LIFE IN SALT LAKE CITY;
OR,
A Visit to the Mormons.
By LEON LEWIS,
AUTHOR OF "THE GIRL HERMIT," "THE ROY MA-GICIAN," "THE BROKEN HOME," "RED KNIFE,"
ETC., ETC., ETC.
CHAPTER XXV.
HARRY'S INVESTIGATIONS.
To know
That which before us lies in daily life
Is the prime wisdom. MILTON.
The Prophet and Harry had been abroad only a few minutes, in the nearly deserted streets of the Mormon capital, as related on a foregoing page, when the former came to a halt, at the same time checking our hero's progress by a gentle pressure on the arm.
"You see this house?" queried Brigham, nod-ding toward the dwelling in front of which they were standing.
The young Gentile assented, surveying the scene before him intently.
The house was of an ordinary type, without pretensions, but; having every appearance of comfort and refinement. It was set back a lib-eral distance from the street, in the midst of a neat garden, which was ornamented, as was the side of the street, with a profusion of shade trees.
The front; room was lighted, and the curtains being undrawn, a pleasant interior was revealed to the observers, while a bright gleam fell upon them.
"Do you see that man?" resumed the Prophet, with another nod toward the apartment thus il-luminated. "The man in this front room—he who is busy at a little desk near the window?"
"Yes, I see him."
"Did you ever see him before?"
Harry scanned the man attentively a moment.
"No—certainly not," he then answered. "Are YOU quite sure? Step a little nearer and look closer. Didn't you ever meet him?"
"Never—I am certain."
"You wouldn't suppose him to have any fear of anybody, to judge by the manner in which he leaves his ' house open, at such a late hour?"
"Well, of course not."
"How does he look to you? Like a robber or an assassin?"
"To the contrary of all that—like a very intel-ligent. honorable and worthy gentleman. He's one of your celebrities, I suppose? Editor Can-non, perhaps? Your Delegate. Hooper? A good, solid citizen, in any case. Who is he?"
"You'd be a long time guessing, and so I may as well tell you. The gentleman is Porter Rock-well
"Indeed! No! Is it possible?"
"Yes; it's Port himself, as he is generally called by this people. Don't look much like an 'Avenger,' eh? Reckon you wouldn't take him for a leader of Thugs? Wouldn't pass any-wheres for a "Destroying Angel,' would he? You remember what one of your Eastern scribblers named Ludlow says of him? that he has com-mitted fifty murders for the church, and as many more on private account!"
"Yes, I remember all those stories," assented Harry, as lie continued to scan the form and features of Rockwell. "He don't look like any such man."
"Well, not; much. I reckon," declared Brig-ham smilingly. "But you shall judge for your-self. We’ll drop in upon him."
Leading the way to the front door, the Prophet knocked loudly upon it, and in another moment Rockwell himself appeared, bringing a light, and throwing the entrance wide open.
"Hallo, Brother Brigham! Why, is it you?" exclaimed the host, the instant his eyes rested upon the foremost visitor. " Come in! come in!"
"Mr. Osburn, a young friend of mine, Mr. Rockwell," said Brigham, by way of introduction, as he brought Harry into the foreground.
“Any friend of Brother Brigham is always doubly welcome," said Rockwell, as he shook hands with Harry. "Glad to see you, Mr. Os-burn."
"And Mr. Osburn is glad to see you, no doubt," said Brigham, laughing. "The real Port., I reckon, don't look much like the bogus Port, who met you back in the gap, the other evening?"
"No, he don't," declared Harry, with an an-swering laugh. "He's of another kind alto-gether."
"Walk in, gentlemen—walk in," resumed Rockwell, after an inquiring glance at his visit-ors. "Glad to see you in such line spirits."
In another moment the trio were seated in Rockwell's parlor, and the conversation pro-ceeded.
"What fiendish plot are you up to now, Broth-er Rockwell?" asked the Prophet, as he nodded toward the loose papers upon the host's desk.
"Looking over my school tax," was the an-swer. "It seemed to me a little dear."
"And so this is the business of the terrible 'Avenger,' is it?" exclaimed Brigham. "Glad to find you in such a pacific employment, Brother Rockwell, for our young friend* here has had reason, for a time, to consider you a sort of Rocky Mountain Thug!"
"Why, how is that?"
As Rockwell, pushing his papers into a pile, and leaning back in his chair, turned his keen gray eyes from Harry to Brigham with a grace-ful ease and interest, the young Gentile took in his whole personnel at a glance. Mornington in size and height he closely resembled, but the most casual observer could not have mistaken one for the other. The features of Rockwell were not without a certain degree of sternness, such as distinguishes and becomes all men who have fought their way in the world and achieved their desired success ; but there was not the least trace upon them of that wild, scheming and sinister look by which Mornington was peculiarly characterized. To the contrary, it was evident, at a glance, that Rockwell was an honored citizen of the community, and a man of wealth and influence.
"Now that I look at you, Mr. Rockwell," said Harry quickly, "I am almost ashamed to relate what sort of an impostor I received in your name ; but here goes."
The young Gentile accordingly narrated the adventures he had had with Mornington and his gang in the Wahsatch mountains.
"And so this is what you were smiling at be-tween yourselves, as you entered, eh?" was Rockwell's comment on the narrative. "Well, Mr. Osburn sees now what truth there was in the pretension of that loafer?"
"Certainly," answered Harry. "And since I am making this visit to Utah in an official sort of way, I shall be glad to ask a few questions. To begin with, I will call your attention to a state-ment made by Captain Burton, in his City of the Saints. In fact, I will read the extract in ques-tion."
And producing one of several clippings he had been carrying in Ills pocket- book, the young Gentile read aloud as follows:
"The 'Danite band,' a name of fear in the Missis-sippi valley, is said by Anti-Mormons to consist of men between the ages of seventeen and forty-nine. They were originally termed Daughters of Gideon, Destroy-ing Angels—the Gentiles say devils—and finally, Sons of Dan, or Danites, from one of whom it was prophe-sied that he should be a serpent in the path. They were organized about 1837, under D. W. Patten, popu-larly called Captain Fearnot, for the purpose of deal-ing as avengers of blood with Gentiles. In fact, they formed a kind of 'Death Society,' Desperadoes, Thugs, Hashshashiyun—in plain English, assassins in the name of the Lord."
Both Brigham and Rockwell listened atten-tively to this reading.
"And what you want to know, Mr. Osburn" suggested the former—
"What I want to know is," said Harry, re-placing the extract in his pocket-book, "if there has ever been in your midst, in the interests of your church, and under your directions, any such band of assassins as herein mentioned."
"No; there has never been anything of the kind," declared the Prophet.
"The whole thing is a bugaboo—a humbug!" declared Rockwell.
"The simple fact is this," resumed Brigham. "In the course of our experience as a people, we have been hunted of men, like wolves. Look back at Nauvoo. A trail of blood can be traced from the Missouri river to the Salt Lake valley—the blood of our martyrs. And naturally some of our people have laid this treatment to heart, and have turned, in isolated cases, upon their persecutors and destroyers. Could anything else be expected of human nature? In regard to Brother Rockwell here, as in regard to my-self or any other leading member of our church, he has sometimes been forced to turn at bay. Yes, he has more than once, for good cause, drawn a bead on an enemy who was hunting his life; and so have you, Mr. Osburn, and so has every active spirit of our great western wilder-ness; and so would we all do again—the occa-sion arising. But that the Latter-day Saints, as a body or as individuals, have ever instituted or maintained a band of religious assassins, under the name of Danites, or any other, is cru-elly and infamously false."
"I had begun to see as much," said Harry. "In speaking of Mornington and his men, I have called them Danites, for the Avant of a better term—"
"And you have done well," interrupted Brig-ham, with a bitter smile. "The term has come to be a mere gag—to borrow a word used by you during our late interview. Let a couple of cut-throats pounce upon a Gentile traveller, in some lonely kanyon, and rob him—it's the Dan-ites! Let a Gentile drink himself to death, and fall dead in a fit, at midnight, on his way home from some whiskey den, and you will hear next day that the Danites have killed him. Let a band of murdering Goshoots intercept a Gen-tile in the mountains and kill him, and the story is at once started that Danites in the guise of Indians have done it. And so it goes on for-ever—the howl of Danites here, and Danites there—and all the time there is no more founda-tion in the whole business than there is in the mournful ballad of Old Mother Hubbard!"
"And there is another cause for all this Danite uproar that Brother Brigham has not fully demonstrated," said Rockwell. "I refer to the presence of that large body of horse-thieves, desperadoes, gamblers, broken-down miners—the ends and offscourings of creation, in fact— who flock here from all parts of the globe, and live by stealing and lying; men of no faith, neither Saint nor Christian, but who call them-selves the one or the other, and put on a good outside show, and live by all sorts of mis-chief and baseness. You will readily compre-hend, Mr. Osburn, that this large class has al-ways been in our midst, has always been out-side of our control, and has always been bring-ing reproach upon us."
"I see how it is," responded Harry, arising, "and while thanking you for this present inter-view, must beg of you to grant me another, that we may talk further on all these subjects."
"Oh, as to that, call upon me at anytime," said Rockwell. "I am usually at leisure, and shall always be glad to see you."
The Prophet and Harry soon took their leave of Rockwell, and set out at a rapid walk for the residence of Elder True. In the course of three or four minutes they had reached the Elder's dwelling.
“They are still up,” observed Brigham, as he marked the lights gleaming from a number of front windows of the house. "A goodly proportion of the old man's wives seem un-usually wakeful. And—yes, there is a light in the Elder's own quarters."
"The Elder is at home, then? I am glad of this. There are eight front doors, I see. Has the Elder that number of wives?"
"No. I believe not. Six was his number, at the latest report. As you are only too well aware, however, he has lately been intending to take a seventh, and this new addition to our right was intended for this seventh wife's occupancy."
"And this eighth door to our left?"
"That brings us to the quarters occupied by the old Elder himself. Reckon he is at home, to judge by that light. Yes. I hear him moving, and we’ll see immediately what he has to say for himself."
With this the Prophet led the way to the door in question, and bestowed aloud knock upon it. A stir within instantly followed—and then a profound silence, as if the occupant were hesi-tating as to his course.
"Who's there?" then demanded the well-known voice of Elder True.
"It's me—Brother Brigham."
"Oh!" came in a long aspiration of relief, and the door was instantly opened.
"And with me. Brother True, comes a young friend of mine from the East," announced the Prophet, indicating Harry by a gesture.
"Exactly—all right," stammered the Elder, with some embarrassment. " Glad to see you, Brother Brigham. Walk in. Your friend is—"
"A particular friend of the Burtons. His name is Harry Osburn."
At this announcement a swift pallor mantled the Elder's face, only to be instantly followed by a burning flush.
"Osburn, did you say. Brother Brigham? Very well—yes, walk in. I was jest about to go to bed. But, of course, you are very welcome, Brother Brigham, at any hour, and so is your friend. Anything new? Anything special to see me about?"
"Well, yes," answered the Prophet, as he and Harry took the seats proffered them. "Our young friend here has been complaining of the treatment he has received from Mornington and his men in your interest?"
"In my interest, Brother Brigham? Why, what; do you mean?"
"Didn't you hire Mornington and a gang of ruffians to meet; Mr. Osburn in the mountains?"
"Mornington! Mountains!" ejaculated True, with well-feigned surprise. "Why, what can you be driving at? What Mornington do you mean, Brother Brigham?"
"There's only one of the name, to my knowl-edge, so far as our city is concerned—he who is called Captain Mornington, or Major, or Colonel, according to the fancy of the party addressing him. I am not aware that he has ever had any real military status, or that he has any real claim to any of those popular titles, but that does not matter. Anybody and everybody, you know, is a Captain or Colonel the minute he strikes the Missouri, coming westward. You must know the man I mean, or at least have heard of him—"
"Can't say that I have," muttered the Elder, pretending to examine his memory. "Morning-ton? Don't remember that I've heard the name, and am sartain that I never saw the man. But what does he want of me, Brother Brigham, and in what manner has his name been coupled with mine?"
"Why, he says that you engaged him to meet our young friend here in the mountains—"
"Well, he lies, then. I never saw him. Never have had no dealin' with anybody of that name whosoever!"
"You have at least been courting Doctor Burton's daughter?"
"To be sure—I made a little beginnin’ that way," assented True, with an air of pretended frankness. "In fact, I hoped to get the gal, and even built on an addition, as you may have no-ticed ; but the whole idee fell through a week or ten days ago. Her pa and ma told me that neither they nor the gal wanted me in their family, and that put an end, of course, to the whole business."
"Well, have you had anything to do with the girl's disappearance?"
"Me? Why, has she gone?"
"The whole family is gone, the house shut up. and our young friend here has been unable to get any trace of them. Mornington says that you have been pro wing about the Doctor's house lately, in secret, and that you have even pro-cured duplicate keys of the various doors—"
"The confounded liar!" interrupted the Elder fiercely. "There an't a word o'truth in him. I've never been near the house sence the gal gave me the go-by. Why should I? I’ve other things to think about."
"And you have no idea of the whereabouts of the Doctor and his family?"
"Not the least. I heard to-day that the Doc-tor has been indicted, and that lie has fled, tak-ing his wife and gal with him, but I can't say what truth there is in these rumors."
"And you have set on foot no plots against Mr. Osburn?"
"Of course not. Why, what is the matter ? Has Mornington been settin' you on?" "Indirectly—yes. He has made various state-ments which, being true, would prove you a vil-lain and a hypocrite!"
"But which, being false," protested the Elder, "must stamp their author as a scoundrel. Go on, Brother Brigham. What else have you to ask me?"
"Why, if you haven't had any dealings with Mornington, nor plotted against Mr. Osburn and the Burtons, there is no necessity of continuing this inquiry."
"Well, you can depend upon what I tell you, Brother Young. I know nothing of any of these matters. At my age, and in my position, you can put confidence in me, I should think, as heretofore—"
"Oh, certainly—I do," the Prophet hastened to declare. "It's clear that we need not trou-ble you longer."
True declared that he felt honored by the visit, that he was glad to make Harry's acquaint-ance, that he should be glad to be of any service to either of his visitors, and that he would give them, at any time, all the information in his possession. And thus the Prophet and Harry were politely conducted to the point of taking their leave.
At the door, however, as Harry stood on the steps, in the darkness, waiting for Brigham to address a final remark to the Elder, a hand sud-denly came in contact with the young Gentile's. This hand contained a slip of paper, and this paper was thrust gently into Harry's keeping.
Then the figure—a slight, girlish figure—to which the hand had belonged, stole so quietly and quickly away that Harry barely caught a glimpse of it.
"Well, this looks like business," thought our hero. "Who can she be? What can this mean?"
The Prophet and True being still engaged with each other, Harry took occasion to raise the mysterious slip of paper into the light.
As he had almost expected, the paper con-tained a communication. It consisted of a cou-ple of lines, written by a pencil, in a delicate chirography, and read as follows:
"Come alone, in half an hour, to the fourth door from the right."
The shock these few words gave Harry was unnoticed by either of his companions. They had finished their final remarks, and Brigham had turned to depart, while the Elder lighted the way. And so, exchanging a "good-night" with True, the visitors took their departure.
"It is late," was Harry's observation, on reaching the street. "I will not trouble you further to-night, Governor. To-morrow night, however, if you will be so good as to bear me company—"
"Very well," interrupted Brigham, with a shiver. "Come early, and we’ll resume our in-vestigations. There is something in all these contradictions between True and Mornington that perplexes me. I think—But good-bye until to-morrow. There is something working in my mind, as in yours, no doubt, and we’ll de-fer the whole matter to another evening."
And a moment later the two men separated, the Prophet returning to his Block, and the young Gentile making a feint of going to Towns-end's.
At the first, corner, however, our hero came to a halt, looking back toward the Elder's. Then he read his mysterious communication again, by the aid of a neighboring lamp.
"It's a strange message," he said to himself. "There may be danger in heeding it. But, as the case stand's, I’ll take my chances."
With this he returned noiselessly to the walk in front of the Elder's dwelling, but not with-out taking good care to prevent his presence from being discovered.
"The 'fourth door from the right,' eh?" he said to himself. "That must be the dwelling as-signed to the Elder's fourth wife, if he has got them hived in regular order. Can it be that this message is from that feminine fragment of True's household? And what can be her pur-pose?"
It was in vain that he puzzled himself over this question.
At length, after a considerable period of hesi-tation, during which the lights all died out of the Elder's house, the young Gentile came to a definite conclusion, and took his way to the door in question.
How his heart beat as he placed his hand upon the door knob and turned it! And especially how did his heart quicken its wild beatings, as the door yielded to his touch, and gave him free admission, in a profound silence and dark-ness, into the interior of the dwelling!
CHAPTER XXVI.
FROM BAD TO WORSE.
Oh, 'tis a dreadful interval of time,
Filled up with horror, and big with death!
SHAKESPEARE.
The hours of that terrible night of gloom and despair—her first night of captivity in the herd-er's lonely cabin on Church Island—passed slowly and wearily to poor Winnie Burton. For a long time she sat motionless as a statue upon her hard wooden chair, her sad eyes shining through the gloom, her sad thoughts busy with the fates of those whose love for her had brought such trouble upon them.
But at last her bodily weariness overpowered her mental activity. She moved feebly, crept to the low, hard bed, lay down upon it, and was presently asleep.
And in her sleep, by the divine law of compen-sation, that happiness which was denied to her in waking hours came to her young soul. Dreams of father, mother and lover, a happy, unthreat-ened home, joy and love, refreshed her sorrow-ing spirit as the sight of the green, palm-shaded oasis close at hand rejoices the weary and worn traveller of the desert.
She slept for hours, and awakened to a reality as hideous and repulsive as her dream had been sweet and alluring. The herder's wife, candle in hand, was bending over her, with an expres-sion of uneasiness on her hard, coarse face, and the sight of this woman brought Winnie's mind back to all the horrors of her situation.
"Come, come. Are you never going to wake up?" was the salutation of Mrs. Gotekin, as she retreated a step or two before Winnie's gaze. "I've been into this room three times this morn-ing, and here it is noon. I had an idee you wa'n't never going, to wake up no more, and that'd be a pretty kettle of fish for Jacob and me!"
Winnie slowly arose and sat upon the edge of the bed, passing one hand wearily over her fore-head.
"Your breakfast is all ready," continued Mrs. Gotekin, as the girl did not speak. "It's been ready this four hours. I'll fetch it to you."
She set down her light upon the table, and went into the outer room, returning almost im-mediately with a plate of food of the simplest and humblest description, and with a cup of hot tea. Giving these to Winnie, she went, and sat down by the door, bringing a chair from the outer room for her accommodation.
Winnie was hungry, as may be supposed, after her long fast and fatigues. She drank her tea and ate her breakfast with a certain relish, Mrs. Gotekin watching her with her keen, cold eyes.
"So you area Gentile girl?" observed the herder's wife, at last, evidently inclining to sociability. "The daughter of Doctor Burton, who has been getting into such scrapes, eh? Elder True seems to take a mighty fancy to you. Miss. Any one would think that you was all the girl there was in existence, judgin' by the way he goes on! He's regular bewitched, and I can't see what at! A pretty doll face, a pair of soft eyes, and fine-lady ways. I don't believe you can do a day's work with any one of his six wives. Two of his wives are master-hands at weaving, and bring him in considerable money that way. And three on 'em, a Nor-wegian, a German and a Dane, are first-rate farmers, if they be women. They used to do field-work in their own countries. But you," she added, half contemptuously, "what can you do?"
"Certainly not farming, nor weaving!” said Winnie.
"I thought not. Educated at the East, wasn't you? Then, of course, you play the pianner, and sew embroidery, and such fol-de-rols. Humph! Well, men will be born fools once in a while, and no help for it. What does Elder True want of a pianner-playing, fine-lady wife? But of course it's his own business. He's got six working ones, and likely he wants one orna-mental one. The six others have got to work to support you in idleness."
"By no means!" said Winnie calmly. "I am well aware that Elder True is supported by the six deluded, hard-working women whom he has married after the Mormon fashion, but I shall never be a burden upon them. It does not fol-low because Elder True wants to marry me that he will succeed in doing so."
"I should think it does foller," said Mrs. Gote-kin dryly. "You don't know the Elder, Miss. He's an awful man when he once makes up his mind. Nothing can turn him. He will marry you in spite of yourself, or President Young, or the whole Mormon church. That's the kind of man he is. You might better fight a grizzly than to fight him."
Winnie finished her breakfast, and a glow of warmth began to overspread her tired frame. And with the warmth and strength came also the resolve to appeal to this unprepossessing jailer for aid. Surely some spark of womanliness must lie hidden under that cold and hard exterior! Poor Winnie did not yet comprehend how the hideous practice of polygamy tends to blunt all the finer and nobler qualities of both men and worn, n, and in the contests of jealousy, out-raged affection, wounded pride and utter despair, all the gentle and feminine qualities are frequently up-rooted from the breasts of women.
"Are you English?" asked Winnie.
Mrs. Gotekin assented.
"I thought so," said the girl. "Most of the Mor-mons—the larger share at least—are foreigners. Have you any children?"
The herder's wife replied in the negative.
"Has your husband another wife?" inquired the young girl.
Mrs. Gotekin's coarse, sallow face flushed quickly, and she clenched her bony red hands, as she answered hastily:
"No, indeed. And he'd better not think of such a thing, I can tell him. If he should—"
She paused abruptly, but her menacing eyes finished her sentence better than words would have done.
"Do you like it here as well as you expected?"
"Well, yes, Miss. I have to work harder than I ex-pected, but then we are the Lord's anointed, and are sure of Heaven. That's the great comfort!"
The woman's sincerity was genuine, and Winnie did not smile at her assertion. She said gently:
"You would not like to have a rival in your hus-band's affections, or in his house. Why, then, should you wish to condemn me to a life you abhor? Why try to force me to marry a man who has six wives al-ready?"
"That's another affair," said the herder's wife, with a hoarse laugh. "I look out only for my own self."
The woman rose abruptly and took up the dishes, retreating into the adjoining room. She locked the door of Winnie's cell, and the captive was again left to gloom and solitude.
But once more during the day did Mrs. Gotekin appear with food, and then she was so grim and sullen in her demeanor that Winnie forbore to address her.
Upon the second night of her imprisonment, the young captive slept well, unvisited by dreams of any description.
Upon the following morning, soon after she had eaten her breakfast, there were sounds of an arrival at the herder's cottage. Gotekin was absent as usual, at his work, and Mrs. Gotekin was alone in the outer room.
With a sudden thrill of hope, Winnie crept to her door, and listened to the sound of voices, almost per-suaded that Mountain Jack had come to her rescue.
But a moment's listening dispelled all her hopes, filling her heart with a keen anxiety. The voice she heard was that of her enemy. Elder True.
"Good-mornin', Mrs. Gotekim,' she heard him say-ing in his loud, coarse voice. "All right, I s'pose?"
"All right, Elder," responded the herder's wife.
"And the gal is well? She hasn't escaped, nor com-mitted suicide, nor nothin'?"
"No, Elder. She an't very chirk, that's true, but she's well, and as restless as a cat She walks about her room hall the time."
"She an't give in, of course?"
"Not yet, Elder. She's true grit—one of them heady ones that's hard to hold. And as to breaking her spirit, I’m afraid it can't be done."
"I like to tame jest such creturs," said the Elder. "I like a spirited, high-headed woman, and I like the fun o' breakin' her in. Jest unlock the door, and give me a light, and I’ll go in and argue with her."
As Mrs. Gotekin proceeded to light a candle, Win-nie moved away from the door. When True entered the room, light in hand, closing the door behind him, the young girl was standing in a further corner, her slender arms folded across her chest, her eyes turned upon him in a gaze of scorn and defiance.
True set down his candle and surveyed her with the look of one contemplating a work of art—a rare pic-ture, or bit of statuary. His coarse, sensual face glowed with admiration; his thick, hanging lips were parted; and his dull eyes gleamed with delight, satis-faction and a savage triumph.
For Winnie, flushed with defiance, was gloriously beautiful at that moment. Her brown hair, tangled and dishevelled, waved above her fair white forehead in picturesque confusion. A bright glow burned upon her cheeks; her dark eyes glowed like miniature suns, in their scornful splendor; and her lithe figure was instinct with haughtiness and defiance.
It only needed to see her thus to quicken True's fancy for her into a strong, keen, jealous passion. To possess this lovely young creature as his wife became from this moment—if it had not been before—the su-preme object of his existence. The beautiful, high-bred, spirited girl was like some glorious star which he was determined to drag down to give light to his own dull, commonplace life.
He moved toward her with outstretched hand.
"Back!" commanded Winnie, her clear, high voice ringing through the room. "Keep your distance, El-der True. Don't dare to touch me!"
Her manner, cool, commanding, quietly haughty, impressed the Mormon Elder with a vague awe. He halted near the door, his arm dropping to his side.
"Anybody'd think you was a Queen, at the very least," he said, with a sickly grin. "Your imprison-ment an't hurt you, Miss Winnie, as I can see. But I'm willing to humor your notions. If my style o' courtin' don't suit you, I'm willin' to change it. Any-thing to be agreeable's my motter."
"Anything but to behave like an honorable man," said Winnie, with cool sarcasm. "That, I suppose, would be impossible."
True's face flushed unpleasantly.
"You're pretty hard, Miss Winnie," he expostu-lated. "Them cuts o' your'n go deep. But I like a panther sort o' woman—I do, really. You look as pretty as a pictur at this moment. How that there beauty'd be set off by a set o' Roman pearls or French diamonds! I'd like to see you tricked out in silks and sattings; blamed if I would n't now, Winnie!"
"Paste diamonds and silks bought with the hard earnings of six worn and weary, sad-eyed Mrs. Trues," said Winnie quietly. "I think not, Elder True. I don't desire to shine at the expense of the tears and labors of six deluded, broken-spirited wo-men."
"Women al'ays like finery," observed True medita-tively, paying no heed to Winnie's speech. "I came to-day to do my courtin' up ship-shape. I have been ruttier rough and ha'sh, I own to it, but circumstances drove me to that there line o' action. But there's two sides to my character. One on 'em is all tiger or wolf; 'tother is turkle-dove! You've seen the wolf side, and now I've come to show you the turkle-dove side."
"You had better spare yourself. The 'turkle-dove' side is as unpleasant to me as the other."
“I’ll try both, any how. 'Tween the two, I'm sure to be successful. I've got a fine new house finished for you, Miss Winnie. It's been buildin' nigh all sum-mer. There's two rooms into it, painted, papered and grained. There's a rag-carpet on the floors that Seline, my wife to the Welsh settlement, made, stripid green and blue and red. And there's a bureau with brass knobs, and no end to furniture. The house would jest suit an Eastern brought-up young lady like you."
"I am afraid not."
"I shouldn't begrudge clothes nor jewelry. None o' the President's wives should outshine you. You should go to the theatre dressed as fine as a fiddle—"
"All this is childish," interposed the girl impatient-ly. "Can't you comprehend that I dislike you utter-ly—that I would rather die and be buried under the waters of the Salt Lake than be your wife? I will not add a seventh to your list of victims. Your 'turkle dove' talk is wasted upon me."
The Elder breathed hard, and wiped the perspira-tion from his forehead. He had fancied that Winnie would be tempted to marry him in order to possess the gewgaws so tempting in his own sight. He now remembered that the Burton cottage was far superior to his own house in its appointments and air of re-finement, but he clung to the hope that a love of dress might be one of Winnie's characteristics.
This hope was dispelled as soon as he proceeded to make new promises and bribes.
Driven to his wit's end, as the saying is, he sat down upon the chair near the door, a feeling of anger against the scornful young captive taking possession of his narrow soul.
"You are hard to suit, Miss Winnie!" he exclaimed. "If a man offers to be your slave, what more do you want?"
“We won't argue on the subject of my preferences,'' said Winnie. "Let us talk of matters in which you are more at home. What have you done with my father?"
"That's my secret. As I told you the night before last, his fate depends upon you."
"And my mother?"
“Ask Bishop Coulter. I s'pose she's still at his house. The Bishop's took a fancy to her, but if you’ll marry me, and yer pa’ll say nothing about the money, but jest go away peaceable, Coulter may let yer ma go off too. It all depends upon you!"
Winnie twisted her hands nervously together.
"Mountain Jack-" she murmured.
"I sent three of the boys to smoke him out, inter-posed True. "They haven't reported themselves yet, but you may calc'late that yer Limber Jack has got enough to do at present in findin' a shelter and food for his family!
“Oh, if Har'ry Osburn were but come!" exclaimed the girl, giving utterance to the wild cry that welled up from her very soul.
True grinned like a demon.
"Yer Harry Osburn has come!" he ejaculated, in a triumphant voice, as he arose to his feet.
"It was true, then? The Osburn your men spoke of—"
"Yes, that there Osburn was yer Harry!"
"And he is at Salt Lake City?"
"He is."
The sorrowing young face of the doctor's daughter became transfigured with rapturous joy.
"He has come!" she breathed. "Thank God! thank God!"
The grin on the face of the Mormon elder deepened. Something in his looks and aspect startled Winnie. She came nearer to him.
"You would not tell me that he had come unless you had something to say that would neutralize my joy," she said. "Has—has anything happened to Harry?"
True laughed aloud, like a rejoicing demon.
"Yes, something has happened to him," he said.
"What?" gasped Winnie.
"I will leave you to guess. He is powerless to aid you, or to harm me. He is in my power, absolutely helpless. But where he is, I will not tell you. Only one thing I will say. His fate hangs on you! If you act peaceable and consent ter marry me, I will save him and your father. Refuse, and they both die!"
Winnie stared at her enemy with a wild, scared gaze.
"This 'ere's the gist of what I came out hereto say," said Elder True, backing close to the door. " You refuse my love. I an't good enough for yer door-mat. Perhaps you’ll look different at the matter when I say out what I came to say, and that is, to give you yer choice between yer marriage with me and the terrible death of yer father and Osburn. Take yer choice! Remember that if you sentence 'em ter death, you’ll break yer ma's heart, You’ll be a mur-deress in actooal fact! What shall it be, my bud o' beauty? Shall they live, or die?"
"Monster!" cried the girl, in her passionate despair
"What is it to be—life or death? Shall yer pa—that old man that sets a store by you—be put out o the way? Shall Osburn be cut down in all his bloomin pride? Speak, gal. It's for you to decide."
“O God pity me!”
"And you won’t pity them? They must die, then?"
"Oh, no, no! This is horrible—monstrous! What can I do?"
“Marry me!" said True coolly. "That's the only road to their safety and your'n. You've got my ulty-matum. Now give me your'n."
Poor Winnie's soul was torn by conflicting emotions. Her parents' safety—Harry's, she thought—all de-pended upon her answer to this wretch. Could she sacrifice herself for them? Could she embrace a life she rightly deemed one of dishonor—could she wrong her own soul and her God, as this man demanded?
"Oh, if I could only die for them!" she moaned.
But True asked more than life. And Winnie well knew that her father and mother and Harry Osburn would not accept their lives at the price demanded of her—that they would rather see her dead, and die themselves also, than to behold her the "wife” of this foul wretch
No—she could not commit this wrong. Better death for her and hers!
It was thus she decided, after a silent prayer in the depths of her heart. Then she lifted her pale, calm, heroic face toward the evilly triumphant visage of her enemy, and gave him her answer.
"I cannot marry you! Not even to save the lives so dear to me. God will not permit your iniquity. At any rate, if we die we shall pass beyond all power or your persecutions. Go. You have my answer!”
The Elder, who had fancied himself on the verge of victory, tried to shake her resolution, but in vain. At last, muttering threats, he went away.
Once more in the darkness of her prison, Winnie sank on her knees, murmuring:
"Father—mother— Harry—all are in this man's power! Oh, God pity and keep them, for there is no mortal hand to help us! He has gone to kill them! O father! O Harry!"
[TO BE CONTINUED.]
