“Ruth, time is flying,” rejoined Shefford, hurriedly.  “I must go back to Joe.  You be ready for us when we come.  Wear something loose, easily thrown off, and don’t forget the long hood.”

“I’ll be ready and watching,” she said.  “The sooner the better, I’d say.”

He left her and returned toward camp in the same circling route by which he had come.  The Indian had disappeared and so had his mustang.  This significant fact augmented Shefford’s hurried, thrilling excitement.  But one glance at Joe’s face changed all that to a sudden numbness, a sinking of his heart.

“What is it?” he queried.

“Look there!” exclaimed the Mormon.

Shefford’s quick eye caught sight of horses and men down the valley.  He saw several Indians and three or four white men.  They were making camp.

“Who are they?” demanded Shefford.

“Shadd and some of his gang.  Reckon that Piute told the news.  By to-morrow the valley will be full as a horse-wrangler’s corral. . . .  Lucky Nas Ta Bega got away before that gang rode in.  Now things won’t look as queer as they might have looked.  The Indian took a pack of grub, six mustangs, and my guns.  Then there was your rifle in your saddle-sheath.  So you’ll be well heeled in case you come to close quarters.  Reckon you can look for a running fight.  For now, as soon as your flight is discovered, Shadd will hit your trail.  He’s in with the Mormons.  You know him—­what you’ll have to deal with.  But the advantage will all be yours.  You can ambush the trail.”

“We’re in for it.  And the sooner we’re off the better,” replied Shefford, grimly.

“Reckon that’s gospel.  Well—­come on!”

The Mormon strode off, and Shefford, catching up with him, kept at his side.  Shefford’s mind was full, but Joe’s dark and gloomy face did not invite communication.  They entered the pinyon grove and passed the cabin where the tragedy had been enacted.  A tarpaulin had been stretched across the front porch.  Beal was not in sight, nor were any of the women.

“I forgot,” said Shefford, suddenly.  “Where am I to meet the Indian?”

“Climb the west wall, back of camp,” replied Joe.  “Nas Ta Bega took the Stonebridge trail.  But he’ll leave that, climb the rocks, then hide the outfit and come back to watch for you.  Reckon he’ll see you when you top the wall.”

They passed on into the heart of the village.  Joe tarried at the window of a cabin, and passed a few remarks to a woman there, and then he inquired for Mother Smith at her house.  When they left here the Mormon gave Shefford a nudge.  Then they separated, Joe going toward the school-house, while Shefford bent his steps in the direction of Ruth’s home.

Her door opened before he had a chance to knock.  He entered.  Ruth, white and resolute, greeted him with a wistful smile.

“All ready?” she asked.