The Arizona Desert 



Jones and I got on the first wagon and tried to 

 coax up the dogs, but they would not come. Emmett 

 had to lash the four horses to start them; and other 

 Mormons riding alongside, yelled at them, and used 

 their whips. The wagon bowled into the water with 

 a tremendous splash. We were wet through before 

 we had gone twenty feet. The plunging horses were 

 lost in yellow spray; the stream rushed through the 

 wheels; the Mormons yelled. I wanted to see, but 

 was lost in a veil of yellow mist. Jones yelled in 

 my ear, but I could not hear what he said. Once 

 the wagon wheels struck a stone or log, almost lurch 

 ing us overboard. A muddy splash blinded me. I 

 cried out in my excitement, and punched Jones in the 

 back. Next moment, the keen exhilaration of the 

 ride gave way to horror. We seemed to drag, and 

 almost stop. Some one roared: &quot; Horse down!&quot; 

 One instant of painful suspense, in which imagination 

 pictured another tragedy added to the record of this 

 deceitful river a moment filled with intense feeling, 

 and sensation of splash, and yell, and fury of action ; 

 then the three able horses dragged their comrade 

 out of the quicksand. He regained his feet, and 

 plunged on. Spurred by fear, the horses increased 

 their efforts, and amid clouds of spray, galloped the 

 remaining distance to the other side. 



Jones looked disgusted. Like all plainsmen, he 



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