Shefford learned what it meant to lie out at night, listening for pursuit, cold to his marrow, sick with dread, and enduring frightful pain from a ragged bullet-hole.  Next day the Indian led him down into the red basin, where the sun shone hot and the sand reflected the heat.  They had no water.  A wind arose and the valley became a place of flying sand.  Through a heavy, stifling pall Nas Ta Bega somehow got Shefford to the trading-post at Red Lake.  Presbrey attended to Shefford’s injury and made him comfortable.  Next day Joe Lake limped in, surly and somber, with the news that Shadd and eight or ten of his outlaw gang had gotten away with the pack-train.

In short time Shefford was able to ride, and with his companions went over the pass to Kayenta.  Withers already knew of his loss, and all he said was that he hoped to meet Shadd some day.

Shefford showed a reluctance to go again to the hidden village in the silent canyon with the rounded walls.  The trader appeared surprised, but did not press the point.  And Shefford meant sooner or later to tell him, yet never quite reached the point.  The early summer brought more work for the little post, and Shefford toiled with the others.  He liked the outdoor tasks, and at night was grateful that he was too tired to think.  Then followed trips to Durango and Bluff and Monticello.  He rode fifty miles a day for many days.  He knew how a man fares who packs light and rides far and fast.  When the Indian was with him he got along well, but Nas Ta Bega would not go near the towns.  Thus many mishaps were Shefford’s fortune.

Many and many a mile he trailed his mustang, for Nack-yal never forgot the Sagi, and always headed for it when he broke his hobbles.  Shefford accompanied an Indian teamster in to Durango with a wagon and four wild mustangs.  Upon the return, with a heavy load of supplies, accident put Shefford in charge of the outfit.  In despair he had to face the hardest task that could have been given him—­to take care of a crippled Indian, catch, water, feed, harness, and drive four wild mustangs that did not know him and tried to kill him at every turn, and to get that precious load of supplies home to Kayenta.  That he accomplished it proved to hint the possibilities of a man, for both endurance and patience.  From that time he never gave up in the front of any duty.

In the absence of an available Indian he rode to Durango and back in record time.  Upon one occasion he was lost in a canyon for days, with no food and little water.  Upon another he went through a sand-storm in the open desert, facing it for forty miles and keeping to the trail; When he rode in to Kayenta that night the trader, in grim praise, said there was no worse to endure.  At Monticello Shefford stood off a band of desperadoes, and this time Shefford experienced a strange, sickening shock in the wounding of a man.  Later he had other fights, but in none of them did he know whether or not he had shed blood.