“What for?” asked Joe, curiously.

“Please come in,” she said, in reply.

They entered, and she closed the door after them.  The change that came over her then was the loosing of restraint.

“Joe—­what will they do with Mary?” she queried, tensely.

The Mormon studied her with dark, speculative eyes.  “Hang her!” he rejoined in brutal harshness.

“O Mother of Saints!” 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 Shefford’s,” said the Mormon, huskily.  “And mine’s kind of damn shaky.”

Ruth glided to Shefford 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 to God I can,” replied Shefford.

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.  Shefford divined the weight of Mormonism that burdened Joe Lake then.  Joe was faithful to a love for Fay Larkin, noble in friendship to Shefford, 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 Shefford followed.  They were silent all the way back to camp.

Nas Ta Bega sat in repose where they had left him, a thoughtful, somber figure.  Shefford went directly to the Indian, and Joe tarried at the camp-fire, 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.

“Shefford, go ahead.  Talk.  It’ll take a deal of talk.  I’ll listen.  Then I’ll talk.  It’ll be Nas Ta Bega 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 Lassiter and Jane Withersteen, and take them all out of the country.