UN STUDIA EN SCARLATA
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Capitol 8: Sur la plano grande alcalin

PARTE DU
La pais de la santas

PART TWO
The Country of the Saints

8. On the Great Alkali Plain

Mostra ance la testo orijinal

En la parte sentral de la continente grande America Norde, on ave un deserto seca e repulsante, cual tra multe anios longa ia servi como un parador contra la avansa de sivilia. De la Sierra Nevada asta Nebraska, e de la Rio Yellowstone en la norde asta la Colorado a la sude, on ave un rejion de vacuia e silentia. E la natur no ave sempre un sola umor tra esta distrito sever. Lo es composada de montes alta con xapos de neva, e vales oscur e sombre. On ave rios rapida fluente cual freta tra caniones sierin; e on ave planos enorme, cual en inverno es blanca con neva, e en estate es gris con la polvo alcalin de sal. Tota de los conserva, an tal, la cualias comun de sterilia, nonbonveni e miseria.

In the central portion of the great North American continent there lies an arid and repulsive desert, which for many a long year served as a barrier against the advance of civilisation. From the Sierra Nevada to Nebraska, and from the Yellowstone River in the north to the Colorado upon the south, is a region of desolation and silence. Nor is nature always in one mood throughout this grim district. It comprises snowcapped and lofty mountains, and dark and gloomy valleys. There are swift-flowing rivers which dash through jagged canyons; and there are enormous plains, which in winter are white with snow, and in summer are grey with the saline alkali dust. They all preserve, however, the common characteristics of barrenness, inhospitality and misery.

No persones abita esta tera de despera. Cisa un bande de tribus pauni o picani traversa lo a veses per ateni otra locas de xasa, ma la plu durantes de la corajosas es felis cuando los perde la vista de acel planos stonante e trova denova se sur sua prados. La coiote asconde en la subosce, la buteo bate pesosa tra la aira, e la urso gris bambola torpe tra la fosones oscur e prende tal susta como lo pote entre la rocas. Estas es la sola abitores en la savajeria.

There are no inhabitants of this land of despair. A band of Pawnees or of Blackfeet may occasionally traverse it in order to reach other hunting-grounds, but the hardiest of the braves are glad to lose sight of those awesome plains, and to find themselves once more upon their prairies. The coyote skulks among the scrub, the buzzard flaps heavily through the air, and the clumsy grizzly bear lumbers through the dark ravines and picks up such sustenance as it can amongst the rocks. These are the sole dwellers in the wilderness.

En tota la mundo, on pote ave no vista plu blanda ca lo de la inclina norde de la Sierra Blanco. A tan distante como la oio pote ateni, la tera plana de planos vasta estende, intera covreda con areas de alcalin polvin e crusada par grupos maraniada de arboretas nano. A la borda estrema de la orizon es un cadena longa de apicos montanial, con sua culminas ru decorada con neva. Esta zona grande de tera conteni no sinia de vive, o de cualce cosa pertinente a vive. On ave no avia en la sielo de azul aserin, no move sur la tera mate e gris — supra tota, on ave silentia asoluta. An si on escuta, on oia no ombra de sona en tota acel savajeria potiosa; mera silentia — silentia completa, dominante la cor.

In the whole world there can be no more dreary view than that from the northern slope of the Sierra Blanco. As far as the eye can reach stretches the great flat plain-land, all dusted over with patches of alkali and intersected by clumps of the dwarfish chaparral bushes. On the extreme verge of the horizon lies a long chain of mountain peaks, with their rugged summits flecked with snow. In this great stretch of country there is no sign of life, nor of anything appertaining to life. There is no bird in the steel-blue heaven, no movement upon the dull, grey earth — above all, there is absolute silence. Listen as one may, there is no shadow of a sound in all that mighty wilderness; nothing but silence — complete and heart-subduing silence.

On ia dise ja ce no cosa pertine a vive sur la plano larga. Esta es apena vera. Regardante a su de la Sierra Blanco, on vide un rua trasada tra la deserto, cual serpe a via e deveni perdeda en la distantia estrema. Lo es ranurida par rotas e erodeda par la pedes de multe aventurores. Asi e ala, ojetos blanca es sperdeda, sintilinte su la sol e clar vidable contra la deponeda mate de alcalin. Prosimi, e esamina los! Los es osos: alga es grande e ru, otras es plu peti e delicata. Aceles ia parteni a boves, e estas a persones. Tra du mil cilometres on pote deteta esta curso macabre de caravan par esta restas sperdeda de los ci ia cade a lado de la via.

It has been said there is nothing appertaining to life upon the broad plain. That is hardly true. Looking down from the Sierra Blanco, one sees a pathway traced out across the desert, which winds away and is lost in the extreme distance. It is rutted with wheels and trodden down by the feet of many adventurers. Here and there are scattered white objects which glisten in the sun, and stand out against the dull deposit of alkali. Approach, and examine them! They are bones: some large and coarse, others smaller and more delicate. The former have belonged to oxen, and the latter to men. For fifteen hundred miles one may trace this ghastly caravan route by these scattered remains of those who have fallen by the wayside.

Regardante de supra esta sena mesma, a la cuatro de maio, 1847, un viajor solitar ia sta. Sua aspeta ia es tal ce el ia es cisa la spirito o demon de la rejion. Un oservor ia ta trova difisilia en dise esce sua eda es plu prosima a cuatrodes o setedes anios. Sua fas ia es magra e fatigada, e la pel brun e pergaminin ia es tensa tirada supra la osos protendente; sua capeles e barba longa e brun ia conteni multe puntos e filos de blanca; sua oios ia es afondada en sua testa, e ia brilia con foco nonatural, e la mano cual ia teni sua fusil ia es apena plu carnosa ca lo de un sceleto. En sta, el ia apoia sur sua arma per suporta, ma sua figur alta e la strutur masosa de sua osos ia sujesta un corpo durante e enerjiosa. Sua fas magra, an tal, e sua vestes, cual ia pende tan laxe supra sua membros plietada, ia proclama lo cual dona a el esta aspeta senil e ruinada. La om ia es morinte — morinte de famia e de sidia.

Looking down on this very scene, there stood, upon the fourth of May, 1847, a solitary traveller. His appearance was such that he might have been the very genius or demon of the region. An observer would have found it difficult to say whether he was nearer to forty or to sixty. His face was lean and haggard, and the brown parchment-like skin was drawn tightly over the projecting bones; his long, brown hair and beard were all flecked and dashed with white; his eyes were sunken in his head, and burned with an unnatural lustre, while the hand which grasped his rifle was hardly more fleshy than that of a skeleton. As he stood, he leaned upon his weapon for support, and yet his tall figure and the massive framework of his bones suggested a wiry and vigorous constitution. His gaunt face, however, and his clothes, which hung so baggily over his shrivelled limbs, proclaimed what it was that gave him that senile and decrepit appearance. The man was dying — dying from hunger and from thirst.

El ia desende ja laborosa la canion e a sur esta alta peti, con espera futil de vide alga sinias de acua. Aora la plano grande alcalin ia estende ante sua oios asta la zona distante de montes savaje, sin sinia a cualce parte de un planta o arbor cual ta indica cisa la presentia de umidia. En tota acel vista larga on ia ave no sintil de espera. A norde e este e ueste el ia regarda con oios savaje demandante, e alora el ia comprende ce sua vagas ia veni a sua fini, e ce ala, sur acel presipe steril, el ia es a punto de mori. “Perce no asi, tan bon como en un leto de plumas, pos dudes anios?” el ia farfulia, en cuando el ia senta se en la ombra de un rocon.

He had toiled painfully down the ravine and on to this little elevation, in the vain hope of seeing some signs of water. Now the great salt plain stretched before his eyes to the distant belt of savage mountains, without a sign anywhere of plant or tree which might indicate the presence of moisture. In all that broad landscape there was no gleam of hope. North and east and west he looked with wild, questioning eyes, and then he realised that his wanderings had come to an end, and that there, on that barren crag, he was about to die. “Why not here as well as in a feather bed, twenty years hence?” he muttered, as he seated himself in the shelter of a boulder.

Ante senta se, el ia pone sur la tera sua fusil nonusosa, e ance un faxo grande liada en un xal gris, cual el ia porta como un xarpe sur sua spala destra. Lo ia pare es alga tro pesosa per sua fortia, car cuando el ia basi lo, lo ia desende a la tera con un pico tro de rapidia. Un esclama jeminte ia esplode direta de la paco gris, e un fas peti e asustada ia apare de en lo, con oios brun e multe briliante, e du punios peti plen de manxetas e indentes.

Before sitting down, he had deposited upon the ground his useless rifle, and also a large bundle tied up in a grey shawl, which he had carried slung over his right shoulder. It appeared to be somewhat too heavy for his strength, for when he lowered it, it came down on the ground with some little violence. Instantly there broke from the grey parcel a little moaning cry, and from it there protruded a small, scared face, with very bright brown eyes, and two little speckled, dimpled fists.

“Tu ia dole me!” un vose enfantin ia dise reproxosa.

“You’ve hurt me!” said a childish voice reproachfully.

“Ma esce vera?” la om ia responde repentinte; “me no ia intende lo.” Parlante, el ia desenvolve la xal gris e ia estrae un xica peti beleta con eda de sirca sinco anios, de ci sua sapatos delicata e sua roba de ros refinada con faldon peti de lino ia atesta coletiva la cura de un madre. La enfante ia es pal e sin color, ma sua brasos e gamas sana ia mostra ce el ia sufri min ca sua acompanior.

“Have I, though,” the man answered penitently; “I didn’t go for to do it.” As he spoke he unwrapped the grey shawl and extricated a pretty little girl of about five years of age, whose dainty shoes and smart, pink frock with its little linen apron all bespoke a mother’s care. The child was pale and wan, but her healthy arms and legs showed that she had suffered less than her companion.

“Como lo vade aora?” esta ia responde ansiosa, car la xica ia es ancora frotante la marania de risas oro covrente la retro de sua testa.

“How is it now?” he answered anxiously, for she was still rubbing the towsy golden curls which covered the back of her head.

“Besa lo per boni lo,” el ia dise, con seria perfeta, puxante a el la parte contusada. “Mama ia fa sempre acel. Do es mama?”

“Kiss it and make it well,” she said, with perfect gravity, shoving the injured part up to him. “That’s what mother used to do. Where’s mother?”

“Mama ia parti. Me suposa ce tu va vide el pos tempo corta.”

“Mother’s gone. I guess you’ll see her before long.”

“Parti, si?” la xica peti ia dise. “Strana, el no ia dise adio; el ia dise cuasi sempre lo si el ia vade mera a casa de Tia per te, e aora el es ja no asi tra tre dias. He, lo es mal seca, no? Esce nos ave no acua o cosas per come?”

“Gone, eh!” said the little girl. “Funny, she didn’t say goodbye; she ‘most always did if she was just goin’ over to auntie’s for tea, and now she’s been away three days. Say, it’s awful dry, ain’t it? Ain’t there no water nor nothing to eat?”

“No, nos ave no cosa, cara. Tu debe es pasiente per un tempo, e a pos tu va es estra peril. Pone tua testa contra me, e tal tu va senti plu bon. Parla no es fasil tra labios de cuoro, ma me suposa ce me debe clari a tu la situa. Cual tu ave ala?”

“No, there ain’t nothing, dearie. You’ll just need to be patient awhile, and then you’ll be all right. Put your head up ag’in me like that, and then you’ll feel bullier. It ain’t easy to talk when your lips is like leather, but I guess I’d best let you know how the cards lie. What’s that you’ve got?”

“Cosas beleta! Cosas valuada!” la xica peti ia esclama zelosa, levante du fratos de mica sintilinte. “Cuando nos revade a casa, me va dona los a frate Bob.”

“Pretty things! fine things!” cried the little girl enthusiastically, holding up two glittering fragments of mica. “When we goes back to home I’ll give them to brother Bob.”

“Tu va vide pronto cosas plu beleta ca los,” la om ia dise con sertia. Ta ce tu espeta mera alga. Me ia es a punto de dise — tu recorda cuando nos ia vade a via de la rio?”

“You’ll see prettier things than them soon,” said the man confidently. “You just wait a bit. I was going to tell you though — you remember when we left the river?”

“O, si.”

“Oh, yes.”

“Bon, nos ia suposa ce nos va ateni un otra rio pos no longa, tu vide? Ma alga cosa ia malgida nos — la busola, o la mapa, o alga — e lo no ia apare. Nos ia usa tota la acua, estra mera un gota peti cual resta per tu, e — e —”

“Well, we reckoned we’d strike another river soon, d’ye see. But there was somethin’ wrong — compasses, or map, or somethin’, and it didn’t turn up. Water ran out. Just except a little drop for the likes of you, and — and -”

“E tu no ia pote lava tu,” sua acompanior ia interompe seria, con regarda fisada a sua fas susia.

“And you couldn’t wash yourself,” interrupted his companion gravely, staring up at his grimy visage.

“No, e no ia bevi. E Sr Bender, el ia es la prima ci ia parti, segueda par Pete la Nativa, e par Sra McGregor, e par Johnny Hones, e alora, careta, par tua madre.”

“No, nor drink. And Mr Bender, he was the fust to go, and then Indian Pete, and then Mrs McGregor, and then Johnny Hones, and then, dearie, your mother.”

“Donce mama es ance un mor,” la xica peti ia esclama, basinte sua fas a sua faldon en plora amarga.

“Then mother’s a deader too,” cried the little girl, dropping her face in her pinafore and sobbing bitterly.

“Si, tota de los ia parti, estra tu e me. Alora me ia pensa ce on ave un posible de acua en esta dirije, donce me ia tira tu a sur mea spala e nos ia fa juntada la pasea longa. Lo no pare ce nos ia boni la situa. Aora nos no ave multe posibles plu!”

“Yes, they all went except you and me. Then I thought there was some chance of water in this direction, so I heaved you over my shoulder and we tramped it together. It don’t seem as though we’ve improved matters. There’s an almighty small chance for us now!”

“Tu vole dise ce nos va mori ance?” la enfante ia demanda, sesante sua sanglotas, e levante sua fas larmosa.

“Do you mean that we are going to die too?” asked the child, checking her sobs, and raising her tear-stained face.

“Me suposa ce lo es plu o min tal.”

“I guess that’s about the size of it.”

“Perce tu no ia dise a ante?” el ia dise, con ries joiosa. “Tu ia asusta vera me. Ma, aora clar, si nos va mori, nos va es denova con mama.”

“Why didn’t you say so before?” she said, laughing gleefully. “You gave me such a fright. Why, of course, now as long as we die we’ll be with mother again.”

“Si, tu va es, careta.”

“Yes, you will, dearie.”

“E ance tu. Me va dise a el ce tu ia es tan eselente. Me aposta ce el va encontra nos a la porte de paradiso con un carafa grande de acua, e un monton de tortetas de saraseno, calda, e tostada a ambos lados, como Bob e me ia gusta. Pos cuanto tempo lo va aveni?”

“And you too. I’ll tell her how awful good you’ve been. I’ll bet she meets us at the door of heaven with a big pitcher of water, and a lot of buckwheat cakes, hot, and toasted on both sides, like Bob and me was fond of. How long will it be first?”

“Me no sabe — no multe.” La oios de la om ia es fisada a la orizon norde. En la volta azul de la sielo, tre manxas peti ia apare con grandia cresente a cada momento, car los ia es tan rapida prosiminte. Los ia resolve pronto se a tre avias grande e brun, cual ia sirculi supra la testas de la du vagores e ia reposa a pos sur alga rocas per regarda los. Los ia es buteos, la vultures de la ueste, de cual sua veni es la eraldo de mori.

“I don’t know — not very long.” The man’s eyes were fixed upon the northern horizon. In the blue vault of the heavens there had appeared three little specks which increased in size every moment, so rapidly did they approach. They speedily resolved themselves into three large brown birds, which circled over the heads of the two wanderers and then settled upon some rocks which overlooked them. They were buzzards, the vultures of the West, whose coming is the forerunner of death.

“Gales e galetas,” la xica peti ia esclama felis, indicante sua formas menasante e batente sua manos per fa ce los asende. “He, esce Dio ia crea esta parte de tera?”

“Cocks and hens,” cried the little girl gleefully, pointing at their ill-omened forms, and clapping her hands to make them rise. “Say, did God make this country?”

“Ma natural,” sua acompanior ia dise, alga surprendeda par esta demanda nonespetada.

“Of course He did,” said her companion, rather startled by this unexpected question.

“El ia crea la tera ala en Illinois, e El ia crea la Missouri,” la xica peti ia continua. “Me suposa ce alga otra person ia crea la tera en esta partes. Lo es vera no tan bon fada. On ia oblida la acua e la arbores.”

“He made the country down in Illinois, and He made the Missouri,” the little girl continued. “I guess somebody else made the country in these parts. It’s not nearly so well done. They forgot the water and the trees.”

“Esce tu ta vole ofre alga preas?” la om ia demanda umil.

“What would ye think of offering up some prayers?” the man asked diffidently.

“Lo ancora no es la note,” el ia responde.

“It ain’t night yet,” she answered.

“Acel no importa. Lo no es intera normal, ma El no va es disturbada par esta, sabe. Ta ce tu repete los cual tu ia dise a cada note en la vagon cuando nos ia es sur la planos.”

“It don’t matter. It ain’t quite regular, but He won’t mind that, you bet. You say over them ones that you used to say every night in the wagon when we was on the plains.”

“Perce tu mesma no va dise alga preas?” la enfante ia demanda con oios merveliante.

“Why don’t you say some yourself?” the child asked with wondering eyes.

“Me no recorda los,” el ia responde. “Me no ia dise un prea de cuando me ia ave la dui de la altia de acel fusil. Nunca es tro tarda, me suposa. Ta ce tu dise los a vose, e me va espeta e acompania en la refrenes.”

“I disremember them,” he answered. “I hain’t said none since I was half the height o’ that gun. I guess it’s never too late. You say them out, and I’ll stand by and come in on the choruses.”

“Alora tu va debe ajena tu, e ance me,” el ia dise, estendente la xal con esta intende. “On debe leva sua manos como esta. En fa lo, on senti alga bon.”

“Then you’ll need to kneel down, and me too,” she said, laying the shawl out for that purpose. “You’ve got to put your hands up like this. It makes you feel kind o’ good.”

Lo ia es un vista strana, si cualcun estra la buteos ta pote vide lo. Con lado a lado sur la xal streta, la du vagores ia ajena, la enfante peti babelante e la aventuror durida par peril. La fas peti ronda e la profil fatigada angulo ia es ambos dirijeda a la sielo sin nube en suplica zelosa a acel Esente temeda ante ci los ia es con fas a fas, e la du voses — la un alta e clar, la otra basa e raspante — ia uni en la suplica per compatia e pardona. Pos fini la preas, los ia resenta se en la ombra de la rocon asta cuando la enfante ia adormi, nidinte se sur la peto larga de sua protejor. Esta ia vijila sua dormi tra alga tempo, ma la natur ia mostra se como tro forte per el. Tra tre dias e tre notes, el ia permete a se no pausa e no reposa. Lenta la palpebras ia desende per covre la oios fatigada, e la testa ia afonda sempre plu basa sur la peto, asta cuando la barba gris ia es miscada con la mexones oro de sua acompanior, e ambos ia fa la mesma dormi profonda e nonsoniante.

It was a strange sight had there been anything but the buzzards to see it. Side by side on the narrow shawl knelt the two wanderers, the little prattling child and the reckless, hardened adventurer. Her chubby face and his haggard, angular visage were both turned up to the cloudless heavens in heartfelt entreaty to that dread Being with whom they were face to face, while the two voices — the one thin and clear, the other deep and harsh — united in the entreaty for mercy and forgiveness. The prayers finished, they resumed their seat in the shadow of the boulder until the child fell asleep, nestling upon the broad breast of her protector. He watched over her slumber for some time, but nature proved to be too strong for him. For three days and three nights he had allowed himself neither rest nor repose. Slowly the eyelids drooped over the tired eyes, and the head sank lower and lower upon the breast, until the man’s grizzled beard was mixed with the gold tresses of his companion, and both slept the same deep and dreamless slumber.

Si la vagor ia ta resta veliada tra un plu dui de ora, un vista strana ia ta presenta se a sua oios. Distante, a la borda estrema de la plano alcalin, un jeta peti de polvo ia asende, multe pico a la comensa, e apena distinguable de la nebletas de la distantia, ma gradal deveninte plu alta e larga asta cuando lo ia formi un nube solida e bon definida. La grandia de esta nube ia continua crese asta cuando lo ia evidenti ce lo pote es levada sola par un multia grande de bestias movente. En locas plu fertil, la oservor ia ta veni a la conclui ce un de acel manadas grande de bisones, de ci sua pastos es la rejion de prados, prosimi a el. Esta ia es clar nonposible en esta savajeria seca. En cuando la jira de polvo ia veni plu prosima a la colina solitar sur cual la du perdedas reposa, la lonas covrente de vagones e la figures de cavalores armada ia comensa mostra se tra la nebleta, e la apare ia revela se como un caravan grande en sua viaja a la ueste. Ma un caravan tan vasta! Cuando la fronte de lo ia ateni la funda de la montes, la retro ancora no ia es vidable a la orizon. A traversa de tota la plano enorme la grupo sperdeda ia estende se, vagones e caros, omes sur cavalo e omes sur pede. Femes noncontable ci ia pasea bambolante su cargas, e enfantes ci ia pati a lado de la vagones o ia regarda a estra de su la covrentes blanca. Esta ia es evidente no colie comun de migrores, ma en fato alga popla nomada ci ia es obligada par situas presante a xerca per se un pais nova. Tra la aira clar, claces e ronces confusada ia leva de esta fola grande de umanas, con la cruji de rotas e la clama de cavalos. An si la sona ia es forte, lo no ia sufisi per velia la du viajores fatigada supra los.

Had the wanderer remained awake for another half-hour a strange sight would have met his eyes. Far away on the extreme verge of the alkali plain there rose up a little spray of dust, very slight at first, and hardly to be distinguished from the mists of the distance, but gradually growing higher and broader until it formed a solid, well-defined cloud. This cloud continued to increase in size until it became evident that it could only be raised by a great multitude of moving creatures. In more fertile spots the observer would have come to the conclusion that one of those great herds of bison which graze upon the prairie land was approaching him. This was obviously impossible in these arid wilds. As the whirl of dust drew nearer to the solitary bluff upon which the two castaways were reposing, the canvas-covered tilts of wagons and the figures of armed horsemen began to show up through the haze, and the apparition revealed itself as being a great caravan upon its journey for the West. But what a caravan! When the head of it had reached the base of the mountains, the rear was not yet visible on the horizon. Right across the enormous plain stretched the straggling array, wagons and carts, men on horseback and men on foot. Innumerable women who staggered along under burdens, and children who toddled beside the waggons or peeped out from under the white coverings. This was evidently no ordinary party of immigrants, but rather some nomad people who had been compelled from stress of circumstances to seek themselves a new country. There rose through the clear air a confused clattering and rumbling from this great mass of humanity, with the creaking of wheels and the neighing of horses. Loud as it was, it was not sufficient to rouse the two tired wayfarers above them.

A la testa de la colona, dudes o plu omes seria ia vade sur cavalo, con fases de fero, portante vestes sombre e simple, e armada con fusiles. Ateninte la funda de la presipe, los ia para e ia fa un consilio corta entre se.

At the head of the column there rode a score or more of grave, iron-faced men, clad in sombre, homespun garments and armed with rifles. On reaching the base of the bluff they halted, and held a short council among themselves.

“La posos es a destra, mea frates,” un ia dise, un om rasada con labios dur e capeles gris.

“The wells are to the right, my brothers,” said one, a hard-lipped, clean-shaven man with grizzly hair.

“A destra de la Sierra Blanco — tal nos va ateni la Rio Grande,” un otra ia dise.

“To the right of the Sierra Blanco — so we shall reach the Rio Grande,” said another.

“No teme la manca de acua,” un om tre ia esclama. “El ci ia pote estrae lo de la rocas no va abandona aora Sua popla elejeda.”

“Fear not for water,” cried a third. “He who could draw it from the rocks will not now abandon His chosen people.”

“Amen! Amen!” la grupo intera ia responde.

“Amen! amen!” responded the whole party.

Los ia es a punto de recomensa sua viaja cuando un de la plu jovenes, con oios la plu agu, ia vosi un esclama e ia leva sua mano a la presipe ru supra los. De sua apico un banda peti de ros ia ondeta, en un mostra clar e briliante contra la rocas gris a pos. A la vide, on ia fa jeneral un redini de cavalos e un desarnesi de fusiles, e plu cavalores ia veni galopante per forti la primas. La nom “Peles Roja” ia es diseda par cadun.

They were about to resume their journey when one of the youngest and keenest-eyed uttered an exclamation and pointed up at the rugged crag above them. From its summit there fluttered a little wisp of pink, showing up hard and bright against the grey rocks behind. At the sight there was a general reining-in of horses and unslinging of guns, while fresh horsemen came galloping up to reinforce the vanguard. The word “Redskins” was on every lip.

“On pote ave no cuantia de nativas asi,” la om vea ia dise, ci ia pare es la xef. “Nos ia pasa la paunis, e on ave no otra tribus ante nosa traversa de la montes grande.”

“There can’t be any number of Injuns here,” said the elderly man who appeared to be in command. “We have passed the Pawnees, and there are no other tribes until we cross the great mountains.”

“Esce me ta avansa per vide, Frate Stangerson?” un de la bande ia demanda.

“Shall I go forward and see, Brother Stangerson?” asked one of the band.

“E me!” “E me!” un desuple de voses ia cria.

“And I,” “And I,” cried a dozen voices.

“Lasa vosa cavalos a su e nos va espeta vos asi,” la vea ia responde. Pos un momento, la omes joven ia desmonta ja, ia fisa ja sua cavalos, e ia es asendente la inclina presipe gidante a supra a la ojeto cual ia stimula sua curiosia. Los ia avansa rapida e sin ruido, con la autofida e destrosia de esplorores esperiosa. La oservores sur la plano a su ia vide los brincante de roca a roca asta cuando sua figures ia protende contra la sielo. La om joven ci ia dona prima la alarma ia es gidante los. Subita sua seguores ia vide el lansante sua manos a supra, como si inondada par stona, e pos ateni el, los ia es afetada en la mesma modo par la vista presentada a sua oios.

“Leave your horses below and we will await you here,” the elder answered. In a moment the young fellows had dismounted, fastened their horses and were ascending the precipitous slope which led up to the object which had excited their curiosity. They advanced rapidly and noiselessly, with the confidence and dexterity of practised scouts. The watchers from the plain below could see them flit from rock to rock until their figures stood out against the skyline. The young man who had first given the alarm was leading them. Suddenly his followers saw him throw up his hands, as though overcome with astonishment, and on joining him they were affected in the same way by the sight which met their eyes.

Sur la peti plano alta a culmina de la colinas steril, un sola rocon jigante ia sta, e contra esta rocon un om alta ia reclina, con barba longa e fas dur, ma con magria esedente. Sua espresa calma e respira regulada ia mostra ce el dormi profonda. Un enfante peti ia reclina a lado de el, con sua brasos ronda e blanca ensircante sua colo brun e tendonosa, e sua testa de capeles oro reposante sur la peto de sua jacon de veludin. Sua labios rosin ia es separada, mostrante la linia coerente de dentes nevin blanca a interna, e un surie debil ia dansa sur sua fas enfantin. Sua gamas peti de rondia blanca, fininte en calsetas blanca e sapatos limpa con fibias briliante, ia ofre un contrasta strana contra la membros longa e plietada de sua acompanior. Sur la cornisa de roca supra esta duple strana, tre buteos seria ia sta, ci, vidente la arivores nova, ia vosi abaias xiliante de delude e ia vola malumorosa a via.

On the little plateau which crowned the barren hills there stood a single giant boulder, and against this boulder there lay a tall man, long-bearded and hard-featured, but of an excessive thinness. His placid face and regular breathing showed that he was fast asleep. Beside him lay a little child, with her round, white arms encircling his brown, sinewy neck, and her golden-haired head resting upon the breast of his velveteen tunic. Her rosy lips were parted, showing the regular line of snow-white teeth within, and a faint smile played over her infantile features. Her plump little white legs, terminating in white socks and neat shoes with shining buckles, offered a strange contrast to the long, shrivelled members of her companion. On the ledge of rock above this strange couple there stood three solemn buzzards, who, at the sight of the newcomers, uttered raucous screams of disappointment and flapped sullenly away.

La crias de la avias repulsante ia velia la du dormores, ci ia regarda sirca se en confonde. La om ia bambola a sur sua pedes e ia basi sua regarda a la plano cual ia es tan vacua cuando la dormi ia prende el, e cual ia es aora traversada par esta asembla enorme de umanas e de bestias. Sua fas ia adota un espresa de noncrede en sua regarda, e el ia pasa sua mano ososa supra sua oios. “Esta es lo cual on nomi la delirio, me suposa,” el ia farfulia. La enfante ia sta a lado de el, teninte la basa de sua jacon, e ia dise no cosa, ma ia regarda tota sirca se con la manera merveliante e demandante de enfantia.

The cries of the foul birds awoke the two sleepers, who stared about them in bewilderment. The man staggered to his feet and looked down upon the plain which had been so desolate when sleep had overtaken him, and which was now traversed by this enormous body of men and of beasts. His face assumed an expression of incredulity as he gazed, and he passed his bony hand over his eyes. “This is what they call delirium, I guess,” he muttered. The child stood beside him, holding on to the skirt of his coat, and said nothing, but looked all around her with the wondering, questioning gaze of childhood.

La grupo salvante ia pote rapida convinse la du perdedas ce sua apare no es un ilude. Un de los ia saisi la xica peti e ia tira el a sur sua spala, e du otras ia suporta sua acompanior magra e ia aida el en dirije a la vagones.

The rescuing party were speedily able to convince the two castaways that their appearance was no delusion. One of them seized the little girl and hoisted her upon his shoulder, while two others supported her gaunt companion, and assisted him towards the wagons.

“Mea nom es John Ferrier,” la vagor ia esplica; “me e esta peti es tota cual resta de dudes-un persones. Tota la otras es mor de sidia e famia, ala en la sude distante.”

“My name is John Ferrier,” the wanderer explained; “me and that little un are all that’s left o’ twenty-one people. The rest is all dead o’ thirst and hunger away down in the south.”

“El es tua enfante?” algun ia demanda.

“Is she your child?” asked someone.

“Me suposa ce aora el es,” la otra ia esclama, defiante; “el es la mea car me ia salva el. Nun va prende el de me. De esta dia el es Lucy Ferrier. Ma ci es vos?” el ia continua, con regardetas curiosa a sua salvores durante e bronzida; “vosa cuantia pare potiosa.”

“I guess she is now,” the other cried, defiantly; “she’s mine ‘cause I saved her. No man will take her from me. She’s Lucy Ferrier from this day on. Who are you, though?” he continued, glancing with curiosity at his stalwart, sunburned rescuers; “there seems to be a powerful lot of ye.”

“Cuasi des mil,” un de la omes joven ia dise; “nos es la enfantes persegueda de Dio — la elejedas de la Anjel Merona.”

“Nigh upon ten thousand,” said one of the young men; “we are the persecuted children of God — the chosen of the Angel Merona.”

“Me ia oia nunca parla sur el,” la vagor ia dise. “Lo pare ce el ia eleje un bon fola de vos.”

“I never heard tell on him,” said the wanderer. “He appears to have chosen a fair crowd of ye.”

“No burla lo cual es santa,” la otra ia dise sever. “Nos parteni a los ci crede acel scrivedas santa, desiniada en leteras egipsian sur platas de oro martelida, cual ia es donada a Joseph Smith, la santa, a Palmira. Nos ia veni de Nauvoo, en la Stato Illinois, do nos ia fundi nosa templo. Nos ia veni per xerca un refuja contra la violentes e nonrelijiosas, an si lo es la cor de la deserto.”

“Do not jest at that which is sacred,” said the other sternly. “We are of those who believe in those sacred writings, drawn in Egyptian letters on plates of beaten gold, which were handed unto the holy Joseph Smith at Palmyra. We have come from Nauvoo, in the State of Illinois, where we had founded our temple. We have come to seek a refuge from the violent man and from the godless, even though it be the heart of the desert.”

Evidente la nom Nauvoo ia fa ce recordas reveni a John Ferrier. “Me comprende,” el ia dise; “vos es la mormones.”

The name of Nauvoo evidently recalled recollections to John Ferrier. “I see,” he said; “you are the Mormons.”

“Nos es la mormones,” sua acompaniores ia responde con vose unida.

“We are the Mormons,” answered his companions with one voice.

“E a do vos vade?”

“And where are you going?”

“Nos no sabe. La mano de Dio gida nos en persona de nosa Profeta. Vos debe veni ante el. El va dise lo cual va aveni a vos.”

“We do not know. The hand of God is leading us under the person of our Prophet. You must come before him. He shall say what is to be done with you.”

Los ia ateni ja a esta tempo la funda de la colina, e ia es ensircada par folas de la peregrinores — femes con fases pal e espresas umil; enfantes forte e riente; e omes ansiosa con oios seria. Multe ia es la crias de stona e compatia cual ia leva de los cuando los ia persepi la jovenia de un de la stranjeres e la povria de la otra. Sua acompanior no ia para, an tal, ma ia continua sua avansa, segueda par un fola grande de mormones, asta cuando los ia ateni un vagon cual ia es notable par causa de sua grandia vasta e de la ornosia e formalia de sua aspeta. Ses cavalos ia es iugida a lo, contra ce on ia furni du, o masima cuatro, a cada de la otras. A lado de la vagonor, un om ia senta ci no ia pare ave un eda de plu ca tredes anios, ma de ci sua testa grande e espresa determinada ia marca el como un xef. El ia es lejente un volum en covrente brun, ma cuando la fola ia prosimi, el ia pone lo a lado e ia escuta atendente un raconta de la aveni. A pos, el ia turna a la du perdedas.

They had reached the base of the hill by this time, and were surrounded by crowds of the pilgrims — pale-faced, meek-looking women; strong, laughing children; and anxious, earnest-eyed men. Many were the cries of astonishment and of commiseration which arose from them when they perceived the youth of one of the strangers and the destitution of the other. Their escort did not halt, however, but pushed on, followed by a great crowd of Mormons, until they reached a wagon which was conspicuous for its great size and for the gaudiness and smartness of its appearance. Six horses were yoked to it, whereas the others were furnished with two, or, at most, four apiece. Beside the driver there sat a man who could not have been more than thirty years of age, but whose massive head and resolute expression marked him as a leader. He was reading a brown-backed volume, but as the crowd approached he laid it aside, and listened attentively to an account of the episode. Then he turned to the two castaways.

“Si nos va prende vos con nos,” el ia dise, en parolas formal, “esta pote es sola si vos es credores de nosa relijio. Ta ce nos ave no lupos en nosa campo. Multe plu bon si vosa osos ta blanci en esta savajeria ca si vos ta es revelada como la manxa peti de putri cual contamina la fruta intera pos un tempo. Esce vos va veni con nos su esta restrinje?”

“If we take you with us,” he said, in solemn words, “it can only be as believers in our own creed. We shall have no wolves in our fold. Better far that your bones should bleach in this wilderness than that you should prove to be that little speck of decay which in time corrupts the whole fruit. Will you come with us on these terms?”

“Me va veni con vos su cualce restrinje, me suposa,” Ferrier ia dise, tan asentuada ce la veas seria no ia pote evita un surie. Sola la xef ia reteni sua espresa sever e impresante.

“Guess I’ll come with you on any terms,” said Ferrier, with such emphasis that the grave elders could not restrain a smile. The leader alone retained his stern, impressive expression.

“Prende el, Frate Stangerson,” el ia dise, “dona comedas e bevidas a el, e simil a la enfante. Ta ce lo es ance tua taxe ce tu ensenia a el nosa crede santa. Nos ia tardi ja sufisinte longa. Avansa! A ante, a Sion!”

“Take him, Brother Stangerson,” he said, “give him food and drink, and the child likewise. Let it be your task also to teach him our holy creed. We have delayed long enough. Forward! On, on to Zion!”

“A ante, a Sion!” la fola de mormones ia cria, e la parolas ia ondeta longo la caravan longa, pasante de boca e boca asta cuando los ia redui a un murmura nonclar en la distantia estrema. Con un craci de flajelos e un cruji de rotas, la vagones grande ia comensa move, e pos corta la caravan intera ia es denova serpente a longo. La om vea ci on ia encarga per aida la du descuradas ia gida los a sua vagon, do un come ia es ja preparada per los.

“On, on to Zion!” cried the crowd of Mormons, and the words rippled down the long caravan, passing from mouth to mouth until they died away in a dull murmur in the far distance. With a cracking of whips and a creaking of wheels the great wagons got into motion, and soon the whole caravan was winding along once more. The elder to whose care the two waifs had been committed led them to his wagon, where a meal was already awaiting them.

“Vos va resta asi,” el ia dise. “Pos alga dias, vos va recovre ja de vosa fatigas. Entretempo, recorda ce aora e per sempre vos es de nosa relijio. Brigham Young ia dise lo, e el ia parla con la vose de Joseph Smith, cual es la vose de Dio.”

“You shall remain here,” he said. “In a few days you will have recovered from your fatigues. In the meantime, remember that now and for ever you are of our religion. Brigham Young has said it, and he has spoken with the voice of Joseph Smith, which is the voice of God.”

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