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The night grew stormy. The hollow winds swept over the mountains, and blew bleak and cold around; the clouds were driven swiftly over the face of the moon, and the duke and his people were frequently involved in total darkness. They had travelled on silently and dejectedly for some hours, and were bewildered in the wilds, when they suddenly heard the bell of a monastery chiming for midnight-prayer. Their hearts revived at the sound, which they endeavoured to follow, but they had not gone far, when the gale wafted it away, and they were abandoned to the uncertain guide of their own conjectures. “Yes, there goes a steamer to the east, and a beautiful boat lies right near here, and far out there is sail after sail.” “But what is it?”.
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However, just before the quitting whistle blew, Bob happened to be near the spot where the Indians were excavating. He took this opportunity to go up to Feather-in-the-Wind who was directing his men. Ostensibly he asked something regarding the work but it was only to give the Indian a chance to convey any message he might have. The Apache did have something to say. His mind’s eye pictured the network of canals that would run off on each side and which, by bringing that magic thing, water, to the parched earth, would transform it into fruitful acres. Once around a bend from the dam he was alone in the immense country. Not a vestige of human occupancy could be seen. The desert stretched way out on either side, broken here and there by hills, or buttes, as they are called. They'd better have depended. God will never, never forsake thee..
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