The red sun was tipping the eastern wall when he returned to camp, and he was neither calm nor sure of himself nor ready for sleep or food. Only he had put the night behind him.
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.
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.
“You talk like a fool,” said Shefford, sharply, and he strode right up to Joe.
“See here, Shefford, we've been pards. You're making it hard for me. Reckon you ain't square.”
Shefford shot out a long arm and his hand clutched the Mormon's burly shoulder.
Joe swallowed hard and gave himself a shake. Then he eyed his comrade steadily.
“I was afraid you'd kill him. I reckon I can't blame you. I'll help you get away. And I'm a Mormon! Do you take the hunch?... But don't deny you killed him!”
Shefford seemed stricken by a slow, paralyzing horror. The Mormon's changing face grew huge and indistinct and awful in his sight. He was clutched and shaken in Joe's rude hands, yet scarcely felt them. Joe seemed to be bellowing at him, but the voice was far off. Then Shefford began to see, to hear through some cold and terrible deadness that had come between him and everything.
“Say YOU killed him!” hoarsely supplicated the Mormon.
Shefford had not yet control of speech. Something in his gaze appeared to drive Joe frantic.
“Damn you! Tell me quick. Say YOU killed him!... If you want to know my stand, why, I'm glad!... Shefford, don't look so stony! ... For HER sake, say you killed him!”