of friendship to this singular fact. And it hurt him. But
strangely it came to him that he had taken a liking to a Mormon.

About one o'clock the pack-train left Kayenta. Nas Ta Bega led the way
up the slope. Following him climbed half a dozen patient, plodding,
heavily laden burros. Withers came next, and he turned in his saddle
to wave good-by to his wife. Joe Lake appeared to be busy keeping a
red mule and a wild gray mustang and a couple of restive blacks in the
trail. Shefford brought up in the rear.

His mount was a beautiful black mustang with three white feet, a white
spot on his nose, and a mane that swept to his knees. "His name's
Nack-yal," Withers had said. "It means two bits, or twenty-five cents.
He ain't worth more." To look at Nack-yal had pleased Shefford very
much indeed, but, once upon his back, he grew dubious. The mustang
acted queer. He actually looked back at Shefford, and it was a look of
speculation and disdain. Shefford took exception to Nack-yal's manner
and to his reluctance to go, and especially to a habit the mustang had
of turning off the trail to the left. Shefford had managed some rather
spirited horses back in Illinois; and though he was willing and eager to
learn all over again, he did not enjoy the prospect of Lake and Withers
seeing this black mustang make a novice of him. And he guessed that was
just what Nack-yal intended to do. However, once up over the hill, with
Kayenta out of sight, Nack-yal trotted along fairly well, needing only
now and then to be pulled back from his strange swinging to the left off
the trail.

The pack-train traveled steadily and soon crossed the upland plain to
descend into the valley again. Shefford saw the jagged red peaks with
an emotion he could not name. The canyon between them were purple in the
shadows, the great walls and slopes brightened to red, and the tips were
gold in the sun. Shefford forgot all about his mustang and the trail.

Suddenly with a pound of hoofs Nack-yal seemed to rise. He leaped
sidewise out of the trail, came down stiff-legged. Then Shefford shot
out of the saddle. He landed so hard that he was stunned for an instant.
Sitting up, he saw the mustang bent down, eyes and ears showing fight,
and his forefeet spread. He appeared to be looking at something in the
trail. Shefford got up and soon saw what had been the trouble. A long,
crooked stick, rather thick and black and yellow, lay in the trail, and
any mustang looking for an