“Go on,” cried Shefford 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 to-day and wait with them for you to-night or to-morrow till you come with the girl.  You’ll go get Lassiter and the woman out of Surprise Valley.  Then you’ll strike east for Nonnezoshe Boco.  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 Kayenta, get another horse there, and ride like hell for the San Juan River.  There’s a big flatboat at the Durango crossing.  I’ll go down the San Juan in 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 Nonnezoshe Boco.”

Shefford 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.”

Shefford, to whom flying straws would have seemed stable, caught the inflection of defiance and daring and hope of the Mormon’s spirit.

“What then—­after you meet us at the mouth of Nonnezoshe Boco?” he queried.

“We’ll all drift down to Lee’s Ferry.  That’s at the head of Marble Canyon.  We’ll get out on the south side of the river, thus avoiding any Mormons at the ferry.  Nas Ta Bega knows the country.  It’s open desert—­on the other side of these plateaus.  He can get horses from Navajos.  Then you’ll strike south for Willow Springs.”

“Willow Springs?  That’s Presbrey’s trading-post,” said Shefford.

“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 Nonnezoshe.  You must have sharp eyes.  But I forget the Indian.  A bird couldn’t pass him. . . .  And suppose Nonnezoshe Boco has a steep-walled, narrow mouth opening into a rapids! . . .  Whew!  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 Shefford 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 school-house, and there, while Joe and Shefford engaged the guards outside, she would change apparel and places with Fay and let her come forth.

“What’ll they do to Ruth?” demanded Shefford.  “We can’t accept her sacrifice if she’s to suffer—­or be punished.”