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honesty, blasphemous impiety, satyrian immodesty, and quintessential wickedness, loved, sought after, practiced for its own dear, radical, and unassisted sake; a compound of three parts Balfour of Burley, a dozen of some bandit chieftain of the Abruzzi, ten of Autolycus, fifty of Caligula, five hundred of Silenus, and the remaining equivalents in a scale of thousands belonging to the old original Sathanas himself. Seven hundred miles of horse-travel through ninety-six thousand monsters compounded after formula! fancy the agony of a poor little Swiss who had that before him, with half his worldly fortune in French Louis-d'or galling his ribs in a sort of India rubber pack-saddle (Paris patent), and the other half in San Francisco credits, covered with sheets also of rubber, and sewed up within the lining of his coat! I may forget him if I leave his conclusion to fall into its proper chronology; so I will skip ahead with him, and give him his definite dismissal in a few words.

Having come to regard our protection as his only salvation, he altered his original plan of going on to Washoe night and day, sans arrête, and stayed over with us during the time we spent in Brigham's capital.

We resumed our journey at the peril of our lives, the whole Desert at that time reeking with massacre. Here our horrors began. For three hundred miles we rode expecting death in every cañon. But the Indian had no terrors for poor little Foiedelis. The stoutest hearts that beat in our breasts were heavy as lead, and we thought a great deal of our mothers and sisters and wives. But the face of Foiedelis, with every league that put Salt Lake further behind, grew more and more like a wilted pippin under an exhausted receiver. We reached Ruby Valley one

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afternoon at sundown. We climbed from the military post at that point through Hastings' Pass, up the tremendous eastern slope of the first range of the Humboldt Mountains. It was after midnight when our last panting relay stopped to breathe on the summit round of that wonderful scaling ladder of the Titans. Under the unflickering stars of that vaporless upper firmament we seemed unbosomed, purged of all care, so close to them that their measureless quiet and endurance looked clear down into us, read us, knew us, soothed us like children who had come home to them from prodigal wanderings in the desert of the world below. Set the White Mountains there! the flattered, the boasted of the East. The star-shadows of our lower ridge would eclipse them; taken into the shelter of a sublimity which merged them with its flanking foot-hills, they would be obliterated as independent existences, yet have glory enough in swelling a grandeur by which it is no shame to be conquered. From this height of vision we seemed to see half a world- the globe around and down to its very girdle. It was the grandest night-sight I ever saw in nature. We had well-nigh forgotten the horrors out of which we had now climbed forever. Our hearts seemed to beat close against the everlasting youth of the heavens; we could not think of the imminent slaughter skulking with us three days ago through steppes of dazzling, blistering sand and gnarled, funereal wormwood; probable slaughter yesterday; possible slaughter all day long to-day. Life, life, everlasting life, fresh distilled for our first breathing, right out of the loving heaven itself; dew from the nectaries of amaranth and asphodel, to wipe from the anxious wrinkles of heart and brow the dust

which the sirocco had powdered on us from the leaves of the wormwood.

But, lest we should forget devout thanksgiving in the levity of mere selfish safety and boastful joy, sudden reminders of the greatness of our salvation. catch our eyes as we bend them eastward over the night-empurpled immensity of the far-down desert. Not meant as such reminders-ah, no! though the grateful heart turns all evilest things out of their evilest purpose into goodness and blessing, as the sun melts the very offal of the world into mother liquor for precious crystals and life-blood for flowers of Eden. The Goshoot devils, who have been dogging our steps with the arrow and tomahawk, are lighting up their signal fires on the black porphyry crags which rise from the floor of the desert. Like eyes of baffled fiends, they wink up at us out of the dark, opening, one after the other, till more than a score gleam balefully between our mighty mountain citadel and the far horizon. But we are forever out of the demons' clutches. We have passed the hostile boundary, we have climbed the tremendous barrier, and the key to our stronghold is held by a sturdy garrison of Californians, thousands of feet below in the Ruby Valley post. Each man rejoices after his temperament: one thanks God quietly; another utters a deep sigh of relief as for the first time in days he slings his rifle over his head, and shuts his eyes to sleep; another whirls his slouch about his head, breaking into cheers and song. Only Foiedelis remains stolid amid the general joy. Somebody has told him that he is not yet out of Utah, though he is out of the Goshoots. He will not halloo till he gets out of the woods. So he waits. When the day dawns, when we cross the second ridge, go

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