A horse dropped now and then, but they could not pause for that. Mind was superior in the struggle to matter. A man fell but was lifted up, encouraged, and again toiled on. The savanna was reached—the tall, dry, flag-like grass rose above them on every side, and walled them in alike from air and sun, but, alas! so also it confined the dust, and robbed them of the scanty breathing they had before enjoyed. But on! on! wildly they crept.
“A mile more and we are safe. Courage, boys!” shouted Waltermyer, standing up, as was his wont when he wished to reconnoiter, upon the back of his steed.
The rods appeared to lengthen out into furlongs, and the furlongs into miles; but, cheering each other, they still continued, almost groping their way. Hark! The heads of the remaining horses were lifted at the strange sound—their ears were erected—their eyes flashed wildly, and with a loud neigh they dashed over those who stood in their path, and, as if fiend-driven, rushed to the stream, and almost buried themselves in the tide.
An hour later, swarthy forms were stretched upon the grassy banks, and gratified senses were satisfied with the dewy mists rising around, and the cool, mountain-fed waters that sparkled at their feet.
Waltermyer had redeemed his promise, and the tide flowed by as uncared-for as if it had not been to them Heaven’s gift itself only a few hours before.
CHAPTER VII.
THE MORMON’S RIDE.
Morning came, and the tents of the Mormons were struck—the jaded teams harnessed and the march began. So long had they been upon the trail that there was no confusion. All had been reduced to system—each man knew his place, and few were the orders required. All, save their leader, were looking forward to the “promised land,”—the valley that was to flow with milk and honey—the city of refuge—the abode of the saints. Truly with these people ignorance was bliss. They were happy in this delusion—satisfied with anticipation. But the man that rode that day alone—the man whose serpent tongue had lured the ignorant to leave home and kindred by the most infamous falsehoods—who knew well that the living springs he had pictured would become as the Red Sea, and the golden fruits as bitter ashes to their lips, thought neither of city or valley—temple or font. His mind was wandering amid a rocky cañon, and he was planning a rescue that should give to him the prestige of a benefactor. Yet even he felt the truth of the words, “the wicked flee when no man pursueth.” Might not his steps have been followed, and the conversation with the Indian overheard? With the suspicion of guilt he narrowly examined the faces of those who had been on guard the previous night, and endeavored by wily questions to learn the very thing he dreaded most to know.
Slowly the patient cattle toiled over the dry prairie, for on leaving the well-watered camping-ground the scene around them changed as if the angel of destruction had passed before them, leaving blight and desolation. The green grass had been replaced by withered sage—the mossy bank by sun-cracked earth, and the cool, dewy air by the breath of a furnace. But still they toiled on, for was not the golden dream-land beyond? On, on, over the fenceless prairie—up the long slopes—along the road beaten by thousands upon thousands of feet until hard as iron, they wandered, a lost people seeking for rest they would never know.
It was near noon, hot and sultry, and the fainting teams were unyoked. In the scanty shade of the wagons the men threw themselves down, while the poor women cooked, toiled and fretted over the fire. “Elder” Thomas relaxed his dignity and seated himself amid a group of the youngest and fairest, and strove to ingratiate himself with the still hopeful maidens. Apparently at his ease, and with a mind untroubled by care, he was in reality as if clad in the shirt of Nessus, for it was nearing the hour of his appointment with the Indian and his base heart was trembling over the result of his plan.
Some plausible excuse was necessary in order to free himself from his companions—not all, though, for cowardice would not allow him to face Black Eagle and his savage warriors alone. They knew that he possessed gold—for he had been forced to give up a portion of his hoarded store to gratify the avarice of the Indian, and well he knew that their cupidity was not easily satisfied, or their longing for plunder ever put to rest.