Thereafter they rapidly increased to normal proportions of man and beast.  When Shefford met them he saw a powerful, heavily built young man leading two ponies.

“You’re Mr. Presbrey, the trader?” inquired Shefford.

“Yes, I’m Presbrey, without the Mister,” he replied.

“My name’s Shefford.  I’m knocking about on the desert.  Rode from beyond Tuba to-day.”

“Glad to see you,” said Presbrey.  He offered his hand.  He was a stalwart man, clad in gray shirt, overalls, and boots.  A shock of tumbled light hair covered his massive head; he was tanned, but not darkly, and there was red in his cheeks; under his shaggy eyebrows were deep, keen eyes; his lips were hard and set, as if occasion for smiles or words was rare; and his big, strong jaw seemed locked.

“Wish more travelers came knocking around Red Lake,” he added.  “Reckon here’s the jumping-off place.”

“It’s pretty—­lonesome,” said Shefford, hesitating as if at a loss for words.

Then the Indian girl came up.  Presbrey addressed her in her own language, which Shefford did not understand.  She seemed shy and would not answer; she stood with downcast face and eyes.  Presbrey spoke again, at which she pointed down the valley, and then moved on with her pony toward the water-hole.

Presbrey’s keen eyes fixed on the receding black dot far down that oval expanse.

“That fellow left—­rather abruptly,” said Shefford, constrainedly.  “Who was he?”

“His name’s Willetts.  He’s a missionary.  He rode in to-day with this Navajo girl.  He was taking her to Blue Canyon, 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 Canyon 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.