Warden of destiny, it well might smile at any temples we may build, at any fetiches that we may offer up! Toward the Hill of Dreams Franklin journeyed, because it had been written.

As he travelled over the long miles he scarcely noted the fields, the fences, the flocks and herds now clinging along the path of the iron rails.

He crossed the trails of the departed buffalo and of the vanishing cattle, but his mind looked only forward, and he saw these records of the past but dimly.

There, on the Hill of Dreams, he knew, there was answer for him if he sufficiently besought; that answer not yet learned in all the varying days.

It seemed sure to him that he should have a sign.[*] Franklin looked out over a deserted and solitary land as he rode up to the foot of the hill.