The Rainbow Trail

flected, as he returned to camp, he had been under a long strain, he was unduly excited by this new and adventurous

stic in their lofty presence, and they made him feel alone, yet not alone. He raised himself to see the quiet forms of Withers and Nas Ta Bega 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, st

ace 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-how the 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 Nas Ta Bega'

g 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

. . .

ght 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 trader and the Mormon all meant more to him this morning. He had grown a li

sked Shefford, feeling e

l young and lonesome. Talk to them. Make them like you. Then some day you may be safe to ask questions. Last night I wanted to ask old Mother Smith if she ever heard the name Fay Larkin. But I thought better of it. If there's a girl here or a

ten her. Why? He pondered over the matter, and

s Ta Bega said to me last night

a," replied Shef

s Ta Bega 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 Nas Ta Bega well my wife used to

a as my brother-and be p

ing. Do you intend

thought

aken your trouble to heart. You wouldn't think Joe is deeply religious. Yet he is. He may never breathe a word about religio

d lost all friends. Withers, I am

the rough exterior of this desert trader there was fine feeling. These men of cru

e 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

e figure to appear. At last he saw her-the same girl with the hood, the same swift step. A little shock or qu

whistled

met her," h

Sago Lily,"

to carry that bu

er women who've been to the spring?

s bigger," prote

mons. If she'd come first, all right. A

filled her bucket and started home. Shefford observed that this time she wore moccasins and she carried

t me a woman like her," he said. But the former j

. . .

arger than the other houses, had only one room with two doors and several window

in home-made garments. The young woman teacher was as embarrassed as her pup

specially 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 to Shefford that

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 that, 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 h

. . .

ppeared reluctant to start f

he trader, dryly. "I reckon you've see

rk. Withers rode off, with a parting word to Shefford, and finally Joe somberly mounted his bay and tr

eir 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 d

selfish motive. He liked these women; he liked to see the somber 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 fo

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 st

ssion 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 fo

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 world where women were together, there were cliques, quarrels, dislikes, loves, and jealousies. The t

thers called the Sago Lily. In response he received an answer couched in the sweet poisoned honey of woman

t she did not come. Then he decided to go to see her. But even the dec

der the pinyons. There was no light in the door or window. He saw a white shape on the por

"It's Shefford. May I sta

so long that he beg

have you," she r

rch, but he preferred to si

ainted with everybody-e

en here,"

a girl's voice. She was neither shy nor embarrassed nor self-conscious. A

wanting to

fford felt a strange calm, yet he

sit here?

nder her hood that 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 wil

, 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

could," s

. I don't mean that's anything against you. I believe you're all good and noble

itement. He believed he was on the right track and did not regret his impulse. Even had he regret

ist, his renunciation to his father's hope, his career as a clergyman,

ply moved. She had forgotten herself. She betrayed girlhood then-all the quick sympathy, the wonder, the sweetness of a heart innocent and untuto

rry," he said. "My instinct guided me

-if I can,

CAN y

... But, sir, I mustn't talk of myself

n need of help or sympathy or love. But he could not wholly trust

to make you talk of yourself. But-you're a human being-a gi

What i

here resemble nuns. It is sacrifice that nails you in this lonely valley.... You see-how I talk! One word, one thought

at you want

anted to be fair to this girl. He saw that she was warming to his influence. Her shadowy eyes

of this hidden village is so-so terrible to me. But that's none of my business. I have spent my afternoons and evenings with these women at the different cottages. You do not mingle with them. They are lonely, but have not such loneliness as yours. I have passed here every night. No light-no sound. I can't help thinking. Don't censure me or be afraid or draw within yourself just because I must think. I may be all wrong. But I'm cu

e cried, al

s then. You will

if I

dare what the ot

as si

ction. 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 divined

have you mother, father, sister, brot

e-years ago,"

ld are

I think. I'

ARE l

ere gentle

she cried

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 ente

ur trouble, whatever it is.... Do not retreat into your co

. She bowed her head in acquiescence. And Shefford began his story. Did she grow still, like stone, or was that only his vivid imagina

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 Fay Larkin.

y one, and it stirred him to his depths. Mary bent h

ne. Always as a boy there had been for me some haunting promise, some treasure at the foot of the rainbow. I shall expect the curve of a rainbow to lea

long that he rep

eaven," sh

strangely and a ch

ek to strive, to find-yo

.. Thank God I've m

.... Mary, will you answer a few little questions, if I

ll

ay? The hovering shadows made him nervous. Always he had been

rd of Fay Larkin?"

es

only one

ly

u-ever

me the fa

eing trembled at the portent of his next query. He had not dreamed it would be so hard to put, or would affect him so

arkin now?" he

ched her, leaned clos

is-

ning shock, and then in bitter pai