water, or anything to eat?”
“No, nothing, dear. Be patient, and then you’ll be all right. What’s that?”
“Pretty things! Fine things!” cried the little girl enthusiastically. She held up two glittering fragments of mica. “When we come back home I’ll give them to brother Bob.”
“You’ll see prettier things soon,” said the man confidently. “Just wait a bit. Do you remember when we left the river?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Well, there was something wrong; compasses, or map, or something, you see. And we have no water.”
“And you can’t wash yourself,” interrupted his companion gravely.
“No, nor drink. And Mr. Bender was the first who dies, and then Indian Pete, and then Mrs. McGregor, and then Johnny Hones, and then, my dear, your mother.”
“Oh, mother is dead too!” cried the little girl.
“Yes, they all went except you and me. And there’s a small chance for us now!”
“Do you mean that we are going to die too?” asked the child.
“I think so.”
“Why didn’t you say so before?” she said. “So we’ll be with mother again.”
“Yes, you will, dear.”
“And you too. She will meet us at the door of Heaven with a big pitcher of water, and a lot
of buckwheat cakes. How long will we wait?”
“I don’t know-not very long.”
The man saw three large brown birds. They were buzzards, the vultures of the west, the forerunners of death.
“Cocks and hens,” cried the little girl gleefully. “Say, did God make this country?”
“In course He did,” said her companion.
“He made Illinois, and He made Missouri,” the little girl continued. “I guess somebody else made the country here. They forgot the water and the trees.”
“We can pray, can’t we?” the man said.
“Then kneel down,” the little girl said.
It was a strange sight. Side by side on the narrow shawl knelt the two wanderers, the little child and the reckless adventurer.
The prayer finished. They went to sleep.
Far away the tilts of waggons and the figures of armed horsemen began to show up. It was a great caravan upon its journey for the West.
At the head of the column there rode grave men. They held a short council among themselves.
“The wells are to the right, my brothers,” said a man with grizzly hair.
“To the right of the Sierra Blanco-so we shall reach the Rio Grande,” said another.
Suddenly they saw pink clothes.
“I shall go forward and see, Brother Stangerson,” said a horseman.
“And I,” “and I,” cried a dozen voices.
“Leave your horses below and we will await you here,” the Elder answered.
In a moment the horsemen dismounted, fastened their horses, and were ascending the slope. They advanced rapidly and noiselessly.
On the little plateau there stood a single giant boulder, and against this boulder there lay a tall man, he was asleep. Beside him lay a little child. On the ledge of rock above this strange couple there stood three buzzards, who, at the sight of the new comers flew sullenly away.
The cries of the birds awoke the two sleepers. The man staggered to his feet and looked around. “This is what they call delirium, I guess,” he muttered. The child stood beside him.
The newcomers convinced them that their appearance was no delusion. One of them seized the little girl, and hoisted her upon his shoulder, while two others assisted her gaunt companion towards the waggons.
“My name is John Ferrier,” the wanderer explained; “we were twenty-one people. The rest are all dead in the south.”
“Is she your child?” asked someone.
“Yes, she is,” the man answered, defiantly; “she’s mine because I saved her. No man will take her from me. She’s Lucy Ferrier. Who are you? I see many people here.”
“About ten thousand,” said one of the young men; “we are the children of God.”
“Oh, He has many children,” said the wanderer, “a crowd.”
“Do not jest at that which is sacred,” said the other sternly. “We believe in those sacred writings, drawn in Egyptian letters on plates of beaten gold, which were handed unto the holy Joseph Smith at Palmyra. We come from Nauvoo, in the State of Illinois, where we founded our temple. We seek a refuge from the violent man and from the godless people.”
“I see,” the man said, “you are the Mormons.”
“We are the Mormons,” answered his companions.
“And where are you going?”
“We do not know. The hand of God is leading us. You must come before our Prophet. He will say what to do with you.”
They reached a great beautiful waggon. Six horses were yoked to it. Beside the driver there sat a man, thirty years of age. His massive head and resolute expression marked him as a leader. He was reading a volume, but as the crowd approached he laid it aside, and listened attentively to the story of the castaways. Then he turned to them.
“If we take you with us,” he said, “you must become believers in our creed. We shall have no wolves in our fold. Will you come with us on these terms[47]?”
“I’ll come with you on any terms,” said Ferrier.
“Take him, Brother Stangerson,” he said, “give him food and drink, and the child likewise. Teach him our holy creed. Forward! On, on to Zion!”
“On, on to Zion!” cried the crowd of Mormons.
The Elder led the two waifs to his waggon, where a meal was already awaiting them.
“You will remain here,” he said. “Remember that now and for ever you are of our religion. Brigham Young said it, and he spoke with the voice of Joseph Smith, which is the voice of God.”
Chapter II
The Flower of Utah
The Mormons were going forward before they came to their final haven. The savage men, and the savage beast, hunger, thirst, fatigue, and disease-they overcame all this with Anglo-Saxon tenacity. When they saw the broad valley of Utah beneath them, they learned from the lips of their leader that this was the promised
on these terms – на этих условиях
