l. Rust's
instructions were to bring Moze to Flagstaff in two weeks. He brought
the dog a little ahead time, and roared his appreciation of the relief
it to get the responsibility off his hands. And he related many strange
things, most striking of which was how Moze had broken his chain and
plunged into the raging Colorado River, and tried to swim it just above
the terrible Sockdolager Rapids. Rust and his fellow-workmen watched
the dog disappear in the yellow, wrestling, turbulent whirl of waters,
and had heard his knell in the booming roar of the falls. Nothing but a
fish could live in that current; nothing but a bird could scale those
perpendicular marble walls. That night, however, when the men crossed
on the tramway, Moze met them with a wag of his tail. He had crossed
the river, and he had come back!

To the four reddish-brown, high-framed bloodhounds I had given the
names of Don, Tige, Jude and Ranger; and by dint of persuasion, had
succeeded in establishing some kind of family relation between them and
Moze. This night I tied up the bloodhounds, after bathing and salving
their sore feet; and I left Moze free, for he grew fretful and surly
under restraint.

The Mormons, prone, dark, blanketed figures, lay on the sand. Jones was
crawling into his bed. I walked a little way from the dying fire, and
faced the north, where the desert stretched, mysterious and
illimitable. How solemn and still it was! I drew in a great breath of
the cold air, and thrilled with a nameless sensation. Something was
there, away to the northward; it called to me from out of the dark and
gloom; I was going to meet it.

I lay down to sleep with the great blue expanse open to my eyes. The
stars were very large, and wonderfully bright, yet they seemed so much
farther off than I had ever seen them. The wind softly sifted the sand.
I hearkened to the tinkle of the cowbells on the hobbled horses. The
last thing I remembered was old Moze creeping close to my side, seeking
the warmth of my body.

When I awakened, a long, pale line showed out of the dun-colored clouds
in the east. It slowly lengthened, and tinged to red. Then the morning
broke, and the slopes of snow on the San Francisco peaks behind us
glowed a delicate pink. The Mormons were up and doing with the dawn.
They were stalwart men, rather silent, and all workers. It was
interesting to see them pack for the day's journey. They traveled with
wagons and mules, in the most primitive wa