CHAPTER XI.

Out of Death Valley we surely were.  To Rogers and I, the case seemed hopeful, for we had confidence in the road and believed all would have power to weather difficulties, but the poor women—­it is hard to say what complaints and sorrows were not theirs.  They seemed to think they stood at death’s door, and would about as soon enter, as to take up a farther march over the black, desolate mountains and dry plains before them, which they considered only a dreary vestibule to the dark door after all.  They even had an idea that the road was longer than we told them, and they never could live to march so far over the sandy, rocky roads.  The first day nearly satisfied them that it was no use to try, Rogers and I counted up the camps we ought to reach each day and in this way could pretty near convince them of time that would be consumed in the trip.  We encouraged them in every way we could; told them we had better get along a little every day and make ourselves a little nearer the promised land, and the very exercise would soon make them stronger and able to make a full day’s march.

John and I told them we felt in much better spirits now than we did when we set out alone, and now that nothing but the arrows of an Indian could stop us.  We said to them.  “We are not going to leave you two ladies out here to die for there is not a sign of a grave to put you in,—­” and it was a pretty tough place to think of making one.  We told them of the beautiful flowery hillsides over the other side and begged them to go over there to die, as it would be so much better and easier to perform the last sad rites there instead of here on the top of the dismal mountain.  It seemed quite like a grim joke, but it produced a reaction that turned the tide of thoughts and brought more courage.  We only laid out the march for this day as far as the falls and after a little prepared to move.  The cattle seemed to have quit their foolishness, and they were loaded without trouble.  The children fitted into the pockets better than usual, and the mothers with full canteens strapped across their shoulders picked out soft places on which to place their poor blistered feet at every step.  They walked as if they were troubled with corns on every toe and on their heels into the bargain, and each foot was so badly affected, that they did not know on which one to limp.  But still they moved, and we were once more on our way westward.  They often stopped to rest, and Arcane waited for them with Old Crump, while they breathed and complained awhile and then passed on again.

[Illustration:  The Oxen Get Frisky.]

The route was first along the foot of the high peak, over bare rocks and we soon turned south somewhat so as to enter the canon leading down to the falls.  The bottom of this was thick with broken rock, and the oxen limped and picked out soft places about as bad as the women did.  A pair of moccasins would not last long in such rocks and we hoped to get out of them very soon.  Rogers and I hurried along, assisting Arcane and his party as much as we could, while Bennett staid behind and assisted the women as much as possible, taking their arms, and by this means they also reached camp an hour behind the rest.