Soon the pack-train was on the move, with the Indian leading. This morning Nack-yal began his strange swinging off to the left, precisely as he had done the day before. It got to be annoying to Shefford, and he lost patience with the mustang and jerked him sharply round. This, however, had no great effect upon Nack-yal.
As the train headed straight up the canyon Joe Lake dropped back to ride beside Shefford. The Mormon had been amiable and friendly.
“Flock of deer up that draw,” he said, pointing up a narrow side canyon.
Shefford gazed to see a half-dozen small, brown, long-eared objects, very like burros, watching the pack-train pass.
“Are they deer?” he asked, delightedly.
“Sure are,” replied Joe, sincerely. “Get down and shoot one. There's a rifle in your saddle-sheath.”
Shefford had already discovered that he had been armed this morning, a matter which had caused him reflection. These animals certainly looked like deer; he had seen a few deer, though not in their native wild haunts; and he experienced the thrill of the hunter. Dismounting, he drew the rifle out of the sheath and started toward the little canyon.
“Hyar! Where you going with that gun?” yelled Withers. “That's a bunch of burros.... Joe's up to his old tricks. Shefford, look out for Joe!”
Rather sheepishly Shefford returned to his mustang and sheathed the rifle, and then took a long look at the animals up the draw. They, resembled deer, but upon second glance they surely were burros.
“Durn me! Now if I didn't think they sure were deer!” exclaimed Joe. He appeared absolutely sincere and innocent. Shefford hardly knew how to take this likable Mormon, but vowed he would be on his guard in the future.