The Indian showed no surprise. But Joe Lake's jaw dropped and his eyes rolled. Moreover, Joe bore a singular aspect, the exact nature of which did not at once dawn upon Shefford.
“By God! you've got nerve—or you're crazy!” he ejaculated, hoarsely.
Then it was Shefford's turn to stare. The Mormon was haggard, grieved, frightened, and utterly amazed. He appeared to be trying to make certain of Shefford's being there in the flesh and then to find reason for it.
“I've no nerve and I am crazy,” replied Shefford. “But, Joe—what do you mean? Why do you look at me like that?”
“I reckon if I get your horse that'll square us. Did you come back for him? You'd better hit the trail quick.”
“It's you now who're crazy,” burst out Shefford.
“Wish to God I was,” replied Joe.
It was then Shefford realized catastrophe, and cold fear gnawed at his vitals, so that he was sick.
“Joe, what has happened?” he asked, with the blood thick in his heart.
“Hadn't you better tell me?” demanded the Mormon, and a red wave blotted out the haggard shade of his face.