ures, that looked so formidable from in front and so
insignificant from behind. They saw slim, swift little antelope and,
on the far horizon, they sometimes made out moving dots that must be
Indians. Their numbers and their vigilance, however, seemed great
enough to keep them safe from attack.

A deadly weariness began to fall upon them all, so that Abner Blythe
became morose and silent, his wife looked haggard and hollow-eyed,
the men grew irritable, and the animals lagged more and more. Others
who had passed that way had left many of their footsore beasts behind
them--horses, oxen, cows, and sheep--to fall a prey at once to the
great gray prairie wolves that hung behind every wagon train, waiting
for the stragglers who could not keep up.

"It is only the human beings who have the courage to go on," Abner
Blythe said to Felix. "You would think that horses were stronger than
men and oxen the strongest of all, but the beasts give up and lie down
by the road to die, yet the men keep on. It is not strength but spirit
that carries us all to our journey's end."

There was one high-spirited black mare, the dearly beloved of Felix's
heart, who, whether dragging at the heavy wagon or cantering under the
saddle, was always full of energy and fire. She was the boy's especial
charge, and, as the weeks passed, the two became such friends as are
only produced by long companionship and unbelievable hardships endured
together. It was a dreadful hour when, one night as they were making
camp, the little mare lay down and not even for a feed of oats or the
precious lump of sugar offered her, would she get up again. The very
spirit that had driven her forward more bravely than the rest had
produced greater exhaustion now.

"We will have to go on without her," said Abner Blythe dejectedly, as
they sat about the camp fire.

Felix was feeding the flame with the sparse fuel, and Anna Blythe,
Abner's wife, was sitting on a roll of blankets with her child on her
lap. The little boy was ill and lay wailing against her shoulder.

"Don't leave the mare," Felix begged. "A day or two of rest will cure
her entirely. There is water here, and grass beside the stream. We
could camp two or three days until she can go on."

Abner shook his head wearily.

"We have no time to waste," he declared. "It is August now and we must
cross the mountains before the middle of September. We haven't a day,
not even an hour, to lose."

Anna Blythe sighed a de