The little trading-post seldom saw such disorder; certainly Shefford had never known the trader to neglect work. Joe Lake threw a saddle on a mustang he would have scorned to notice in an ordinary moment, and without a word of explanation or farewell rode hard to the north on the Stonebridge trail.
Shefford had long since acquired patience. He was curious, but he did not care particularly what was in the wind. However, when Withers came out and sent an Indian to drive up the horses Shefford could not refrain from a query.
“I hate to tell you,” replied the trader.
“Go on,” added Shefford, quickly.
“Did I tell you about the government sending a Supreme Court judge out to Utah to prosecute the polygamists?”
“No,” replied Shefford.
“I forgot to, I reckon. You've been away a lot. Well, there's been hell up in Utah for six months. Lately this judge and his men have worked down into southern Utah. He visited Bluff and Monticello a few weeks ago.... Now what do you think?”
“Withers! Is he coming to Stonebridge?”
“He's there now. Some one betrayed the whereabouts of the hidden village over in the canyon. All the women have been arrested and taken to Stonebridge. The trial begins to-day.”
“Arrested!” echoed Shefford, blankly. “Those poor, lonely, good women? What on earth for?”