led him out from the covert in which they had been crouching, climbed silently into the saddle and resumed his headlong ride.
The late Major Chorpenning, remembered as one of the most prominent of freighters across the plains, told me that more than once he had labored through the mountains in the depth of winter when the snow under his feet was sixty feet deep! He was in Salt Lake City, talking with Brigham Young, when word came that the mail rider westward had been killed by Indians. The fiery-tempered Major bounded to his feet and swore he would follow up the rider, recover the mail and carry it to Sacramento. When he refused to take any companion with him. President Young forbade him to go, insisting that it would be sure death.
“I’m serving the United States and not you,” replied the Major, laying his hand on his revolver; “I don’t think it will be healthy for either you or any one else to try to stop me.
So it was the daring Major rode out of Salt Lake City alone. Being perfectly familiar with the route, he made good progress. He had decided in his mind where the rider
