' The moon flooded
the prairie with a soft, hazy light, and all was so still that I could
hear the cattle in the distance cropping the grass. I awoke no one.
The last offices I could do for him I quietly performed, and then sat
down to watch until daylight. All was very happy and solemn. It was
as if the Angel of Peace had passed by. And as if to check any doubt
or fear I might be tempted to indulge, suddenly, and swift and
penetrating as light, these lines came to my recollection:
"'Down in the valley of Death,
A Cross is standing plain;
Where strange and awful the shadows sleep,
And the ground has a deep, red stain.
"'This Cross uplifted there
Forbids, with voice divine,
Our anguished hearts to break for the dead
Who have died and made no sign.
"'As they turned away from us,
Dear eyes that were heavy and dim.
May have met His look who was lifted there,
May be sleeping safe in Him.'"
"Where did you bury him, Richard?"
"Under the tree. Not in all the world could we have found for him so
lovely and so still a grave. Just at sunrise we laid him there, 'in
sure and certain hope' of the resurrection. One of the Mexicans cut
a cross and placed it at his head, and, rude and ignorant as they all
were, I believe every one said a prayer for his repose.
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