Then he gave way to ungovernable rage, and cursed Shefford as a religious fanatic might have cursed the most debased sinners.  Shefford heard with the blood beating, strangling the pulse in his ears.  Somehow this missionary had learned his secret—­most likely from the Mormons in Stonebridge.  And the terms of disgrace were coals of fire upon Shefford’s head.  Strangely, however, he did not bow to them, as had been his humble act in the past, when his calumniators had arraigned and flayed him.  Passion burned in him now, for the first time in his life, made a tiger of him.  And these raw emotions, new to him, were difficult to control.

“You can’t take the girl,” he replied, when the other had ceased.  “Not without her brother’s consent.”

“I will take her!”

Shefford threw him out of the hogan and strode after him.  Willetts had stumbled.  When he straightened up he was white and shaken.  He groped for the bridle of his horse while keeping his eyes upon Shefford, and when he found it he whirled quickly, mounted, and rode off.  Shefford saw him halt a moment under the cedars to speak with the three strange Indians, and then he galloped away.  It came to Shefford then that he had been unconscious of the last strained moment of that encounter.  He seemed all cold, tight, locked, and was amazed to find his hand on his gun.  Verily the wild environment had liberated strange instincts and impulses, which he had answered.  That he had no regrets proved how he had changed.

Shefford heard the old woman scolding.  Peering into the hogan, he saw Glen Naspa flounce sullenly down, for all the world like any other thwarted girl.  Hosteen Doetin came out and pointed down the slope at the departing missionary.

“Heap talk Jesus—­all talk—­all Jesus!” he exclaimed, contemptuously.  Then he gave Shefford a hard rap on the chest.  “Small talk—­heap man!”

The matter appeared to be adjusted for the present.  But Shefford felt that he had made a bitter enemy, and perhaps a powerful one.

He prepared and ate his supper alone that evening, for Joe Lake and Nas Ta Bega did not put in an appearance.  He observed that the three strange Indians, whom he took for Piutes, kept to themselves, and, so far as he knew, had no intercourse with any one at the camp.  This would not have seemed unusual, considering the taciturn habit of Indians, had he not remembered seeing Willetts speak to the trio.  What had he to do with them?  Shefford was considering the situation with vague doubts when, to his relief, the three strangers rode off into the twilight.  Then he went to bed.

He was awakened by violence.  It was the gray hour before dawn.  Dark forms knelt over him.  A cloth pressed down hard over his mouth:  Strong hands bound it while other strong hands held him.  He could not cry out.  He could not struggle.  A heavy weight, evidently a man, held down his feet.  Then he was rolled over, securely bound, and carried, to be thrown like a sack over the back of a horse.