Immediately after the service, forgetting that his intention had been to get the long-waited-for look at Mary in the light of the sun, Shefford hurried back to camp and to a secluded spot among the cedars.  Strikingly it had come to him that the fault he had found in Gentile religion he now found in the Mormon religion.  An old question returned to haunt him—­were all religions the same in blindness?  As far as he could see, religion existed to uphold the founders of a Church, a creed.  The Church of his own kind was a place where narrow men and women went to think of their own salvation.  They did not go there to think of others.  And now Shefford’s keen mind saw something of Mormonism and found it wanting.  Bishop Kane was a sincere, good, mistaken man.  He believed what he preached, but that would not stand logic.  He taught blindness and mostly it appeared to be directed at the women.  Was there no religion divorced from power, no religion as good for one man as another, no religion in the spirit of brotherly love?  Nas Ta Bega’s “Bi Nai” (brother)—­that was love, if not religion, and perhaps the one and the other were the same.  Shefford kept in mind an intention to ask Nas Ta Bega what he thought of the Mormons.

Later, when opportunity afforded, he did speak to the Indian.  Nas Ta Bega threw away his cigarette and made an impressive gesture that conveyed as much sorrow as scorn.

“The first Mormon said God spoke to him and told him to go to a certain place and dig.  He went there and found the Book of Mormon.  It said follow me, marry many wives, go into the desert and multiply, send your sons out into the world and bring us young women, many young women.  And when the first Mormon became strong with many followers he said again:  Give to me part of your labor—­of your cattle and sheep —­of your silver—­that I may build me great cathedrals for you to worship in.  And I will commune with God and make it right and good that you have more wives.  That is Mormonism.”

“Nas Ta Bega, you mean the Mormons are a great and good people blindly following a leader?”

“Yes.  And the leader builds for himself—­not for them.”

“That is not religion.  He has no God but himself.”

“They have no God.  They are blind like the Mokis who have the creeping growths on their eyes.  They have no God they can see and hear and feel, who is with them day and night.”

It was late in the afternoon when Bishop Kane rode through the camp and halted on his way to speak to Shefford.  He was kind and fatherly.  “Young man, are you open to faith?” he questioned gravely.

“I think I am,” replied Shefford, thankful he could answer readily.

“Then come into the fold.  You are a lost sheep.  ’Away on the desert I heard its cry.’ . . .  God bless you.  Visit me when you ride to Stonebridge.”

He flicked his horse with a cedar branch and trotted away beside the trader, and presently the green-choked neck of the valley hid them from view.  Shefford could not have said that he was glad to be left behind, and yet neither was he sorry.