_The Blood on the Page_ Along the level lane between the mountain ranges he went, a lane that runs almost from Bear Creek on the north to the Colorado on the south, with a width of twenty miles or so.

But for Joel Rae it became a ride down the valley of lost illusions.

Some saving grace of faith was gone from the people.

He passed through sturdy little settlements, bowered in gardens and orchards, and girded about by now fertile acres where once had been the bare, gray desert.

Slowly, mile by mile, the Saints had pushed down the valley, battling with the Indians and the elements for every acre of land they gained.