Zane Grey

“ Moreover, this Red Lake house was only an occasionally used branch of Presbrey's main trading-post, which was situated at Willow Springs, fifty miles westward over the mesa.
"I'm closing up here soon for a spell," said Presbrey, and now his face lost its set hardness and seemed singularly changed. It was a difference of light and softness. "Won't be lonesome over at Willow Springs. ... I'm being married soon."
"That's fine," replied Shefford warmly. He was glad for the sake of this lonely desert man. What good a wife would bring into a trader's life! ”

“ Shefford's sore and blistered face felt better after he had washed off the sand and alkali dust.
"Better not wash your face often while you're in the desert. "Bad plan," went on Presbrey, noting how gingerly his visitor had gone about his ablutions. Well, come and eat."
Shefford marked that if the trader did live a lonely life he fared well. There was more on the table than twice two men could have eaten. It was the first table in four days that Shefford had sat at a table, and he made up for lost opportunity. ”

“ I've never met a man who had been over the pass between here and Kayenta. The trip's been made, so there must be a trail. But it's a dangerous trip for any man, let alone a tenderfoot. You're not even packing a gun."
"What's this place Kayenta," asked Shefford.
"It's a spring. Kayenta means Bottomless Spring. There's a little trading post, the last and the wildest in northern Arizona. Withers, the trader who keeps it, hails his supplies in from Colorado and New Mexico. He's never come down this way. ”

“ The look of him and his corduroys and his soft shoes gave Shefford an impression that he was not a man who worked hard. By contrast with the few other worn and rugged desert men Shefford had met this stranger stood out strikingly. He stooped to pick up a soft felt hat and, jamming it on his head, he hurried out. Shefford followed him and watched him from the door. He went directly to the corral, mounted the pony, and rode out, to turn down the slope toward the south. When he reached the level of the basin, where evidently the sand was hard, he put the pony to a lope and gradually drew away. ”

“ From the foot of the slope the water hole appeared to be a few hundred rods out in the valley. But the small size of the figures made Shefford doubt; and he had to travel many times a few hundred yards before those figures began to grow. Then Shefford made out that they were approaching him.
Thereafter they rapidly increased to normal proportions of man and beast. When Shefford met them he saw a powerful, heavily built young man leading two ponies.
"You're Mr. Presbrey, the trader?" inquired Shefford. ”

“ Presbrey spoke again, at which she pointed down the valley, and then moved on with her pony toward the water-hole.
Presbrey's keen eyes fixed on the receding black dot far down that oval expanse.
"That fellow left—rather abruptly," said Shefford, constrainedly. "Who was he?"
"His name's Willetts. He's a missionary. He rode in to-day with this Navajo girl. He was taking her to Blue Cañon, where he lives and teaches the Indians. I've met him only a few times. You see, not many white men ride in here. He's the first white man I've seen in six months, and you're the second. Both the same day! ... ”

“ And they're not much to talk. There's a trail goes north, but I've never traveled it. It's a new trail every time an Indian goes that way, for here the sand blows and covers old tracks. But few Navajos ride in from the north. My trade is mostly with Indians up and down the valley."
"How about water and grass?"
"We've had rain and snow. There's sure to be water. Can't say about grass, though the sheep and ponies from the north are always fat. ... But, say, Shefford, if you'll excuse me for advising you—don't go north." ”

“ That was a wonderful spring for the desert."
"You said you were a wanderer. ... Do you want a job? I'll give you one."
"No, thank you, Presbrey."
"I saw your pack. That's no pack to travel with in this country. Your horse won't last, either. Have you any money?"
"Yes, plenty of money."
"Well, that's good. Not that a white man out here would ever take a dollar from you. But you can from the Indians as you go. Where are you making for, anyhow?"
Shefford hesitated, debating in mind whether to tell his purpose or not. ”

“ He believed himself a man stricken in soul, unworthy, through doubt of God, to minister to the people who had banished him. Perhaps a labor of Hercules, a mighty and perilous work of rescue, the saving of this lost and imprisoned girl, would help him in his trouble. ”