"How distinctly you can see in this wonderful atmosphere," exclaimed Governor Powell. "I should think that town but a few miles away, and that lake shimmering in the distance is, how far away? A dozen or so miles?" The Governor smiled as he explained distances and details with the growing enthusiasm which ever belonged to even temporary ownership in Utah scenery. "This is the most wonderful place in the world. The eye is not weary, the brain is not taxed, nor the body aged, by life in this salubrious climate. And you can see objects many miles away. Indeed the clearness of the air makes distance a very deceptive matter." "Make it all a little more civilized," growled the weary Major. As the party rode down into the streets, the tomb-like silence greeted them uncannily, and the faces of the Commissioners were puzzled and anxious. "What does all this deserted look mean?" asked Major McCulloch. "Sir," answered the Governor, "I must now inform you of a condition in this Territory which I had hoped would be over and done with when we returned to this Valley. Brigham Young told me some weeks ago that he should vacate every town and hamlet in this Territory. More, he should set fire to every house, destroy every green thing, and leave behind him a desolate waste, such as he found when he came here." "Zounds, man, how can the old rebel dare to do such a thing?" asked the Major. "Major McCulloch, Brigham Young may be a fanatic, but he is not nor never has been, I am persuaded, a rebel. He loves his country as dearly as ever you did. And, sir, I cannot hear him vilified, even by a Peace Commissioner." The tone of gentle quiet in the last words robbed them of their ironical sting, and the irascible old soldier grunted as he shifted his position on his tired steed. "These people have been most unjustly treated, so they think, and if you are to be peacemakers, you must meet them on their own footing, and not on any stilted plane of your own setting up." The silent streets, the empty houses, the absence of even a dog or other animal was very mournful, and not a man in the party but felt the pressure of that heavy grief. The rattle of their horses' feet echoed far up the empty street. Zion had fled! "What a pity there were not poet or artist here," said Governor Powell, as they rode with noisy echoes along the silent roads. Overhead the young cottonwood trees were throwing delicate shadows upon the trickling streams that coursed down by every sidewalk. In the well fenced city lots, surrounding the comfortable but lonely and deserted houses, had been planted generous kitchen gardens, now withering and dun in the sweltering sun. The forge of the blacksmith was silent and black through its widely opened door, and most of the windows and doors were barred and closed, while the flaunting weeds in all the streets and sidewalks bore eloquent evidence of the desertion of man.