meeting you?”

“At Mormon Crossing.”

“Dad,” Mike interrupted, “I’ve been meaning to ask you about that place. I thought the Mormons settled Utah—around Salt Lake City.”

“They did,” his father answered. “But some of them didn’t like it.”

“And moved on,” Sandy chimed in.

Mr. Cook turned to Sandy in surprise. “Right! How did you know?”

“That last day before we left Oakland, Mike and I went downtown to do some last-minute shopping. Remember?”

“Sure.”

“When we finished Mike said he wanted a soda. With Mike, that’s a full hour’s proposition. I didn’t want any, so I said I’d meet him at the library.”

“Squealer,” muttered Mike.

Joe looked at Mike in amazement. “You mean it takes him an hour to drink a soda?”

Sandy shrugged. “You know how it is. One soda leads to another.”

“I see.” Joe nodded gravely. “He drinks.”

Sandy sighed and nodded his head. “That’s about the size of it.”

Joe looked over at Mike sympathetically. “Poor fellow.”

“Hey, wait a minute,” cried Mike. “I’m not as bad as that. I can take them or leave them alone.”

“That’s what they all say,” his father said. He turned back to Sandy. “But what’s this got to do with you knowing about the Mormons?”

“Well, I went to the library,” Sandy explained, “and looked up Mormon Crossing. I was just curious about the name.”

“What did it say?” Joe suddenly sat forward, looking watchful.

“It seems there was this party of Mormons on their way west from Ohio. They didn’t stop in Utah, 

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