And he related many strange things, most striking of which was how Moze had broken his chain and plunged into the raging Colorado River, and tried to swim it just above the terrible Sockdolager Rapids.

Rust and his fellow-workmen watched the dog disappear in the yellow, wrestling, turbulent whirl of waters, and had heard his knell in the booming roar of the falls.

Nothing but a fish could live in that current; nothing but a bird could scale those perpendicular marble walls.

That night, however, when the men crossed on the tramway, Moze met them with a wag of his tail.

He had crossed the river, and he had come back! To the four reddish-brown, high-framed bloodhounds I had given the names of Don, Tige, Jude and Ranger; and by dint of persuasion, had succeeded in establishing some kind of family relation between them and Moze.