On the little plateau which crowned the barren hill there stood asingle giant boulder， and against this boulder there lay a tall man， longbeardedand hard-featured， but of an excessive thinness. His placidface and regular breathing showed that he was fast asleep. Beside himlay a child， with her round white arms encircling his brown sinewyneck， and her golden haired head resting upon the breast of hisvelveteen tunic. Her rosy lips were parted， showing the regular line ofsnow-white teeth within， and a playful smile played over her infantilefeatures. Her plump little white legs， terminating in white socks andneat shoes with shining buckles， offered a strange contrast to the longshrivelled members of her companion. On the ledge of rock abovethis strange couple there stood three solemn buzzards， who， at thesight of the newcomers， uttered raucous screams of disappointmentand flapped sullenly away.
The cries of the foul birds awoke the two sleepers， who staredabout them in bewilderment. The man staggered to his feetand looked down upon the plain which had been so desolatewhen sleep had overtaken him， and which was now traversedby this enormous body of men and of beasts. His face assumedan expression of incredulity as he gazed， and he passed his bonyhand over his eyes. “This is what they call delirium， I guess，” hemuttered. The child stood beside him， holding on to the skirtof his coat， and said nothing， but looked all round her with thewondering， questioning gaze of childhood.
The rescuing party were speedily able to convince the twocastaways that their appearance was no delusion. One of themseized the little girl and hoisted her upon his shoulder， while twoothers supported her gaunt companion， and assisted him towardsthe waggons.
“My name is John Ferrier，” the wanderer explained； “me and thatlittle un are all that’s left o’ twenty-one people. The rest is all deado’ thirst and hunger away down in the south.”
“Is she your child？” asked someone.
“I guess she is now，” the other cried， defiantly； “she’s mine ’causeI saved her. No man will take her from me. She’s Lucy Ferrierfrom this day on. Who are you， though？” he continued， glancingwith curiosity at his stalwart， sunburned rescuers； “there seems tobe a powerful lot of ye.”
“Nigh upon ten thousand，” said one of the young men； “weare the persecuted children of God—the chosen of the AngelMoroni.”
“I never heard tell on him，” said the wanderer. “He appears tohave chosen a fair crowd of ye.”
“Do not jest at that which is sacred，” said the other， sternly.
“We are of those who believe in those sacred writings， drawn inEgyptian letters on plates of beaten gold， which were handed untothe holy Joseph Smith at Palmyra. We have come from Nauvoo， inthe State of Illinois， where we had founded our temple. We havecome to seek a refuge from the violent man and from the godless，even though it be the heart of the desert.”
The name of Nauvoo evidently recalled recollections to JohnFerrier. “I see，” he said； “you are the Mormons.”
“We are the Mormons，” answered his companions with onevoice.
“And where are you going？”
“We do not know. The hand of God is leading us under theperson of our Prophet. You must come before him. He shall saywhat is to be done with you.”
They had reached the base of the hill by this time， and weresurrounded by crowds of the pilgrims—pale-faced， meek-lookingwomen； strong， laughing children； and anxious， earnest-eyed men.
Many were the cries of astonishment and of commiseration whicharose from them when they perceived the youth of one of thestrangers 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 waggon， which was conspicuous for its great sizeand for the gaudiness and smartness of its appearance. Six horseswere yoked to it， whereas the others were furnished with two， or， atmost， four apiece. Beside the driver there sat a man who could nothave been more than thirty years of age， but whose massive head andresolute expression marked him as a leader. He was reading a brownbackedvolume， but as the crowd approached he laid it aside， andlistened attentively to an account of the episode. Then he turned tothe two castaways.
“If we take you with us，” he said， in solemn words， “it can onlybe as believers in our own creed. We shall have no wolves in ourfold. Better far that your bones should bleach in this wildernessthan that you should prove to be that little speck of decay whichin time corrupts the whole fruit. Will you come with us on theseterms？”
“Guess I’ll come with you on any terms，” said Ferrier， with suchemphasis that the grave Elders could not restrain a smile. Theleader alone retained his stern， impressive expression.
“Take him， Brother Stangerson，” he said， “give him food anddrink， and the child likewise. Let it be your task also to teach himour holy creed. We have delayed long enough. Forward！ On， on toZion！”
“On， on to Zion！” cried the crowd of Mormons， and the wordsrippled down the long caravan， passing from mouth to mouthuntil they died away in a dull murmur in the far distance. With acracking of whips and a creaking of wheels the great waggons gotinto motion， and soon the whole caravan was winding along oncemore. The Elder to whose care the two waifs had been committedled them to his wagon， where a meal was already awaiting them.
“You shall remain here，” he said. “In a few days you will haverecovered from your fatigues. In the meantime， remember that nowand forever you are of our religion. Brigham Young has said it， andhe has spoken with the voice of Joseph Smith， which is the voice ofGod.”
The Flower of Utah