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THE
BEAUTIFUL MORMON:
OR,
Among the Colorado Indians!
A Story of the Mountain Meadow Massacre.
By Major Alfred Rochefort.
CHAPTER I.
A THOUGHT OF FREEDOM.
"You must marry him! Not another word! He will be here to-night, and the wedding cannot be postponed beyond the morning."
Isaac Henderson, the Mormon Elder, grew very red in the face as he spoke, and his lit-tle red eyes seemed ready to pop under his bushy eyebrows as he glanced at his daugh-ter.
"But I cannot love this man, Saul Gris-com. He is old enough to be my father, and has children married, besides other wives. Why should he want me?" said Lucy Hen-derson, an appealing look in her beautiful black eyes, as she turned them on her father.
Her red lips trembled, and with outstretch-ed arms she made a hesitating step toward him.
"Can't love him! What does he care for your love? Saul Griscom ain't a milksop of a boy! Do you hear me?"
"I do! I do?" she sobbed.
"Then hear me further. When you are his wife, you must obey him. But do you know who you are now?"
“Your daughter, I believe."
“Yes, my daughter; and until you are married you must obey me. Do you under-stand?"
“I understand but two well," she answer-ed, the tears on the long lashes increas-ing the size and brilliancy of her glorious eyes.
Isaac Henderson was about to leave the room he had gone as far as the door, which he held partly open, when, looking back, he saw Lucy standing with bowed head, the picture of dejection, on the spot she had oc-cupied for the last ten minutes.
He was a heavy-set, coarse-looking man, with not the slightest resemblance to the beautiful girl before him.
Her appearance may have touched his heart, or he may have been prompted by a generous feeling to explain his cruel conduct. No matter what the motive, he came back, and said:
"Lucy, Elder Griscom has me in his pow-er. To-morrow he could justly claim every-thing I have in this world. He will free me the moment you are his wife. You can see my motives?'
He had walked back, and now attempted, as he spoke, to lay his hand in a consoling way on her shoulder.
Lucy shrank from the touch, and trembled visibly as the rough fingers touched her, but she remained silent.
"You would ruin me—your father—to gratify a whim," he said, in a tone that but ill concealed his suppressed anger."
“Say rather you would curse my life, and sell me like a slave in order to retain your property, mortgaged to gratify your taste for liquor and your love for gambling with tho Gentiles."
Lucy stepped back, raised her head, and looked boldly at the man before her. Isaac Henderson was for the moment stun-ned by this unexpected opposition. Under the laws of the Mormon Church, this girl was his property as much as ever was slave the property of a West India master, and he had the control of her in every way but that of taking her life unprovoked. He had made a pledge to Elder Griscom, and that pledge he determined to keep—not with any manly idea of the honor of his word, but with the selfish motive of buying himself clear from the man who held him in his power.
"There is no use in reasoning with you.—You know my decision, and you must make up your mind to abide by it. This time to-morrow you will be the wife of Elder Gris-com."
Isaac Henderson again walked to the door, and, turning again, looked at the fair girl, who, like a statue of despair, again stood with clasped hands and bowed head in the middle of the room.
"I know what you are thinking about now," he hissed, showing his yellow teeth." “Of what am I thinking?" she asked.
"Of that long-haired, smooth-faced, oily-tongued Gentile, Paul. St. Clair. Didn't I tell you he was dead—killed, back among the canons, by the Utes, into whose territory he went to hunt for gold? It is well they did kill the dog, for had he come to the Vir-gin River again, he would never have left it alive. Banish him from your mind; you have seen him for the last time."
Isaac Henderson closed the door after him with a loud bang, and unnoticing the act, Lucy still stood pale-faced and buried in thought.
After a time she roused herself, with an effort, her whole appearance changed, and clinching her hands she stamped one little foot on the floor, and in an intense whisper, and "It is false! Paul St. Clair lives; but he is powerless to aid me now when most I need his words of wisdom, and the protection of his swift foot and strong aim. Oh, I am helpless!—so weak and helpless!"
She sank into a chair, and burying her pale face in her little white hands, she sob-bed as if her heart would break.
"The beautiful white girl has a clouded heart."
Lucy was startled from her reverie, and glancing up she saw before her an Indian girl, but little older than herself. A tall, splendidly-formed being, looking more like an Aztec queen than one of the nomad tribes that infested the mountains. Zelonah was in truth an Aztec, of the Mo-qui nation, captured years ago, with her brother, by the Navajoes. They had been subsequently purchased from the fierce tribe by Isaac Henderson, and now acted as ser-vants in his family.
"Yes, Zelonah, my heart is clouded, and never again can the sunlight of happiness touch it. Hope in me is dead." Lucy rose and threw her arms about the Indian girl's neck.
"Speak not so. Hope in me is never alive, and though I remain here until my hair is white as the snow on the mountains above the valley, yet will I still feel that I am to spend the last of my life among the people of my fathers, and be buried in the shadow of my native hills. But tell me why you are cast down. I, at least, am your friend, as is my brother Ulay."
"I am sure of that, Zelonah, but neither one of you can help me now," sobbed Lucy.
“Let me hear first your trouble, then we can judge if there be a remedy," said Zelonah stroking the beautiful head that now rested on her shoulder.
Lucy related everything about her ap-proaching marriage, and added:
“But Zelonah, I would rather die."
“You would run the risk of death to es-cape this man?"
"Yes, Zelonah, the risk of a thousand deaths?"
“And your heart still turns to the hand-some young white man, Paul St. Clair, does it?"
"It does."
"Do you believe he is dead?"
"No I cannot believe it."
"You would be willing then to attempt an escape from this place?" asked Zelonah, earnestly.
"I would. But whither can I fly? To the north and south stretch the Mormon set-tlements; to the west the lifeless, waterless desert; to the east the great Colorado, with its impassable canons, and its hordes of savage Indians. There is death wherever, I turn!"
"That may be; but we have a choice of deaths. And then Lucy, there is something more dreadful to be dreaded by you than death!"
“Yes, yes, Zelonah, I understand you. Only open an avenue that promises any hope, no matter how desperate, and I will follow it. See—night will be here in a few hours, and whatever we do must be decided on at once."
"I understand that. Keep of good heart, I will soon return."
With another gentle caress, Zelonah van-ished as silently as she came. With quick steps she crossed the garden at the rear of the house, and entered an adobe building on the opposite side.
The room in which she found herself was a low workshop, with a rude furnace at one end, and broken agricultural implements, mining tools and fire-arms scattered around.
A tall man was bending over a bench, ab-sorbed in the contemplation of a rifle-lock which he held in his hand; yet he caught the fall of the light foot behind him, and turning, it was easy to see he was the brother of the Indian girl.
He had the same handsome but sad fea-tures, the same splendid sweep of limb and grace of bearing.
"Is my brother Ulay busy?" asked Zelo-nah, in a low, sweet voice, "Always busy, my sister, but always happy to have you near me, and to listen to the music of your voice," said Ulay, laying down the rifle, and gently placing his hand on his sister's shoulder.
"I have much that is weighty to talk to you of," she began, then hesitated.
"My heart hungers for your words Zelonah."
"You have often planned escape from here. You know the trail that lies beyond the great canon, and leads to the village of the Mo-quis ?"
"I do, my sister."
"Long ago would would have risked escape in that direction, but for the love you bear for me and the beautiful white girl?"
"This is true, Zelonah," he said, in a sad tone.
"The road is difficult and dangerous, but can trail it, and will go on one condition." "What is that?" he asked, in surprise.
"That you take with you the white girl Lucy."
"But would she go?"
"Yes."
Zelonah then briefly related Lucy's condi-tion, dwelling on the fact that she was to be married to Elder Saul Griscom in the morn-ing, and that her only hope of avoiding this alliance, which was worse than death to her, was by immediate flight.
“Do the wives of Henderson know any-thing of this?" asked Ulay.
“Yes, they know all about the marriage. Lucy's mother has been long dead, and these women, seeing her influence over her father, are only too anxious to get rid of her."
"She calls him father, Zelonah, but I have ever thought that a different blood courses in her veins. Lucy can ride well?"
"You know she can as well as you or I."
"And her heart would not fail her in the hour of danger?"
“No, Ulay. She is brave as she is beauti-ful."
“Then the Moquis nation holds not her equal for courage," said the young man, his dark eyes flashing, and the hot blood burn-ing in his red brow.
"Will you make all the arrangements?"
"I will; but come to see me in an hour."
Zelonah left him again alone in the little shop where he stood for some time, with folded arms, buried in deep thought.
The prayed-for opportunity had come. Captivity had been sweet, shared with his sister, and near Lucy. Now came the oc-casion which he might be free, and still near them.
His lips grew firmer, and turning, he op-ened a box, took out a lot of arms, and be-gan carefully to examine them, with the air of one who might be called on to use them, and who would be ready when the time came.
CHAPTER II.
FOR FREEDOM.
The sun had gone down, and in that land of brief twilights night followed fast on his sinking.
Isaac Henderson had finished supper, in the company of his three wives and half-score of children.
Lucy excused herself from the table, on the plea of illness. Poor child! how could she feel like eating, under the circum-stances.
In her own room, however, she was busy selecting the few articles she might need. From the drawer of a bureau she took a gold locket, attached to a chain, and looking for a moment at the picture, she kissed it, then put the chain about her neck, and secreted the picture in her dress. She could not remember her dead mother, but her father had told her this was her picture.
She had often wondered how a being so beautiful and angelic, as the face of her mother showed her to be, could have mar-ried such a man as her father. She thought of this again to-night, and she found an answer to the mystery in her own case.
After she had made up the little bundle she intended to take with her in her contem-plated flight, she opened the window, and handing it out, it was seized by a person who had evidently been waiting for it in the garden.
She had put out the light, and was about to walk out to the dining-room, which was also used as a sitting room, when she heard her father's voice talking to some person in no pleasant tones, and she waited, with the window raised, to listen.
“And this is the news you bring me, Bill Coggswell, after I've spent hundreds to get that fellow out of the way!" said Henderson. The man addressed as "Bill Coggswell" answered in a tone so low, and monotonous that it formed a striking contrast to the ex-cited voice of the Mormon:
"I never told ye for sure he was killed. I needn't have told ye to-night he was livin'; but in all my dealin's, you know, I'm in for talkin' fair, an' I allus sticks up to my 'gree-ments. Now I know Paul St. Clair is livin'. I know he's gone down Cathedral Canon, an' I know, too, that if him an' his frien's ever leave, that it won't be the blame of Mezcal and his Utes. Them chaps is treed for good !"
"Then, why did you and this band of In-dians come here again to-night? I believe I've paid you all I owe you."
“You paid all you promised for the job, Elder Henderson, that's a fac; but men like you allus has jobs on hand. Ye see ye ain't able to do them things up like ye uster. Then, elder, we've heerd as how this gal of your'n is a-goin to be married to that ole he-angle, Elder Saul Griscom, and we thought ye moutn't object to liv-in' a few frien's near to enjoy the weddin' with you."
This was said in the same cool, impu-dent tone, and for the moment Elder Isaac Henderson was nonplused.
"Very well! Make yourselves at home. Ulay will get you something to eat. But don't bring any of the Utes into the house."
Bill Cogswell laughed, and the laugh was in keeping with his voice.
“I'm sorry you won't let 'em come in the house, elder. Them Utes is very del- icate, an' ain't used ter sleepin' ' cept on feather beds, an' inside two- story houses ; but if you could send down a little whis-key, I might prevail on 'em, though every man of 'em is a chief, to sleep in the stable."
"I don't want them to go near the sta-ble."
“But where can I take them?" asked the imperturbable Bill.
"Take them to—"
The elder was about to say something harsh in his anger, but he changed his mind, and told Bill to do as he pleased, provided he kept out of the house and sta-ble with the Utes.
The elder walked off, and Bill Cogswell stood for some time in the same spot, arid Lucy heard him say, in the same tone:
"I wonder if he'd let us sleep with the dogs?"
Then he walked slowly away.
While Lucy stood by the window, peer-ing into the darkness, from the very spot which the ruffian had occupied a few moments before, she saw a tall form rising and gliding noiselessly toward her, till it stood near the window.
"Ulay?" she whispered.
"Yes, I."
"When will all be ready?"
"All would have been ready now, but for the coming of this Cogswell and his Utes."
"Are they in the way?"
"Yes ; but before midnight I will dis-pose of them. Keep up a good heart."
"I will, Ulay. But tell me, do you know where the great Cathedral Canon is?"
"I do. But why do you ask?"
"Paul St. Clair is there."
"Paul St. Clair!" whispered Ulay, as if the words gave him pain.
“Yes. I heard this man Cogswell tell my father so to-night."
“His would be a strong arm to have with us; but there is danger by that road."
"And danger by every road, Ulay."
"True; but prudence can avoid much."
“I will leave all with you. I will re-main here."
The tall form bowed, and then noislessly disappeared.
Lucy sat down, looking up at the stars but not seeing them. How long she sat there she knew not, but she was at length startled by the barking of the dogs, and listening, her heart seemed to stop its beat-ing for a moment, then to give a great bound, that nearly suffocated her, after which it throbbed and fluttered, like a caged bird beating its bars, for she heard the rattle of wheels, and the clatter of advancing horses.
While she stood trembling, and holding on to the window sill for support, the door opened noislessly behind her, and Zelonah glided in and threw her arms about the frightened white girl.
"Courage, courage, my beautiful sister! He has come: but you have not yet gone with him."
"With whom, Zelonah?"
Lucy knew, but in her anguish she hoped the reply would not be the one she expect-ed.
“Elder Saul Griscom!"
"But he was not expected till midnight."
“No, but here he is now. Hark! Your father is speaking to him. There seems to be many of them. Courage! Courage!"
Zelonah kissed the pale face of the trem-bling girl, then disappeared as she had en-tered.
Lucy had not long to remain in doubt; for. shortly after Zelonah left, her father knocked at the door, and, in a voice evin-cing agitation, he said:
"Lucy, my dear, Elder Griscom has come, and he says he is dying to see you."
Pushing back the masses of waving brown hair from her low, white forehead, she obey-ed the summons conveyed in her father's words, and walked into the room, where the loud, rough voices told her Griscom and his friends were.
"She's coming—eh, elder?" asked Gris-com.
"Yes, she will be here in a moment," said Henderson, nervously glancing back at the door from which Lucy was to make her ap-pearance.
Elder Saul Griscom was a short, stout man, with a grizzled head and beard, and a thick, red throat. His heavy features were lit by two cunning, cold, and fox-like eyes. He was about fifty; but, as he mov-ed about the table, on which Zelonah was placing refreshments, he limped, as if one leg were much shorter than the other, so that, in moving, he seemed at least fen years older than when he stood still.
At last the door opened, and every eye was turned to look on the beautiful girl—more beautiful for her very pallor—who stood hesitating to enter.
"Lucy, this is Elder Griscom. You have not seen him for years," said her father, pointing to the elder.
Lucy bowed, but made no effort to meet the man now limping toward her.
"What, my little beauty, my Mountain Lily! Is this the greeting you give the man whose wife you are to be this very night? Come, let me salute you, as is the custom of such occasions."
Griscom reached out his arms, but, with a shudder of aversion, she shrank back, while a loud, brutal laugh rang out from the men about the table.
"Wait till I have performed the ceremo-ny after supper, elder, and the maiden will not be so coy," said a tall, thin man, with a dirty white neck cloth.
"Very well, very well! but, Lucy, you will at least shake hands with me?"
Elder Griscom reached out his hand, and Lucy placed her cold little fingers in his grasp.
"Now Lucy, we will excuse you. Go and dress. Elder Griscom is compelled to leave by daylight, and it is decided that the cere-mony comes off to night; that is the reason he and his friends pushed through so fast to-day."
Lucy bowed, and with a feeling of relief retreated from the choking atmosphere of Griscom's presence to her own room.
The white dress she was to wear on this occasion had long been prepared. Light-ing the lamp, she dropped the white mus-lin window curtain, then looked at the dress as if it were a shroud, and was about to cast it from her, but a more prudent resolution came to her. She must seem to acquiesce till the last moment—everything depended on this.
It did not take long to throw the dress over the garments she had on, and she had scarcely done so when the eldest of Isaac Henderson's wives, a stout woman with masculine features, came in.
"Ah! I'm glad to see you ain't got no tantrums. You allus have 'em—thought you might have 'em to-night. They might do with your father and me, who's been willin to bear with em, but they won't go down with Elder Griscom. He is a man you'd oughter feel proud of. My, how many gals in this valley would jump at the chance of marrying a man high as power-ful in the world's goods, an' among the saints, as the Prophet himself."
The senior Mrs. Henderson rattled on in this consoling way, but Lucy was deaf to the maternal eloquence so freely lavished on the saintly Griscom.
Perhaps the old woman saw her words were unheeded, or it may be that she felt they were unnecessary at this late hour, when preparations were being made for the ceremony outside; so she left, after giving some further advice on the necessi-ty of a modest and proper deportment da-ring the ordeal through which the noble Griscom was about to pass.
Mrs. Henderson, senior; had scarcely closed the door behind her, when Lucy secreted a small pistol in her breast—it was present from Paul St. Clair, which she had nearly forgotten—and then she lower-ed the light till it looked like a glow worm.
Raising the curtain, she looked out in the direction of the stables, from which a good deal of noise proceeded, for Gris-com's party had brought a good many horses.
From the dining-room she heard the voices of the men at supper, the clatter of knives and dishes, and the boisterous laughter of her would-be husband and his companions.
While she was wondering where Ulay was, that person appeared, as if he had ris-en from the ground under the window.
"Patience! The white girl must keep good heart; soon all will be ready."
"But, Ulay, where are the horses?"
"All saddled and waiting."
“Then why not start now—at once?"
"There are many Mormans about the stables, and Cogswell and his Utes are watching. But that white dress—that will be dangerous," he said, as in the indistinct light he recognized her costume.
“True; but I can tear it off in a second the moment we start. It is necessary to leave as soon as possible, for this ceremony the mockery of marriage—will begin as soon as the supper is over."
"You are sure?"
"I am certain."
"Then wait here, Zelonah must under-stand this, and be ready."
Ulay sank, vanished as if he had dropped into the earth from which he seemed to have risen.
How long the minutes were! And yet if Ulay could not carry out his plans, they would be all too short. Every sound add-ed to the flutter of her heart, and the noise in the dining- room gradually died out warning her of the approach of the dread-ed time.
Zelonah entered softly, and whispered they were making ready.
"Who; Zelonah?"
"The Morman elders."
"And Ulay?"
"He too has been working, and his plans are complete; but danger lies be-tween us and the horses."
“Danger? There is danger on every hand. But in the name of the God whom you worship as the Sun, and I as the dis-penser of all good, lose not a moment. I am ready!"
"And we will be. You must pass ou the window. In ten minutes I will be out-side. Leave that white dress behind you."
“I will, Zelonah. But speed, my sister, as you love me!"
Zelonah kissed her, and had scarcely closed the door behind her, when the el-der Mrs. Henderson again put in an ap-pearance.
"It seems to me you are mighty per-tickler about your dress to-night," she be-gan; adding; An' I hope ye'll be as per-tickler to please the good elder arter you become his wife."
“I wished to look well," said Lucy, with an effort to appear calm.
“You look well enough. Come out, everything is ready."
"The elder's wife opened the door, as if to let the victim pass through, but at that instant one of the brown tresses fell over the pale face.
"Go out till I fix these. It will only take me a minute."
Lucy stepped back, and made a motion as if she would shut the door behind the senior Mrs. Henderson; but that strong-minded and unamiable person was not to be got rid of so easily.
She saw her presence was not agreeable at this time to Lucy, but Mrs. Henderson considered this all the more reason for hav-ing her own way. She had never yielded to Lucy, nor allowed her to have her own way, from the moment she first saw her, and she did not intend to relinquish a par-ticle of her authority by assuming a gentle-ness or acquiesence she did not feel to-night.
Stirred by these amiable emotions, Isaac Henderson's senior wife came back, and, folding her arms, sat down on the bed, saying as she did so: "I will wait until you fix your hair."
Lucy looked at her a moment, and it was evident the woman did not feel comfort-able under her burning gaze, for she rose and said;
"Oh, I'm willing to help you! I only want you to understand it ain't consider-ed becomin' or good manners for one so young as you to keep one so old as Elder Griscom waitin'."
"And I don't consider it good manners for you to remain, uninvited, in the room of a woman who is preparing for the mar-raige ceremony,” said Lucy, in a tone so decided that the senior Mrs. Henderson, with all her ferocity and assumption of authority, began to feel alarmed.
“You don’t want me to help you, then?” asked she, rising and making a step in the direction of the door.
"No—if I wanted you, you would not stay. During the long years I have been in this house, and nominally in your care; you never before offered to help me. I never wanted your help, for I knew you hated me, and I was glad you did, that I might have a reasonable foundation for the instinctive loathing I have ever had for you. We are about to part to-night forever. Let us do so with a proper under-standing of each other. I have finished now. Oblige me by leaving this room!"
To say the senior Mrs. Henderson was astounded at this exhibition of indepen-dence on the part of Lucy would but faint-ly convey an idea of that moman's feelings. She was thunderstruck, dumbfounded, and could not find a word to begin a re-ply. Indeed, it was not for a week after this, when calmly deliberating over this interview, that she was at all able to build up replies to Lucy's charges, and then of course it was too late to say anything. Both women stood looking at each other, but gradually the senior quailed, and, shrinking out of the room like one thor-oughly and unexpectedly beaten, she clos-ed the door behind her.
Lucy locked the door, after listening, to be assured by the retreating steps that the senior wife of Isaac Henderson was gone: then she hastened back, hastily arranged her hair, and, lowering the light, she raised the window and looked out.
Darkness in the garden, and the loud voices of coarse men at the stables.
Not a moment to spare. She heard her name whispered, and answered, in a tone equally low:
“I am coming!"
She tore off the white dress, and threw it on the bed, like a hated thing whose touch was corruption; then she sprang lightly to the window again.
"Zelonah?"
"Yes. There is no time to spare!" came the answering voice from below the window.
Out she sprang, and as she touched the ground, she felt a soft, familiar hand in hers.
"Say not a word, but come with me."
Zelonah led her with flying feet across the garden and over an intervening fence that surrounded the field in which the stable stood.
"See, there is Ulay, waiting!"
Zelonah pointed, as she ran, to the three horses, dimly visible in the indistinct light, but standing saddled, with the hand of Ulay on the bridle of each.
A few seconds, and they were up where the horses were standing.
"Glad you are so far safe!"
Ulay grasped the hand of each, and whis-pered:
"Have courage now! Freedom is worth all the effort we are going to make."
"Yes, yes, Ulay! God bless you, my brave friend!”
Ulay would have suffered a hundred deaths to merit such words from her lips. He lifted her gently into the saddle, fixed her little foot in the stirrup, made sure the reins and bridle were right, though he had examined them a dozen times before. Then, with as much care, he saw that his sister was thoroughly secure on the spirited horse he had selected for her; and being satisfied, he adjusted his rifle, felt his pistols on either side of his belt, and sprang lightly on the back of his own horse.
Turning his horse's head to the west, he said, in a low tone;
"Follow me!"
A fierce yell frightened the animals into a mad gallop ; a score of rifles seemed to blaze out in their faces; wild shouts were, heard from the direction of the house, and cries of rage and fear seemed to ring out on every hand.
"Do not look back! Keep straight on!" cried Ulay, holding back his own horse, and turning his head to ascertain if they were being pursued.
He was not long in doubt—for soon he heard the yells of men coming after and the quick clatter of horses' feet.
He made no comment, but giving free rein, away the gallant animals dashed, as if they felt the importance of their mission.
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