“Listen to this. . . .  I wish I could help you.  Life is a queer deal. . . .  Shefford, I’ve got to trust you.  Over here in the wild canyon country there’s a village of Mormons’ sealed wives.  It’s in Arizona, perhaps twenty miles from here, and near the Utah line.  When the United States government began to persecute, or prosecute, the Mormons for polygamy, the Mormons over here in Stonebridge took their sealed wives and moved them out of Utah, just across the line.  They built houses, established a village there.  I’m the only Gentile who knows about it.  And I pack supplies every few weeks in to these women.  There are perhaps fifty women, mostly young—­second or third or fourth wives of Mormons—­sealed wives.  And I want you to understand that sealed means sealed in all that religion or loyalty can get out of the word.  There are also some old women and old men in the village, but they hardly count.  And there’s a flock of the finest children you ever saw in your life.

“The idea of the Mormons must have been to escape prosecution.  The law of the government is one wife for each man—­no more.  All over Utah polygamists have been arrested.  The Mormons are deeply concerned.  I believe they are a good, law-abiding people.  But this law is a direct blow at their religion.  In my opinion they can’t obey both.  And therefore they have not altogether given up plural wives.  Perhaps they will some day.  I have no proof, but I believe the Mormons of Stonebridge pay secret night visits to their sealed wives across the line in the lonely, hidden village.

“Now once over in Stonebridge I overheard some Mormons talking about a girl who was named Fay Larkin.  I never forgot the name.  Later I heard the name in this sealed-wife village.  But, as I told you, I never heard of Lassiter or Jane Withersteen.  Still, if Mormons had found them I would never have heard of it.  And Deception Pass—­that might be the Sagi. . . .  I’m not surprised at your rainbow-chasing adventure.  It’s a great story. . . .  This Fay Larkin I’ve heard of might be your Fay Larkin—­I almost believe so.  Shefford, I’ll help you find out.”

“Yes, yes—­I must know,” replied Shefford.  “Oh, I hope, I pray we can find her!  But—­I’d rather she was dead—­if she’s not still hidden in the valley.”

“Naturally.  You’ve dreamed yourself into rescuing this lost Fay Larkin. . . .  But, Shefford, you’re old enough to know life doesn’t work out as you want it to.  One way or another I fear you’re in for a bitter disappointment.”

“Withers, take me to the village.”

“Shefford, you’re liable to get in bad out here,” said the trader, gravely.

“I couldn’t be any more ruined than I am now,” replied Shefford, passionately.

“But there’s risk in this—­risk such as you never had,” persisted Withers.

“I’ll risk anything.”