“His name's Willetts. He's a missionary. He rode in to-day with this Navajo girl. He was taking her to Blue Cañon, 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 Lake's getting popular! It's queer, though, his leaving. He expected to stay all night. There's no other place to stay. Blue Cañon 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. Willetts leaving,” replied Shefford. “How so?” inquired the other. Then Shefford related the incident following his arrival. “Perhaps my action was hasty,” he concluded, apologetically. “I didn't think. Indeed, I'm surprised at myself.” Presbrey made no comment and his face was as hard to read as one of the distant bluffs. “But what did the man mean?” asked Shefford, 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 Willetts didn't mean evil, at least he was brutal.” “He was teaching her religion,” replied Presbrey. 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 to Presbrey. “What you hint seems impossible. I can't believe it.” “I didn't hint,” replied Presbrey, bluntly, and it was evident that he was a sincere, but close-mouthed, man. “Shefford, 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--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 him. I'll get grub ready.” Shefford 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.