The Rainbow Trail

ed horse and gazed with

dry red basin, denuded and glistening, a hollow in the desert, a l

ys before that he had ridden the wild bare flats and climbed the rocky desert benches. The great

nown northland flung a menace at him. An irresistible call had drawn him to this seamed and peaked border of Arizona, this broken battlemented wilderness of Utah upland; and at first sight they frowned upon him, as if to warn him not to search for what lay hid

ad 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 withi

eat 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 t

s a sand-dune, beautifully ribbed and scalloped and lined by the wind, and from its knife-sharp crest a thin wavering sheet of sand blew, almost like smoke.

y 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 S

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 forc

at sight of him, almost displacing a red long-haired blanket that covered an Indian saddle. Quick thuds

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 building. When he crossed the threshold he was as

error 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

said Shefford, slowly. He felt

e dark. The look of him and his corduroys and his soft shoes gave Shefford an impression that he was not a man who worked hard. By contrast with the 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 he

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 hid 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

Shefford, turning to gaze down the valley wher

replied the

ader Presbrey?"

aight down into

" she

l dogs led by a child. But it was the distance that deceived him. There was a man down there watering his horses. That reminded Shefford of the duty owing to his own

," she

rent. They were as black as her hair. He was puzzl

upon a pile of tin cans; they were everywhere, buried, half buried, and lying loose; and these gave evidence of how the trader lived. Presently Shefford discovered th

ater. How wide it was, and empty! Shefford 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 water hole had appeared to b

ns of man and beast. When Shefford met them he saw a

rey, the trader?"

y, without the Mi

cking about on the desert. R

mbled light hair covered his massive head; he was tanned, but not darkly, and there was red in his cheeks; under his shaggy eyebrows

g around Red Lake," he added. "Re

aid Shefford, hesitating

derstand. She seemed shy and would not answer; she stood with downcast face and eyes. Presbrey spok

on the receding black dot

bruptly," said Shefford, c

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!

er-but I must tell you I was the cause of

inquired

ed the incident fol

cluded, apologetically. "I didn't thi

his face was as hard to read

I'm a stranger out here. I'm ignorant of Indians-how they're controlled. S

y. His tone held faint scorn and implied a joke

nviction justified and his action approved. Then he

" he said to Presbrey. "What you hint

t he was a sincere, but close-mouthed, man. "Shefford, so you're a

ister. I am no longer.

good for wanderers.... Go water your horse and take him up to

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. Sh

ay sheets of sand were blowing low, rising, whipping, falling, sweeping along with soft silken rustle. Sometimes the gray veils hid his boots. It was a long, toilsome climb up that yielding, dragging ascent,

way. He climbed to enter a large loft, lighted by two la

lf comfortab

d 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-orname

e 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 i

about ready,"

ater?" ask

ucket. It's rain-wate

ce felt better after he had wash

rt. Bad plan," went on Presbrey, noting how gingerly his

s more on the table than twice two men could have eaten. It was the first time in

ned assistance, had a generous thought of the Indian girl, who, he said, could have a place to eat and sleep down-stairs, and then with t

side world; and for an hour Shefford fed that appetite, even as he had been done by. But when

me in?" he as

the Little Colorado-a

stop at M

t place

ves there. Did y

water my horse. That was a wo

derer.... Do you want a

nk you,

avel with in this country. Your horse

lenty o

d ever take a dollar from you. But you can buy from th

whether to tell his purpose or not.

esert appeals to you. Preachers lead easy, safe, crowded, bound lives. They're shut up in a

ctive for a moment, unaware of the trader's keen and sympathetic glance, and then he

traveled it. It's a new trail every time an Indian goes that way, for here the sand blows and covers ol

t water a

rass, though the sheep and ponies from the north are always fat.... Bu

rd, and it was cert

on. I've never met a man who had been over the pass between here and Kayenta. The trip's been made, so there m

lace Kayenta?"

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

ight north ov

e, 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 th

fford, again with

persecuted by

een her before Willetts came with her to Red Lake. And this query brought out the fact that Presbrey was comparatively new to Red Lake and vicinity. Shefford wondered why a lonely six months there had not made the trader old in experi

set hardness and seemed singularly changed. It was a difference, of light and s

glad for the sake of this lonely desert man. W

him from his present surroundings, and with his massiv

walls. The sound was provocative of thought. This 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 fastnesses lay hidden a 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 to womanhood in the solitude of a beautiful canyon? Incredible! Yet he believed his friend's story