“I tell you, Mr. Orphan, daylight's a thundering fine thing, and I'm going to hanker for it for twenty-four hours at a stretch from now on for right smart of a spell. What sleep I took last night I took in jerks; and what, between seeing Indians and finding dead men, there was no manner of comfort in it.” “I was some that way myself,” admitted Jim. “But there's a thing or two I can't just understand, Jim; there wasn't so much as the broken haft of an arrow anywhere about that hill; and a many of them hosses was shod all round.” “What do you think?” asked Jim. “Well, I reckon I don't think—I'm plumb beat.” “I'd like mighty well to have learned who they was, and where they came from. I reckon they got friends and kin back in the States who wouldn't mind hearing what had become of them,” said Jim. “I guess there's no use our figuring on finding that out; it's annoying, but it can't be helped,” and the Missourian shook his head with an air of settled conviction; “I done my best; I went through 'em for papers or letters; but you seen there was nary the scratch of a pen.” “I had a brother once,” began Jim, with an air of reminiscent melancholy, “George was his name; and he was some older than me. He went like that; leastways he just sort of never came back to explain what was keeping him. He crossed the Mississippi to hunt and never showed up any more. We 'lowed after a time the Indians had got him all right; and when folks would come round the place asking if we'd heard anything new about George, it was powerful distressing to mother; she'd a sort of special fancy for George.” After this they continued in silence for a little time, and then, as usual, it was the Missourian who renewed the conversation. “Who do you reckon had a leg over them shod hosses, Jim?” he asked. “I ain't the least idea in the world, unless it was redskins,” Jim responded. “I guess you're right, maybe. It must have been redskins.” Yet it was plain that he was not satisfied, for again and again as the morning advanced he returned to the subject. Finally, however, he seemed to weary of fruitless theorizing, for he drew the map with which the trapper at Fort Bridger had furnished him, from his pocket, and fell to studying it. “He was a right clever cuss, Jim—we've covered each day just about the distances he said we would; I've marked 'em all off. At this rate about four days more will fetch us out at Raymond's ranch on the bench above Salt Lake; that's the first Mormon settlement we strike. He was sort of sour on Mormons in general, but he spoke well of this heah Raymond.” The contemplation of the map, and the prospect of so soon reaching the valley had a noticeably cheering effect on him; he began to sing, and the song was a classic of the trail. “Oberdier, he dreampt a dream, Dreampt he was drivin' a ten mule team, But when he woke, he heaved a sigh, The lead mule kicked out the swing mule's eye.”