“I am—­I was a minister of the Gospel,” he said to Presbrey.  “What you hint seems impossible.  I can’t believe it.”

“I didn’t hint,” replied Presbrey, bluntly, and it was evident that he was a sincere, but close-mouthed, man.  “Shefford, so you’re a preacher? . . .  Did you come out here to try to convert the Indians?”

“No.  I said I was a minister.  I am no longer.  I’m just a—­a wanderer.”

“I see.  Well, the desert’s no place for missionaries, but it’s good for wanderers. . . .  Go water your horse and take him up to the corral.  You’ll find some hay for him.  I’ll get grub ready.”

Shefford went on with his horse to the pool.  The water appeared thick, green, murky, and there was a line of salty crust extending around the margin of the pool.  The thirsty horse splashed in and eagerly bent his head.  But he did not like the taste.  Many times he refused to drink, yet always lowered his nose again.  Finally he drank, though not his fill.  Shefford saw the Indian girl drink from her hand.  He scooped up a handful and found it too sour to swallow.  When he turned to retrace his steps she mounted her pony and followed him.

A golden flare lit up the western sky, and silhouetted dark and lonely against it stood the trading-post.  Upon his return Shefford found the wind rising, and it chilled him.  When he reached the slope thin gray sheets of sand were blowing low, rising, whipping, falling, sweeping along with soft silken rustle.  Sometimes the gray veils hid his boots.  It was a long, toilsome climb up that yielding, dragging ascent, and he had already been lame and tired.  By the time he had put his horse away twilight was everywhere except in the west.  The Indian girl left her pony in the corral and came like a shadow toward the house.

Shefford had difficulty in finding the foot of the stairway.  He climbed to enter a large loft, lighted by two lamps.  Presbrey was there, kneading biscuit dough in a pan.

“Make yourself comfortable,” he said.

The huge loft was the shape of a half-octagon.  A door opened upon the valley side, and here, too, there were windows.  How attractive the place was in comparison with the impressions gained from the outside!  The furnishings consisted of Indian blankets on the floor, two beds, a desk and table, several chairs and a couch, a gun-rack full of rifles, innumerable silver-ornamented belts, bridles, and other Indian articles upon the walls, and in one corner a wood-burning stove with teakettle steaming, and a great cupboard with shelves packed full of canned foods.