“Where’s Nas Ta Bega?” asked Shefford.

“He rode off somewhere yesterday.  Perhaps to the Piute camp.  These Indians are slow.  They may take a week to pack that load over here.  But if Nas Ta Bega or some one doesn’t come with a message to-day I’ll ride over there myself.”

“Joe, what do you think about this missionary?” queried Shefford, bluntly.

“Reckon there’s not much to think, unless you see him or find out something.  I heard of Willetts before Withers spoke of him.  He’s friendly with Mormons.  I understand he’s worked for Mormon interests, someway or other.  That’s on the quiet.  Savvy?  This matter of him coming after Glen Naspa, reckon that’s all right.  The missionaries all go after the young people.  What’d be the use to try to convert the old Indians?  No, the missionary’s work is to educate the Indian, and, of course, the younger he is the better.”

“You approve of the missionary?”

“Shefford, if you understood a Mormon you wouldn’t ask that.  Did you ever read or hear of Jacob Hamblin? . . .  Well, he was a Mormon missionary among the Navajos.  The Navajos were as fierce as Apaches till Hamblin worked among them.  He made them friendly to the white man.”

“That doesn’t prove he made converts of them,” replied Shefford, still bluntly.

“No.  For the matter of that, Hamblin let religion alone.  He made presents, then traded with them, then taught them useful knowledge.  Mormon or not, Shefford, I’ll admit this:  a good man, strong with his body, and learned in ways with his hands, with some knowledge of medicine, can better the condition of these Indians.  But just as soon as he begins to preach his religion, then his influence wanes.  That’s natural.  These heathen have their ideals, their gods.”

“Which the white man should leave them!” replied Shefford, feelingly.

“That’s a matter of opinion.  But don’t let’s argue. . . .  Willetts is after Glen Naspa.  And if I know Indian girls he’ll persuade her to go to his school.”

“Persuade her!” Then Shefford broke off and related the incident that had occurred at Red Lake.

“Reckon any means justifies the end,” replied Joe, imperturbably.  “Let him talk love to her or rope her or beat her, so long as he makes a Christian of her.”

Shefford felt a hot flush and had difficulty in controlling himself.  From this single point of view the Mormon was impossible to reason with.

“That, too, is a matter of opinion.  We won’t discuss it,” continued Shefford.  “But—­if old Hosteen Doetin objects to the girl leaving, and if Nas Ta Bega does the same, won’t that end the matter?”

“Reckon not.  The end of the matter is Glen Naspa.  If she wants to go she’ll go.”

Shefford thought best to drop the discussion.  For the first time he had occasion to be repelled by something in this kind and genial Mormon, and he wanted to forget it.  Just as he had never talked about men to the sealed wives in the hidden valley, so he could not talk of women to Joe Lake.