s together,
until frenzy sets in, or actual delirium comes to his relief. I look
back on that desert as the most frightful nightmare of my existence.

As if Nature had not done her worst, we were doomed, on the second day
out from Salt Lake, to hear, at one station, where we stopped, horrid
rumors of Goshoots on the war-path, and, ere the day reached its noon,
to find their proofs irrefragable. Every now and then we saw in the
potash-dust moccasin-tracks, with the toes turned in, and presently my
field-glass revealed a hideous devil skulking in the mile-off ledges,
who was none other than a Goshoot spy. How far off were the scalpers and
burners?

The first afternoon-stage that day was a long and terrible one. The poor
horses could hardly drag our crazy wagon, up to its hubs in potash; and
yet we knew our only safety, in case of attack, was a running fight. We
must fire from our windows as the horses flew.

About four o'clock we entered a terrible defile, which seemed planned by
Nature for treachery and ambush. The great, black, barren rocks of
porphyry and trachyte rose three hundred feet above our heads, their
lower and nearer ledges being all so many natural parapets to fire over,
loop-holed with chinks to fire through. There were ten rifles in our
party. We ran them out, five on a side, ready to send the first red
villain who peeped over the breastworks to quick perdition. Our
six-shooters lay across our laps, our bowie-knives were at our sides,
our cartouch-boxes, crammed with ready vengeance, swung open on our
breast-straps. We sat with tight-shut teeth,--only muttering now and
then to each other, in a glum undertone, "Don't get nervous,--don't
throw a single shot away,--take aim,--remember it's for _home_!"
Something of that sort, or a silent squeeze of the hand, was all that
passed, as we sat with one eye glued to the ledges and our guns
unswerving. None of us, I think, were cowards; but the agony of sitting
there, tugging along two miles an hour, expecting to hear a volley of
yells and musketry ring over the next ledge, drinking the cup of thought
to its miscroscopic dregs,--_that_ was worse than fear!

Only one consolation was left us. In the middle of the defile stood an
overland station, where we were to get fresh horses. The next stage was
twenty miles long. If we were attacked in force, we might manage to run
it, almost the whole way, unless the Indians succeeded in shooting one
of our team,--the _coup_