Wahb felt that it had a message for him; he was drawn by it. It was in
his

[Illustration] line of flight, and he hobbled slowly toward the place.
He went nearer, nearer, until he stood upon the entering ledge. A
Vulture that had descended to feed on one of the victims was slowly
going to sleep on the untouched carcass. Wahb swung his great grizzled
muzzle and his long white beard in the wind. The odor that he once had
hated was attractive now. There was a strange biting quality in the
air. His body craved it. For it seemed to numb his pain and it promised
sleep, as it did that day when first he saw the place.

Far below him, to the right and to the left and on and on as far as the
eye could reach, was the great kingdom that once had been his; where he
had lived for years in the glory of his strength; where none had dared
to meet him face to face. The whole earth could show no view more
beautiful. But Wahb had no thought of its beauty; he only knew that it
was a good land to live in; that it had been his, but that now it was
gone, for his strength was gone, and he was flying to seek a place where
he could rest and be at peace.

Away over the Shoshones, indeed, was the road to the Park, but it was
far, far away, with a doubtful end to the long, doubtful journey. But
why so far? Here in this little gulch was all he sought; here were peace
and painless sleep. He knew it; for his nose, his never-erring nose,
said, "_Here! here now!_"

He paused a moment at the gate, and as he stood the wind-borne fumes
began their subtle work. Five were the faithful wardens of his life, and
the best and trustiest of them all flung open wide the door he long had