from his God and dead reckoning to keep going in the right direction. At night he studied the stars while lying on the ground wrapped in his blanket in order to give more room to the sick man. Some rather foul odors emanated from the unwashed body. He preferred the smell of the sagebrush, of the horse sleeping near him, of the leather harness. Fear of the night, the unlimited vastness of the prairie, the uncertainty of his position made Christian long for companionship; made him wish for some response from his sick friend. He arose with the first signs of light in the east, eager to take advantage of whatever cool the day offered. Soon the sun began to run its course, beating through his old campaign hat, his thatch of blond hair into the very recesses of his brain. He proceeded onward, scanning the horizon for some manifestation he knew not what. An unusually large sand dune loomed before him. In his preoccupation with the task of getting over the dune, he forgot about the sick man in his wagon bed. He even forgot his habitual prayers as he strove to keep his horse moving through the clinging sand, toward the top of the dune. The horse gave a few desperate lunges and then stopped in his tracks, unable to continue. He turned his head, blew lustily through reddened nostrils, wagged his head, spread his legs and quit. Suddenly words began to issue from the wagon bed. "You take that there hill on a 30 degree angle, boy, not straight up. Turn the nag towards the south and go criss-cross." Christian shifted his course and began to proceed up the dune a quick glance back to the wagon bed. The sick man lay as usual with his eyes closed and his mouth half-opened. Christian asked almost wistfully, "Would you like me to pray for you Bob? I ain't of the cloth, but I'm getting to know Him pretty well." Christian took his silence for assent. "If it is Thy will, oh Lord, that Bob here remains on this earth, please give him of thy strength. Thou knowest that I have not asked for favors or miracles from Thee and I know that ole Bob ain't bothered you very much, but this here sinner, Lord had gone astray in the wilderness and is plumb afraid. I need some guiding, Lord. If Thou ain't needin' him up there, please give Bob the strength to live here a little longer." Christian again resumed his whispered, mumbled communion, swaying with the motion of the wagon over the deep, windblown sand. The shimmering heat waves of the prairie distorted images in the far distance. To his red-rimmed eyes the Sierra Nevada Mountains appeared to recede with each turn of his grumbling wheels. Night succeeded day and morning succeeded night. In the semi-cool air of the early morning, the mountains became clearly visible. Christian found to his great relief that he had camped on their foothills. He proceeded cautiously until he found his way blocked by a long ravine some thirty-feet deep. Instructions again issued from the wagon bed. Christian cut his prayer short and listened attentively. "This here ravine peters out in a couple of miles. Keep going southwest." Again Christian made a quick check. Bob had not shifted his position. His eyes remained tightly closed. His jaw appeared to have become unhinged. Christian sighed and urged the horse on its way. A few miles further brought them to the banks of the Truckee River. The horse spread his legs and drank gratefully of the cool mountain water. Christian urged him across the riffling water. Again the voice from the wagon spoke, "Not here, boy. You got to go down stream about a mile and a half before you ford her. You'll drown us all if you try it here." Christian prayed more volubly as he checked again on the old trapper. No change. He turned his horse down stream. In due time he had made an easy crossing of the River and urged his horse up a slight slope to the other bank. Within a few miles the trail parted into two ravines running toward the summit of the mountain. Christian had chosen the right-hand ravine when a commotion and some mumbled words caused him to shift to the other trail. The road proved to be very good. On a level spot near the summit he could see the wagon train getting ready to camp for the night. They had taken the right-hand road and had wasted several days overcoming its obstructions. Christian climbed stiffly down from the wagon box. The wagon master came over to the wagon. He looked at Christian intently and asked, "Are you feeling all right, Christian?" "Why do you ask?" was Christian's retort. "You look a little peaked. Have you had enough to eat?" "I guess not too much. I put grub out for Bob's reach, but it just set there and spoiled. He ain't et nothin' just lays there with his eyes closed, like he was sleeping. I never looked at him when he was awake. He's sure a funny cuss. Ain't you got someone who can help lift him out of the wagon?" "Chris, Joe, give Brother Christian a hand in getting Bob out of his wagon." As they lifted on the inert body and eased it towards the rear of the wagon, Brother Christian continued his habitual whispered prayers. "Look down, oh Lord, down on old Bob and if it be Thy will, let him get well and strong once more. Give him of Thy strength, oh Lord, that he may walk erect in health among his fellowmen." The wagon master heard snatches of his prayer. "Christian," he said, "Bob ain't ever going to walk erect among his fellowmen again. He made me promise to bury him on the slopes of the mountain. He seemed to have a horror of being buried in the prairie sands where the coyotes might dig him up. I didn't want to tell you at the time, but Bob had been dead for two days when I put him in your wagon." 10 change Tall, straight-shouldered, philosophied and Knowledge-wide, The young man forgets childhood, Beats his chest. Bent, stoop-shouldered, experienced and Wisdom-eyed, The old man remembers childhood, Buttons his vest. -EVELYN DUSSOL 11