“We had better go to bed,” exclaimed the Captain, rising. “These questions have taken a wide range, and we’ve all followed that poor Mormon devotee beyond her depth and our own.” “But such discussions relieve the monotony of travel and sometimes lead to independent thought,” said Lengthy, who had sat squat upon his heels and haunches, a silent listener. “God be with our Mormon sister,” said Scotty, rising and adjusting his crutches. “Let us hope for her a safe journey to some friendly spot where polygamy ceases from troubling, and the saints are at rest!” “That’s from the Bible,” cried Hal. “Nobody can conceive of a better method of expressing an idea than that modelled after the language of the Bible,” was the ready retort. “If I were as pronounced an agnostic as our Captain pretends to be, which I am not, I’d read my Bible daily, if for no other reason than to improve my vocabulary. Read it, Hal; study its precepts; imitate its language; revere its antiquity; emulate the example of its good men; shun the sins of its Davids and Solomons; fill your mind with the wisdom of its Isaiahs and Deborahs; and, above all, obey its Ten Commandments and follow the teachings of the Sermon on the Mount and the Golden Rule.” “I’ll see spooks to-night!” cried Jean. * * * * * As these chronicles will have no further dealings with the Mormon refugee, it is well to add, in closing the incident, that twenty years after the episode had passed and was almost forgotten, some of the members of the long disbanded Ranger train, who were passing through eastern Oregon, on their way to the mines of northern Idaho, found her keeping a “Travellers’ Rest” in the bunchgrass country, where, as cook, chambermaid, waiter, and general scullion, she was supporting her repentant consort, who dutifully received the cash given by her guests in exchange for such food for man and beast as her unique hostelry afforded. XXV _JEAN LOSES HER WAY_ A stanch but frail-looking ferry-boat waited to carry the Ranger train across Green River. Jean, who, after her mother’s death, had developed a strong propensity for daily hours of solitude, looked longingly at the desolate scenery while her father’s train was awaiting its turn at the ferry, and, noting the great table-rock that still overlooks the river, climbed unaided to its top, where she became so deeply absorbed in contemplating the wild, weird character of the scenery about her that she did not see that the afternoon was waning, until the sun was down. “The Psalmist wondered at the mystery of the heavens, but I marvel at the mysteries of earth,” she said. “Tell me, ye rugged rocks, and you, ye waters of the desert, the secret of existence, if you can. Am I alone with Thee, O God? Or are these rough-ribbed rocks, like me, instinct with life?”