the desert, so I availed myself heartily of the opportunity. The water
was full of sand, but cold and gratefully thirst-quenching.

The Little Colorado seemed no more to me than a shallow creek; I heard
nothing sullen or menacing in its musical flow.

"Doesn't look bad, eh?" queried Emmett, who read my thought. "You'd be
surprised to learn how many men and Indians, horses, sheep and wagons
are buried under that quicksand."

The secret was out, and I wondered no more. At once the stream and wet
bars of sand took on a different color. I removed my boots, and waded
out to a little bar. The sand seemed quite firm, but water oozed out
around my feet; and when I stepped, the whole bar shook like jelly. I
pushed my foot through the crust, and the cold, wet sand took hold, and
tried to suck me down.

"How can you ford this stream with horses?" I asked Emmett.

"We must take our chances," replied he. "We'll hitch two teams to one
wagon, and run the horses. I've forded here at worse stages than this.
Once a team got stuck, and I had to leave it; another time the water
was high, and washed me downstream."

Emmett sent his son into the stream on a mule. The rider lashed his
mount, and plunging, splashing, crossed at a pace near a gallop. He
returned in the same manner, and reported one bad place near the other
side.

Jones and I got on the first wagon and tried to coax up the dogs, but
they would not come. Emmett had to lash the four horses to start them;
and other Mormons riding alongside, yelled at them, and used their
whips. The wagon bowled into the water with a tremendous splash. We
were wet through before we had gone twenty feet. The plunging horses
were lost in yellow spray; the stream rushed through the wheels; the
Mormons yelled. I wanted to see, but was lost in a veil of yellow mist.
Jones yelled in my ear, but I could not hear what he said. Once the
wagon wheels struck a stone or log, almost lurching us overboard. A
muddy splash blinded me. I cried out in my excitement, and punched
Jones in the back. Next moment, the keen exhilaration of the ride gave
way to horror. We seemed to drag, and almost stop. Some one roared:
"Horse down!" One instant of painful suspense, in which imagination
pictured another tragedy added to the record of this deceitful river--a
moment filled with intense feeling, and sensation of splash, and yell,
and fury of action; then the three able horses dragged their comrade
out of the quicksand