The first who saw me approaching the camp was Tom Doyle. His wild shout startled all in the camp.
"Hillo! Here's Mose."
The cry was enough. In a few moments, I was surrounded and almost torn to pieces by the nervous hands which clutched mine. Even Captain Crim squeezed my fingers with his own stalwart grip, and told me, "how glad 'he' was to see me, whole and safe again."
After this came question and reply, so fast, that my tongue, silent during the last two days and a half, literally ached with its answers, and I was glad enough when the hour for eating came, to which portion of the antelope I had killed on the preceding day made no despicable addition, as game had still been scarce with the boys.
CHAPTER V.
A Tempest—The Brute with no Rheumatic Pity—An Impromptu Gallows—Hanging a Rascal—My Stage Wardrobe—Under Water with a Water-tight Wagon—The Keg of Whiskey—Its Unforeseen Results—A Mountain Cannon—Natural Soda-water—An Indian Attack—Raising my First Hair—Taking a Lesson from the Red Man—British Criticism—The Valley of a Thousand Springs.
The rest which had been given the horses partially restored them, and on the following day the train was again in motion.
After reaching what is known by the old Emigrants as the last crossing of the Sweet Water, Captain Crim decided to take a road farther north than the usual one. He had crossed the plains several times before. Knowing that the Sublett's route and Headspath Cut-off, as well as the Salt Lake line of travel, were peculiarly hard upon stock, he determined this time, to try a track of his own.