which startled him. To John Stanley it was the best way out of the difficulty. He looked upon Mark as a thorough failure. His wife, all along, had led him to expect great things from their son. And when Mark, after all, turned out like the general run of young men—perhaps a little below the general run—he felt as if he had been imposed upon, and regarded his wife with contempt, and despised their son. Mrs. Stanley objected to her son's wife because all of that which she counted womanly was lacking in the Bennington factory-girl. Her husband, less generous, hated "that Harris gal" because, but for her, "Mark mought hev got hitched ter somebody what had shekels." If the young husband and wife were sent to California, something might come of it "what 'ould set things straight ag'in."
That was why the money for which Mark asked came so quickly.
There was a constant stream of emigrants pouring westward out of New York, and Mark Stanley and his pretty wife soon plunged into the midst of this enthusiastic tide. These two were happy and contented with each other, and it made but little difference to them whether any third person, no matter who, regarded them kindly or harshly.
The swift railway-trains soon hurried them to the limits of civilization, and the rest of their journey was more prolonged and fatiguing, as they went across the prairies, and up the great plains, with a wagon-train. One night, just as they had reached the very foot-hills of the Rocky Mountains, a storm of such remarkable violence that none of the would-be miners had ever experienced anything like it before suddenly swept down upon them. Their guides, hilarious because they had reached the mountains without molestation from the Indians, began pouring undue quantities of whiskey into their throats that morning, and before noon, even, they were helplessly drunk. At nightfall they were wholly incapacitated for making camp ready. Had they been sober, the calamity which followed might easily have been averted. As it was, when the storm was at its height, a war-party of Ute Indians suddenly swooped down upon the emigrants, and, with three exceptions, murdered every man, woman, and child in the party. The exceptions were Mrs. Stanley, who was spared for her unusual beauty, Mark Stanley, and John Dubb, a youthful Maine wood-chopper of about seventeen years. The two men were saved because they were looked upon as good subjects for the torture-stake.
As soon as the work of slaughter and thievery was over, the Utes pushed forward into the mountains, moving as rapidly as possible until daylight, when, for a couple of hours, they went into temporary camp.
When they resumed their wanderings, the party divided. Half a dozen of the hideously-painted warriors took the unfortunate Marv Stanley, and went directly south, and the others, with Mark Stanley and Dubb, moved northward for a day and a night, and then came out of the mountains upon the plains again,
Mary Stanley was not allowed a single word of parting with her husband, and the two were crazed with grief at their cruel separation. He was glad of one thing: convinced that he was only saved for tor-
