the last of the plainsmen-第2节

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chant…like　song　of　a　praying　Mormon。　Suddenly　the　hounds　bristled；　and　old　Moze；　a　surly　and　aggressive　dog；　rose　and　barked　at　some　real　or　imaginary　desert　prowler。　A　sharp　command　from　Jones　made　Moze　crouch　down；　and　the　other　hounds　cowered　close　together。

〃Better　tie　up　the　dogs；〃　suggested　Jones。　〃Like　as　not　coyotes　run　down　here　from　the　hills。〃

The　hounds　were　my　especial　delight。　But　Jones　regarded　them　with　considerable　contempt。　When　all　was　said；　this　was　no　small　wonder；　for　that　quintet　of　long…eared　canines　would　have　tried　the　patience　of　a　saint。　Old　Moze　was　a　Missouri　hound　that　Jones　had　procured　in　that　State　of　uncertain　qualities；　and　the　dog　had　grown　old　over　coon…trails。　He　was　black　and　white；　grizzled　and　battlescarred；　and　if　ever　a　dog　had　an　evil　eye；　Moze　was　that　dog。　He　had　a　way　of　wagging　his　tailan　indeterminate；　equivocal　sort　of　wag；　as　if　he　realized　his　ugliness　and　knew　he　stood　little　chance　of　making　friends；　but　was　still　hopeful　and　willing。　As　for　me；　the　first　time　he　manifested　this　evidence　of　a　good　heart　under　a　rough　coat；　he　won　me　forever。

To　tell　of　Moze's　derelictions　up　to　that　time　would　take　more　space　than　would　a　history　of　the　whole　trip；　but　the　enumeration　of　several　incidents　will　at　once　stamp　him　as　a　dog　of　character；　and　will　establish　the　fact　that　even　if　his　progenitors　had　never　taken　any　blue　ribbons；　they　had　at　least　bequeathed　him　fighting　blood。　At　Flagstaff　we　chained　him　in　the　yard　of　a　livery　stable。　Next　morning　we　found　him　hanging　by　his　chain　on　the　other　side　of　an　eight…foot　fence。　We　took　him　down；　expecting　to　have　the　sorrowful　duty　of　burying　him；　but　Moze　shook　himself；　wagged　his　tail　and　then　pitched　into　the　livery　stable　dog。　As　a　matter　of　fact；　fighting　was　his　forte。　He　whipped　all　of　the　dogs　in　Flagstaff；　and　when　our　blood　hounds　came　on　from　California；　he　put　three　of　them　hors　de　combat　at　once；　and　subdued　the　pup　with　a　savage　growl。　His　crowning　feat；　however；　made　even　the　stoical　Jones　open　his　mouth　in　amaze。　We　had　taken　Moze　to　the　El　Tovar　at　the　Grand　Canyon；　and　finding　it　impossible　to　get　over　to　the　north　rim；　we　left　him　with　one　of　Jones's　men；　called　Rust；　who　was　working　on　the　Canyon　trail。　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　way；　which　Jones　assured　me　was　exactly　as　their　fathers　had　crossed　the　plains　fifty　years　before；　on　the　trail　to　Utah。

All　morning　we　made　good　time；　and　as　we　descended　into　the　desert；　the　air　became　warmer；　the　scrubby　cedar　growth　began　to　fail；　and　the　bunches　of　sage　were　few　and　far　between。　I　turned　often　to　gaze　back　at　the　San　Francisco　peaks。　The　snowcapped　tips　glistened　and　grew　higher；　and　stood　out　in　startling　relief。　Some　one　said　they　could　be　seen　two　hundred　miles　across　the　desert；　and　were　a　landmark　and　a　fascination　to　all　travelers　thitherward。

I　never　raised　my　eyes　to　the　north　that　I　did　not　draw　my　breath　quickly　and　grow　chill　with　awe　and　bewilderment　with　the　marvel　of　the　desert。　The　scaly　red　ground　descended　gradually；　bare　red　knolls；　like　waves；　rolled　away　northward；　black　buttes　reared　their　flat　heads；　long　ranges　of　sand　flowed　between　them　like　streams；　and　all　sloped　away　to　merge　into　gray；　shadowy　obscurity；　into　wild　and　desolate；　dreamy　and　misty　nothingness。

〃Do　you　see　those　white　sand　dunes　there；　more　to　the　left？〃　asked　Emmett。　〃The　Little　Colorado　runs　in　there。　How　far　does　it　look　to　you？〃

〃Thirty　miles；　perhaps；〃　I　replied；　adding　ten　miles　to　my　estimate。

〃It's　seventy…five。　We'll　get　there　day　after　to…morrow。　If　the　snow　in　the　mountains　has　begun　to　melt；　we'll　have　a　time　getting　across。〃

That　afternoon；　a　hot　wind　blew　in　my　face；　carrying　fine　sand　that　cut　and　blinded。　It　filled　my　throat；　sending　me　to　the　water　cask　till　I　was　ashamed。　When　I　fell　into　my　bed　at　night；　I　never　turned。　The　next　day　was　hotter；　the　wind　blew　harder；　the　sand　stung　sharper。

About　noon　the　following　day；　the　horses　whinnied；　and　the　mules　roused　out　of　their　tardy　gait。　〃They　smell　water；〃　said　Emmett。　And　despite　the　heat；　and　the　sand　in　my　nostrils；　I　smelled　it；　too。　The　dogs；　poor　foot…sore　fellows；　trotted　on　ahead　down　the　trail。　A　few　more　miles　of　hot　sand　and　gravel　and　red　stone　brought　us　around　a　low　mesa　to　the　Little　Colorado。

It　was　a　wide　stream　of　swiftly　running；　reddish…muddy　water。　In　the　channel；　cut　by　floods；　little　streams　trickled　and　meandered　in　all　directions。　The　main　part　of　the　river　ran　in　close　to　the　bank　we　were　on。　The　dogs　lolled　in　the　water；　the　horses　and　mules　tried　to　run　in；　but　were　restrained；　the　men　drank；　and　bathed　their　faces。　According　to　my　Flagstaff　adviser；　this　was　one　of　the　two　drinks　I　would　get　on　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　s