"I got him into the wagon, and then, not knowing what better to do, turned it at right angles to the course we had been pursuing, with the idea of making a circuit around the Indians. After that I hoped to regain our original direction, for I knew that in reaching the Moqui towns lay our only hope of safety. "For three days we wandered over the burning sands and amid the magic paintings of the desert, while our poor lad suffered agonies from his wound. By nightfall of the third day, our horse having already given out and been abandoned, the mules were too weak to travel another step, and I turned them loose to die. One staggered but a few yards before he fell, while the other wandered feebly out of sight. "That night, amid the crashings of a thunder-storm, our poor boy was mercifully relieved of his sufferings by death, and our only comfort was that we should shortly follow him. But we were to be reserved for further work, and even as we sat with our dead, the cry of one who was to save us was borne to our ears. I stepped from the wagon to listen, and by a flash of lightning saw the figure of a little child standing beside a dark object that lay on the ground. This proved to be an Indian woman, alive and conscious, but too feeble to rise. "Believing her to be starving, I carried her food, which both she and the child ate ravenously, and by daylight she was able to come to us. By signs I tried to learn from her if any of her people dwelt so near that we might hope to reach them; but she gave me to understand that she was lost, and knew not in what direction they might be found. The child, who was no other than this dear boy"--here the speaker laid his hand lovingly on Nanahe's shoulder--"was in so much better plight than his mother that she had evidently sacrificed her own strength to save his. "Months afterward we learned that she had been the Moqui wife of a Navajo brave, who had died shortly before our meeting with her. She had hardly been left a widow when a party of Navajos decided to make a raid on the flocks of their Moqui neighbors, and demanded that she should guide them to the best locality for their purpose. This, in spite of all threats, she refused to do, whereupon they drove her with her child into the desert, which they regarded as the place of lost spirits, forbidding her ever to return, under penalty of torture to her child and death for herself. So she, like ourselves, had wandered hopelessly until she had discovered the dying mule that I had turned loose, and followed his trail to our vicinity. From the first I called her Hagar.