nd yet hoped, through the medium of
his friend the officer.

The Mormons had again withdrawn the night guard, taking only the
precaution of leaving Grenville's irons on him even while in prison, and
the officer, having said good-night and locked him in, quietly took his
way home; but he never reached it, for in another ten seconds his brains
were strewn about the roadway, his corpse thrown into the river, and
Amaxosa, possessed of the key, had opened the prison and was shaking
hands with his chief. He was, however, much taken aback at finding his
friend in chains; still, neither hesitated to plunge into the water,
which of course drowned the clanking of the irons, and both were soon
outside the walls, receiving the suppressed congratulations of
Myzukulwa.

Progress now proved very slow indeed, owing to our hero's fettered
state, and after a mile had been compassed in the water, unavailing
efforts were made to break or loosen the chains; then, seeing that much
valuable time was being lost, Amaxosa went ahead at a run to fetch the
quagga, whilst his brother assisted Grenville in his slow progress
towards liberty.

Never before had restraint appeared so irksome to our friend. It was
certainly probable that he was considered safe in his prison for the
night; but, on the other hand, should the prophet wish to talk with
him--a not unusual occurrence, as we have seen--at night, or should the
officer be missed by his friends, a search would of course be
instituted, the hue and cry raised, and knowing that he would strike out
for the plateau, the Mormons would immediately pursue him at speed.
Grenville fairly groaned at the thought of being again recaught in
consequence of their miserable and cowardly cunning in keeping him so
heavily ironed.

In East Utah it fell out precisely as the fugitive had feared; the
officer was wanted, searched for, and, as he could not be found, his
prisoner was next looked up; then finding the bird flown, the community
at once determined that treachery had been at work, and an hour after
Grenville's escape fifty men were on his trail, vowing deadly vengeance
upon their recreant officer, whilst he, poor soul!--or, rather, all that
remained of him--was bobbing up and down in the River of Death as it
glided sullenly along its course, carrying to the vast and wandering
ocean the message of the peaceful sky. When not quite half-way to the
plateau, and just as the fugitive pair reached a narrow for