perhaps stand there still. It was not for many eyes to see, only by toil, sweat, endurance, blood, could any man ever

look at nonisoshi. So it would always be alone, grand, silent. beautiful, unintelligible. Shepard bade non-associate immute, reverent farewell. Then plunging down the weathered slope of the gorge to the stream below, he hurried forward to join the others. They had progressed much farther than he imagined they would have,

and this was owing to the fact that the floor of the gorge afforded easy travel. It was gravel on rock bottom, torturous but open, within frequent and shallow downward steps. The stream did not now rush and boil along and tumbled over rock-encumbered ledges. In corners the water collected in round, green, eddying pools. There were patches of grass and willows and mounds of moss. Shepard's surprise equalled his relief,

for he believed that the violent descent of Namesoshaipoko had been passed. Any turn now, he imagined, might bring the party out upon the river. When he caught up with them, he imparted this conviction, which was received with cheer. The hopes of all except the Indian seemed mounting, and if he ever hoped to despair, it was never manifest. Shefford's anticipation, however, was not soon realized. The fugitives traveled miles farther down known as Sochay-Bocco, and the only changes were that the walls of the lower gorge heightened and merged into those above, and that these upper ones towered even loftier.

Shepard had to throw his head straight back to look up at the rims, and the narrow strip of sky was now, indeed, a flowing stream of blue. Difficult steps were met to, yet nothing, compared to those of the upper canyon. Shefford calculated that this day's travel had advanced, several hours, and more than ever now he was anticipating the mouth of Nani-i-Soshi Boko. Still another hour went by, and then came striking changes. The canyon narrowed, to the walls were scarcely twenty paces apart. The color of stone grew dark red above and black down low.

The light of day became shadowed, and the floor was a level, gravely, winding lane, with a stream meandering slowly and silently. Suddenly the Indian halted. He turned his ear down the canyon lane. He had heard something. The others grouped round him, but did not hear a sound except the soft flow of water

and the heave of the Mustangs. Then the Indian went on. Presently he halted again, and again he listened. This time he threw up his head and upon his dark face shone a light which might have been pride. Say koen, say Iggy, he said. The others could not understand, but they were impressed.

Sure he means something big, drawled Lassiter. Oh, what did he say, queried Faye in eagerness. Nastebega tells us, said Shepard, we are full of hope. Grand Canyon, replied the Indian. How do you know, asked Shepard. i hear the roar of the river but shefford listen as he might could not hear it they travelled on winding down the wonderful lane every once in a while shefford lagged behind let the others pass out of hearing and then he listened at last he was rewarded low and deep dull and strange with some quality to incite dread came a roar thereafter at intervals usually at turns in the canyon and when a faint stir of warm air fanned his cheeks he heard the sound growing clearer and louder he rounded an abrupt corner to have the roar suddenly fill his ears to see the lane extends straight to a ragged vent and beyond that at some distance a dark ragged bulging wall like iron

as he hurried forward he was surprised to find that the noise did not increase here it kept a strange uniformity of tone and volume the others of the party passed out of the mouth of nonisoshe boco in advance of the same way of the same way of the same way of the same way of the same of Shefford, and when he reached it, they were grouped upon a bank of sand. A dark red canyon yawned before them, and through it slid the strangest river Shephard had ever seen. At first glance he imagined the strangeness consisted of the dark red color of the water, but at the second he was not so sure. All the others, except Noste Bega, eyed the river blankly, as if they did not know what to think. The roar came from round a huge, bulging wall downstream. Up the canyon half a mile, at another turn, there was a leaping rapid of dirty red-white waves, and the sound of this,

probably, was drowned in the unseen but nearer rapid. This is the Grand Canyon of the Colorado, said Shefford. We've come out at the mouth of Namesosce Boko, and now to wait for Joe Lake. they made camp on a dry level sand-bar under a shelving wall naste abega collected a pile of driftwood to be used for fire and then he took the mustangs back up the side canyon to find grass for them lacerre appeared unusually quiet and soon passed from weary rest on the sand to deep slumber fay and jane succumbed to an exhaustion that manifested itself the moment relaxation set in and they too fell asleep shefford patrolled the long strip of sand under the wall and watched up the river for joe lake the indian returned and went along the river climbed over the jutting sharp slopes that reached into the water and passed out of sight upstream toward the rapid shefford had a sense that the river and the canyon were too magnificent to be compared with others still all his emotions and sensations had been so wrought upon that he seemed not to have any left by which he might judge of what constituted the difference He would wait. He had a grim conviction that, before he was safely out of this earth-riven crack,

he would know. One thing, however, struck him, and it was that, up the canyon, high over the lower walls, hazy and blue, stood other walls, and beyond and above them, dim in purple distance, upreared still other walls. The haze in the blue and the purple meant great distance, and likewise, the high, height seemed incomparable. The Red River attracted him most, since this was the medium by which he must escape with his party. It was natural that it absorbed him to the neglect of the gigantic cliffs, and the more he watched the river, studied it, listened to it,

imagined its nature, its power, its restlessness, the more he dreaded it. As the hours of the afternoon wore away, and he strolled along and rested on it, on the banks, his first impressions, and what he realized might be his truest ones, were gradually lost. He could not bring them back. The river was changing, deceitful. It worked upon his mind. The low, hollow roar filled his ears and seemed to mock him.

Then he endeavored to stop thinking about it, to confine his attention to the gap upstream, where sooner or later he prayed that Joe Lake and his boat would appear. But though he controlled his gaze, he could not his thoughts, and as strange in pondering dread of the river augmented. The afternoon waned. Nostebega came back to camp and said any likelihood of Joe's arrival was passed for that day. Shepard could not get over an impression of strangeness of the impossibility of the reality presented to his naked eyes.

These lonely fugitives in the huge walled canyon waiting for a boatman to come down that river. Strange and wild, those were the words which, inadequately at best, suited this country, and the situations it produced. After supper he and Faye walked along the bars of smooth red sand. There were a few moments when the distant peaks and domes and turrets were glorified in changing sunset hues. but the beauty was fleeting. Faye still showed lassitude.

She was quiet yet cheerful, and the sweetness of her smile, her absolute trust in him, stirred and strengthened anew his spirit. Yet he suffered torture when he thought of trusting Faye's life her soul and her beauty to the strange red river.

Knight brought him relief. He could not see the river, only the low roar made its presence known out there in the shadows. And, there being no need to stay awake, he dropped at once into heavy slumber. He was roused by hands dragging at him. Noste Bega bent over him.

It was broad daylight. The yellow wall high above was glistening. The fire was crackling, and pleasant odors were waft to him. Fay and Jane and Lasseter sat around the tarpaulin at breakfast. After the meal, suspense and strain were manifested in all the fugitives, even the imperturbable Indian, being more than usually watchful. His eyes scarcely left the black gap where the river slid round the turn above. Soon, as on the preceding day, he disappeared up the ragged, iron-bound shore.

There was scarcely an attempt at conversation, a controlling thought, bound that, group into silence. If Joe Lake was ever going to come, he would come today. Shepard asked himself a hundred times if it were possible, and his answer seemed to be in the low, sullen, muffled roar of the river. As the morning wore on toward noon, his dread deepened until all chance appeared hopeless. Already he had begun to have vague in unformed and disquieting ideas of the only avenue of escape left, to return up Nane Soceboko, and that would be to enter a trap. Suddenly a piercing cry peeled down the canyon.

It was followed by echoes, weird and strange, that clapped from wall to wall in mocking concatenation. Noste Bega appeared high on the ragged slope. The cry had been the Indian. He swept an arm out, pointing upstream, and stood like a statue on the iron rocks. Shefford's keen gaze sighted a moving something in the bend of the river. It was long, low, dark, and flat, with a lighter object upright in the middle, a boat and a man. Joe, it's Joe, yelled Shefford madly. There, look.

Jane and Faye were on their knees in the sand, clasping each other, pale furrow. faces toward that bend in the river. Shepard ran up the shore toward the Indian. He climbed the jutting slant of rock. The boat was now full in the turn. It moved faster. It was nearing the smooth incline above the rapid. There it glided down.

Heaved darkly up, settled back, and disappeared in the frothy, muddy, roughness of water. Shefford held his breath and watched. A dark bobbing object showed. vanished, showed again to enlarge, to take the shape of a big flatboat, and then it rode the swift, choppy current out of the lower end of the rapid. Nostebega began to make violent motions, and Shepard, taking his cue, frantically waved his red scarf. There was a five-mile-an-hour current right before them, and Joe must need see them so that he might shear the huge and clumsy

craft into the shore before it drifted too far down. Presently Joe did see them. He appeared to be half-naked. He raised aloft both arms and bellowed down the canyon. The echoes boomed from wall to wall, everyone stronger, with a deep, hoarse triumph in the Mormon's voice, till they passed on, growing weaker, to die away in the roar of the river below. Then Joe bent to a long oar that appeared to be fastened to the stern of the boat,

and the craft drifted out of the swifter current toward the shore. It reached the point opposite where Shepard and the Indian waited, and though Joe made prodigious efforts, it slid on. Still, it also drifted shoreward, and halfway down to the mouth of Nane Soceboko, Joe threw the end of a rope to the Indian. Ho! Ho! yelled the Mormon, again, setting into motion the fiendish echoes. He was naked to the waist. He had lost flesh. He was haggard, worn, dirty, wet.

While he pulled on his shirt, Noste Begge made the rope fast to a snag of a log of driftwood, embedded in the sand, and the boat swung to shore. It was perhaps thirty feet long, by half as many wide, crudely built, of rough-hewn boards. The steering gear was a long pole, the plank nailed to the end. The craft was empty, save for another pole and plank,

Joe's coat, and a broken-handled shovel. There were water and sand on the flooring. Joe stepped ashore, and he was gripped first by Shepard and then by the Indian. He wasn't unkept and gaunt giant, yet how steadfast and reliable.

how grimly strong to inspire hope. Reckoned most of me's here, he said, and replied a greetings. I've had water a plenty. My God, I've had water. He rolled out a grim laugh, but no grub for three days. Forgot to fetch some.

How practical he was, he told Fay, she looked good for sore eyes, but he needed a biscuit most of all. There was just a second of singular hesitation when he faced Lassiter, and then the big strong hand of the young Mormon went out to meet the old gunmen's. While they fed him and he ate like a starved man, Shepard told of the flight from the

village, the rescuing of Jane and Lassiter from Surprise Valley, the descent from the plateau, the catastrophe to Shad's gang, and concluding, Shepard, without any explanation, told that Noste Bega had killed the Mormon Wagoner. Rackin' I had that figure, replied Joe. First off, I didn't think so. So Shad went over the cliff. That's good riddins. It beats me, though.

Never knew that piutes like with a horse. And he had some grand horses in his outfit. Pity about them. Later when Joe had a moment alone with Shepard, he explained that during his ride to Cayenta, he had realized Faye's innocence. and who had been responsible for the tragedy. He took Withers the traitor into his confidence,

and they planned a story which Withers was to carry to Stonebridge that would exculpate Faye and Shefford of anything more serious than flight. If Shefford got Faye safely out of the country at once, that would end the matter for all concerned. Reckon, I'm some fairy boatman, too, a fairy boatman. Ha, ha, he added. And we're going through.

Now, I want you to help me rig this tarpaulin up over the bow of the boat. If we can fix it up strong, it'll keep the waves from curling over. They filled her four times for me. They folded the tarpaulin three times, and with stout pieces of split plank and horseshoe nails from Shepard saddlebags and pieces of rope, they rigged up a screen around bow and front corners. Nasebega put the saddles in the boat. The Mustangs were far up, Nane Soce Boko,

and would work their way back to green and luxuriant canyons. The Indians said they would soon become wild and would never be found. Shepard regretted, Nackiaw, but was glad the faithful little Mustang would be free in one of those beautiful canyons. Reckon we'd better be off, called Joe, all aboard. He placed Faye and Jane in the corner of the bow, where they would be spared sight of the rapids. Shepard loosed the rope and sprang aboard.

Pard, said Joe, it's one hell of a river, and now, with the snow melting up in the mountains, it's twenty feet above normal and rising fast. But that's well for us. It covers the stones in the rapids. If it hadn't been in flood, Joe would be an angel now. End of Chapter 19, Part 1 Chapter 19 Part 2 of the Rainbow Trail by Zane Gray. This Libravox recording is in the public domain.

The Grand Canyon of the Colorado, Part 2. The boat cleared the sand lazily wheeled in the eddian water and suddenly seemed caught by some powerful gliding force. When it swept out beyond the jutting wall, Sheffert saw a quarter of a mile of sliding water that appeared to end abruptly, beyond lengthen out the gigantic gap between the black and frowning cliffs. Wow, ejaculated Joe, drops out of sight there, but that one ain't much. I can tell by the roar. When you see my hair stand up straight, then watch out. Lasseter, you look after the women, Shefford, you stand ready to bail out with a shovel. for will shore ship water naste baga you help me here with the oar the roar became a heavy continuous rumble the current quickened little streaks and ridges seemed to race along the boat strange gurglings rose from under the bow

Shefford stood on tiptoe to see the break in the river below. Swiftly it came into sight, a wonderful, long, smooth, red slant of water, a swelling mound, a huge black curling wave, another and another, a sea of frothy, uplifting crests, leaping and tumbling, and diminishing down to the narrowing apex of the rapid. It was a frightful sight, yet it thrilled, Shefford. Joe worked the steering oar back and forth and headed the boat straight for the middle of the incline. The boat reached the round rim, gracefully dipped with a heavy sop, and went shooting down.

The wind blew wet in Shefford's face. He stood erect, thrilling, fascinated, frightened. Then he seemed to feel himself lifted. The curling wave leaped at the boat. There was a shock that laid him flat, and when he rose to his knees, All about him was roar and spray and leaping muddy waves. Shock after shock jarred the boat, splashes of water, stung his face, and then the jar and the motion.

The confusion and roar gradually lessened until presently Sheffert rose to see smooth water ahead and the long, trembling rapid behind. Get busy, bailer yelled Joe. Pretty soon, you'll be glad you have to bail. so you can't see. There were several inches of water in the bottom of the boat, and Shepard learned for the first time the expediency of a shovel in the art of bailing.

The tarplin worked powerful good when on Joe, and it saves the women now, if it just don't bust on a big wave. The one back there was little. When Shepard had scooped out all the water, he went forward to see how Faye and Jane and Lasseter had fared. The women were pale but composed. They had covered their heads. But the dreadful roar, exclaimed Faye, Lasseter looked shaken for once.

Sure I'd rather take a chance meeting them Mormons on the way out, he said. Shefford spoke with an encouraging assurance which he did not himself feel. Almost at the moment he marked the silence that had fallen into the canyon. Then it broke to a low, don't all strange roar. Ah, hear that? The Mormon shook his shaggy head, reckon we're in Cataract Canyon. We'll be standing on end from now on.

Hang on to her, boys. Danger of this unusual kind had brought out a peculiar levity in the somber Mormon, a kind of wild, gay excitement. His eyes rolled as he watched the river ahead, and he puffed out his cheek with his tongue. The rugged overhanging walls of the canyon grew sinister in Shepard's sight.

They were jaws, and the river that made him shudder to look down into it. The little whirling pits were eyes peering into his, and they raced on with the boat, disappeared and came again, always with the little hallow gurgles. The craft drifted swiftly and the roar increased. Another rapid seemed to move up into view. It came out of bend in the key. canyon. When the breeze struck Sheffert's cheek, he did not this time experience acceleration. The current accelerated its sliding motion and bore the flat boat straight for

the middle of the curve. Shefford saw the bend, a long, dark, narrow, gloomy canyon, and a stretch of contending waters. Then, crouching low, he waited for the dip, the race, the shock. They came. The last, stopping the boat, throwing it a loft, letting it drop, and crests of angry waves curled over the side. Shepard kneeling felt the water slap around him, and in his ears was a deafening roar. There were endless moments of strife and hell and flying darkness of spray all about him, and under him the rocking boat. When they lessened, ceased in violence, he stood ankle-deep in water, and then, madly,

he began to bail. Another roar deadened his ears, but he did not look up from his toil, and when he had to get down to avoid the pitch he closed his eyes. The rapid passed, and with more water to bail, he resumed his share in the manning of the crude craft. It was more than his share, a tremendous responsibility to which he bent with all his might. He heard Joe yell and again and again. He heard the increasing roars of one after and night. another, till they seemed one continuous bellow. He felt the shock, the pitch, the beating waves, and then the lessening power of sound and current. That set him to his task, always, in these long intervals of toil, he seemed to see without looking up the growing proportions of the canyon,

and the river had become a living, terrible thing. The intervals of his tireless effort, when he scooped the water overboard were fleeting, and the rides through rapid after rapid were endless periods of waiting terror. His spirit and his hope were overwhelmed by the rush and roar and fury. Then as he worked there came a change, a rest to the death and dears, a stretch of the river that seemed quiet after chaos, and here for the first time he bailed the boat clear of water. Jane and Faye were huddled in a corner, with the flapping tarpaulin now half fallen over them. They were wet and muddy.

Lasseter, crouched like a man, dazed by a bad dream, and his white hair hung, stained and be draggled over his face. The Indian and the Mormon, grim, hard, worn, stood silent at the oar. The afternoon was far advanced, and the sun had already descended below the western. western ramparts. A cool breeze blew up the canyon, laden, with a sound that was the same, yet not the same, as those low, dull roars, which Shepard dreaded more and more. Joe Lake turned his ear to the breeze. A strong puff brought a heavy, quivering rumble. This time, he did not vent his gay and wild defiance to the river. He bent lower, listened.

Then, as the rumble became a strong, strange, deep reverberating roll, as if the monstrous river were rolling huge stones down a subterranean canyon, Shepard saw with dilating eyes that the Mormon's hair was rising stiff upon his head. "'Here that,' said Joe, turning an ashen face to Shepard. "'We'll drop off the earth now. Hang on to the girl, so if we go, you can go together, and pard, if you've a god, pray.' Tebega faced the bend, from whence the rumble came, and he was the same dark, inscrutable,

impassive Indian as of old. What was death to him? Shepard felt the strong, rushing love of life surge in him, and it was not for himself, he thought, but for Faye and the happiness she merited. He went to her, pat at the covered head, and tried with words choking in his throat to give hope, and he leaned with a with hands gripping the gunwale, with eyes wide open, ready for the unknown. The river made a quick turn, and from round the bend rumbled a terrible uproar. The current racing that way was divided or uncertain, and it gave strange motion to the boat. Joe and Nastebega shoved desperately upon the oar all to no purpose.

The currents had their will. The bow of the boat took the place of the stern, then swift. at the head of a curved incline, it shot beyond the bulging wall. And Shepard saw an awful place before them. The canyon had narrowed to half its width, and turned almost at right angles. The huge clamor of appalling sound came from under the cliff where the swollen river had the pass, and where there was not space. The rapid rushed with gigantic swells right upon the wall, boomed against it, climbed and spread, and fell away to recede and gather new impetus to leap madly on down the canyon shefford went to his knees clasped fay and jane too

but facing this appalling thing he had the look courage and despair came to him at the last this must be the end with long buoyant swing the boat sailed down shot over the first waves was caught and lifted upon the great swell and impelled straight toward the cliff. Huge whirlpools raced alongside, and from them came a horrible engulfing roar. Monstrous bulges rose on the other side. All the stupendous power of that mighty river of downward rushing silt swung the boat aloft up and up as the swell climbed the wall.

Shepard, with transfixed eyes and harrowed soul, watched the wet black wall. It loomed down upon him. The stern of the boat went high. Then when the crash that meant doom seemed imminent, the swell spread and fell back from the wall, and the boat never struck at all. By some miraculous chance it had been favored

by a strange and momentary receding of the huge spent swell. Then it slid back and caught and whirled by the current into a red, frothy, upflung rapids below. shefford bowed his head over fay and saw no more nor felt nor heard what seemed a long time after that the broken voice of the mormon recalled him to his labors the boat was half full of water naste baga scooped out great sheets of it with his hands shepard sprang to aid him found the shovel and plunged into the task slowly but surely they emptied the boat and then shefford saw that twilight had fallen joe was working the craft toward a narrow bank of sand to which presently they came and the indian sprang out to moor to a rock the fugitives went ashore and weary and silent and drenched they dropped in the warm sand but shefford could not sleep the river kept him awake in the distance it rumbled low deep reverberating and near at hand it was a thing of mutable mood it moaned whined mocked and laughed it had the soul of a devil it was a river that had cut its way to the bowels of the earth

and its nature was destructive it harbored no life fighting its way through those dead walls cutting and tearing and wearing its heavy burden of silt was death destruction and decay a silent river a murmuring strange fierce terrible thundering river of the desert even in the dark it seemed to wear the hue of blood all night long sheffered heard it and toward the dark hours before dawn when a restless broken sleep came to him his dreams were dreams of a river of sounds all the beautiful sounds he knew and loved he heard the sigh of the wind and the pines the mourn of the wolf the cry of the laughing gall the murmur of running brooks the song of a child the whisper of a woman and there was the boom of the surf the roar of the north wind in the forest the roll of thunder and there were the sounds not of earth a river of the universe rolling the planets engulfing the stars pouring the sea of blue into infinite space night with its fitful dreams passed dawn lifted the ebony gloom out of the canyon and sunlight far up on the ramparts renewed shepherd's spirit he rose and awoke the others fay's wistful smile still held its faith they ate of the gritty water-soaked food then they embarked the current carried them swiftly down and out of hearing of the last rapid the character of the river and the canyon changed the current lessened to a slow smooth silent eddying flow the walls grew straight sheer gloomy and vast shefford noted these features but he was listening so hard for the roar of the next rapid that he scarcely appreciated them all the fugitives were listening every bend in the canyon and now the turns were numerous might hold a rapid

shefford strained his ears he imagined the low dull strange rumble he had it in his ears yet there was the growing sensation of silence sure this is a dead place mothered lassiter she's only slowed up for a bigger plunge replied joe listen hear that but there was no true sound joe only imagined what he expected and hated and dreaded to hear mile after mile they drifted through the silent gloom between those vast and magnificent walls after the speed the turmoil the whirling shrieking thundering the never-ceasing sound in the never-ceasing sound in the never-ceasing sound in the never-ceasing sound in the never-ceasing sound in the never-ceasing sound in the never-hearing and, change and motion of the rapids above, this slow, quiet drifting, this utter absolute silence, these eddying stretches of still water below, worked strangely upon Shefford's mind, and he feared he was going mad. There was no change to the silence, no help for the slow drift, no lessening of the strain, and the hours of the day passed as moments.

The sun crossed the blue gap above. The golden lights hung upon the upper walls. The gloom returned, and still there was only dead, vast, insupportable silence. There came bends where the current quickened, ripples widened, long lanes of little waves roughened the surface, but they made no sound. And then the fugitives turned through a V-shaped vent in the canyon. The ponderous walls sheared away from the river. There was a space and sunshine.

and far beyond this league wide open rose for a million colored cliffs a mile below the river disappeared in a dark box-like passage from which came a rumble that made sheffert's flesh creep the mormon flung high his arms and let out that stentorian yell that had rolled down to the fugitives as they waited at the mouth of non-naceoushi boco but now it had a wilder more exultant note strange how he shifted his gaze to Fay Larkin. Girl, get up and look, he called The Fairy, the Fairy. Then he bent his brawining back over the steering oar, and the clumsy craft slowly turned toward the left-hand shore,

where a long, low bank of green willows and cottonwoods gave welcome relief to the eye. Upon the opposite side of the river, Sheffert saw a boat similar to the one he was in, moored to the bank. Sure if I ain't losing my eyes, I see an Indian with a red blanket, said Lassiter. Yes, Lasseter, cried Shepard, look, Faye, look, Jane, see, Indians, Hogan's, Mustangs. There above the green bank.

The boat glided slowly shoreward, and the deep, hungry, terrible rumble of the remorseless river became something no more to dread. End of Chapter 19, Part 2 Chapter 20 of the Rainbow Trail by Zane Gray This Libravox recording is in the public domain. Willow Springs Two days' travel time from the river along the saw-toothed range of echo cliffs stood Presby's trading post, a little red stone square house,

in a green and pretty valley called Willow Springs. It was nearing the time of sunset, that gorgeous hour of color, in the painted desert when Shepard and his party rode down upon the post. The scene lacked the wildness characteristic of Cayenta or Red Lake. There were wagons and teams, white men and Indians, burrows, sheep, lambs, Mustang saddled and unsaddled, dogs and chickens. A young, sweet-faced woman stood in the door of the post, and she it was who first sighted the fugitives.

Presby was weighing bags of wool on a scale, and when she called he lazily turned, as if to wonder at her eagerness. Then he flung up his head with its shock of heavy hair, and a start of surprise, and his florid face lost its lazy insolence to become wreathed in a huge smile. Haven't seen a white person in six months, was his extraordinary greeting? An hour later, Sheffered, clean-shaven, comfortably closed once more, found himself a different man, and when he saw Faye in white again, with a new and indefinable light shining through that old haunting shadow in her eyes, then the world changed, and he embraced perfect happiness.

There was a dinner, such as Shepard had not seen for many a day, and such as Faye had never seen, And that brought to Jane Witherstein's eyes, the dreamy memory of the bountiful feasts, which, long years ago, had been her pride. And there was a story told to the curious trader and his kind wife, a story with its beginning back in those past years of writers of the purple sage, of Fay Larkin as a child, and then as a wild girl in Surprise Valley, of the flight down Nanei Soce Boko, and the canyon of a great, Mormon and a noble Indian.

Presby stared with his deep-set eyes, and wagged his tousled head, and stared again. Then with a quick perception of the practical desert man, he said, I'm sending Teamsters into Flagstaff tomorrow. Wife and I will go along with you. We've light wagons. Three days, maybe or four, and we'll be there. Shepard, I'm going to see you marry Faye Larkin. Faye and Jane and Lasseter showed strangely against his background of approaching civilization,

and Shepard realized more than ever the loneliness and isolation and wildness of so many years for them. When the women had retired, Shepard and the men talked a while, then Joe Lake rose to stretch his big frame. Friends, reckon I'm all in, he said, good night. In passing, he laid a heavy hand on Shepard's show. shoulder. Well, you got out. I've only a queer notion, Hal, but someone beside an Indian and a Mormon guided you out. Be good to the girl. Goodbye, Pard." Shepard grasped the big hand, and in the emotion of the moment did not catch the significance of Joe's last words.

Later, Shepard stepped outside into the starlight for a few moments quiet walk and thought before he went to bed. It was a white night. The coyotes were yelping. The stars shone steadfast, bright, cold. Noste Bega stalked out of the shadow of the house and joined Shefford. They walked in silence. Shefford's heart was too full for utterance, and the Indian seldom spoke at any time. When Shefford was ready to go in, Noste Bega extended his hand. "'Good-bye, Bainai, he said. strangely, using English in Navajo and what Shepard supposed to be merely good night. The starlight shone full upon the dark, inscrutable face of the Indian.

Shepard bade him good night, and then watched him stride away in the silvery gloom. But next morning, Shepard understood. Nastybega and Joe Lake were gone. It was a shock to Shepard, yet what could he have said to either? Joe had shirk saying good-bye to him and Faye, and the Indian had gone out of Shepard's life as he had come into it. What these two men represented in Shepard's uplift was too great for the present to define, but they and the desert that had developed them had taught him the meaning of life. He might fail often, since failure was the lot of his kind. But could he ever fail

again in faith in man or God, while he had mind to remember the end of his own. Indian and the Mormon. Still though he placed them on a noble height and love them well, there would always abide with him a sorrow for the Mormon and a sleepless and eternal regret for that Indian on his lonely Cedar Slope with the spirits of his vanishing race calling him. Willis Springs appeared to be a lively place that morning. Presby was gay and his sweet-faced wife was excited. The teamsters were a jolly whistling lot, and the lean Mustangs kicked and bit at one another. The trader had brought out two light wagons for the trip, and, after the manner of desert men, desired to start at sunrise. From across the painted desert towered the San Francisco peaks, black-timbered, blue-canioned,

purple hazed, with white snow like the clouds around their summits. Jane Withithesine, looked at the radiant Fay and lived again in her happiness, and at last excitement had been communicated to the old gunman. Sure we're going to live with Fay and John, and be near Venters and Bess, and see the blacks again, Jane, and Venters will tell you, as he did me, how Wrangell run Black Star off his legs. All connected with that early start was sweet, sad, hopeful,

and so they rode away from Willow Spring, through the green fields of alfalfa and cottonwood down the valley, with its smoking hogan's and whistling mustangs and scarlet-blanketed Indians, and out upon the bare, ridgy, colorful desert toward the rosy sunrise. End of Chapter 20. Epilogue of the Rainbow Trail by Zane Gray. This Librevox recording is in the public domain. On the outskirts of a little town in Illinois, there was a farm of rolling pasture land,

and here a beautiful meadow, green and red and clover, merged upon an orchard, in the midst of which brown-tiled roof showed above the trees. One afternoon in May a group of people, strangely agitated, walked down a shady lane toward the meadow. Well, Jane, I always knew we'd get a look at them horses again, I sure knew, Lassiter was saying, in the same old, cool, careless drawl. But his claw-like hands shook a little. Oh, will they know me? asked Jane Witherstein, turning to a stalwart man, no other, than the dark-faced Ventners, or rider of other days.

Know you? I'll bet they will, replied Venters. What do you say, Bess? The shadow brightened in Bess's somber blue eyes. as if his words had recalled her from a sad and memorable past. Black Star will know her surely, replied Bess. Sometimes he points his nose toward the west and watches, as if he saw the purple slopes and smelt the sage of Utah. He has never forgotten, but night has grown death and partly blind of late. I doubt if he'd remember.

Shepard and Faye walked arm in arm in the background. Out in the meadow, two horses were grazing. They were sleek, shiny, long-mained, long-tailed, black as cold, and though old, still splendid in every line. Do you remember them, whispered Shepard? Oh, I only needed to see black star, murmured Faye, her voice quivering. I can remember being lifted on his back. How strange!

It seemed so long ago. Look, Mother Jane is going out. out to them. Jane Witherstein advanced alone through the clover, and it was with unsteady steps. Presently she halted. What glorious and bitter memories were expressed in her strange, poignant call. Black Star started and swept up his noble head and looked, but night went on calmly grazing. Then Jane called again, the same strange call, only louder, and this time broken.

Black Star raised his head higher, and he whistled a piercing blast. He saw Jane, he knew her, as he had remembered the call, and he came pounding toward her. She met him, encircled his neck with her arms, and buried her face in his mane. Sure I reckon I'd better never say any more about Wrangell, running the blacks off her legs that time, muttered Lasseter, as if to himself. Lasseter, you only dreamed that race, replied Venters, with a smile. Oh, Byrne, isn't it good to see that Black Star remembered her? That she'll have him something left of her old home, asked Bess wistfully.

Indeed it is good, but Bess, Jane Witherstein, will find a new spirit and new happiness here. Jane came toward them, leading both horses. Dear friends, I am happy. Today I bury all regrets of the past. I shall remember only my writers of the purple sage. Venters smiled his gladness, and you, Lasseter, what shall you remember, he queried? The old gunman looked at Jane, and then at his claw-like hands, and then at Fay. His eyes lost their shadow and began to twinkle.

Well, I rolled a stone once, but I reckon now that time. Rangel. Lasseter, I said you dreamed that race. Rangel never beat the blacks, interrupted Venters. And you, Faye, what shall you remember?" Surprise Valley, replied Faye dreamily. And you, Shepard? Shepard shook his head.

For him there could never be one memory only. In his heart there would never change or die memories of the wild uplands, of the great towers and walls, of the golden sunsons. sets on the canyon ramparts, of the silent, fragrant valleys where the cedars and the sago lilies grew, of those starlit nights when his love and faith awoke, of grand and lonely nanezosei, of that red, sullen, thunderous, mysterious Colorado river, of a wonderful Indian and a noble Mormon, and of all that was embodied for him in the meaning of the rainbow Trail. End of the epilogue. Recording by Richard Kilmer, Real Medina, Texas.

End of the Rainbow Trail by Zane Gray.