DOCTOR BURTON GOING ON HIS MIDNIGHT VISIT.
LIFE IN SALT LAKE CITY;
or,
A Visit to the Mormons.
By LEON LEWIS,
author of "the girl hermit," “the boy ma-gician,” “the broken home,” “red knife,” etc., etc., etc.
CHAPTER I.
a gentile family in trouble.
I drink
So deep of grief, that he must only think,
Not dare to speak, that would express my woe.
marston.
It was night in Salt Lake City.
The gloom and the chill of early Autumn were everywhere perceptible—along the brown, sear plains; among the passes and kanyons of the mountains; in the dying vegetation of the gardens and fields; in the freshening blasts from the north; and in the lead-colored canopy of clouds that had veiled the heavens.
The hum of busy life had died out of the Mormon capital. Here and there gleamed a solitary light from a window, but only rare footfalls were heard in the streets. The theatre had long since closed. All was quiet at Townsend's. The last saloons on Main street, alias "Whiskey street," were in the act of closing.
The hour was touching upon midnight, when the door of a small but tasteful frame dwelling in the north-east centre of the city, near Temple Block, was cautiously opened a few inches, and a man looked searchingly up and down the street.
"The way seems clear," whispered this nocturnal watcher, withdrawing his head and closing the door, after a keen scrutiny of the neighborhood. "Not a soul is stirring!"
"Let us be oft", then," responded, close behind him, the musical voice of a lady. "I am impatient to be gone!"
The couple were husband and wife, as was shown by their voices and manner.
"You have no hesitation?" asked the husband.
''Not the least," was the wife's answer. ''Flight is our only resource. What other course can we take? Every hour we remain here henceforth but adds to our danger, and to the danger of her we love better than life—our daughter, our Winnie. For Gentiles who have once come under the ban—who have become obnoxious to leading Mormons—who have become exposed to such passions and persecutions as are now gathering around us—there is no possibility of remaining here, no peace, no safety. For us to tarry here another day even, would be like sleeping upon a volcano. We must fly to-night !"
"We must—we must!" returned the husband emphatically. "True, there is danger in going, as in staying. How often have bands of fleeing Gentiles been overtaken and murdered! There was Sprail's party, for instance. The men and women were murdered—a score of them—and their children were scattered around the territory in various Mormon families, to grow up future Mormons. In like manner we may be pursued, Esther. Once informed of our flight, the Elder may stir up his minions and follow us and kill us!"
"Better even that fate than the degradation and torture that are threatening us!" declared the wife. "Better death in its worst form for Winnie, than that she should become the wife of that hateful Elder! My mind is made up. William. We must fly from this brutal den, and tonight!"
The husband drew his wife admiringly and affectionately to his breast.
"I am glad to see you so firm, Esther," he whispered. “This firmness decides me fully and finally. We’ll leave immediately
A moment they stood heart to heart in the darkness reigning throughout their dwelling—for they had extinguished their light at the usual hour—and then they gave all their souls to the execution of their purpose.
"The blinds are closed and the curtains drawn," said the lady in a whisper, as they passed from the hall to the sitting-room. "I think we may venture to light a candle. We shall need it."
The husband murmuring his approval, the candle was soon burning. By the light thus shed upon the scene, the two faces and forms
were distinctly revealed.
The husband, William Burton, a native of an Eastern State, and for many years a prominent physican of Salt Lake City, was still in the prime of life, grave and thoughtful, with a countenance that indicated a kindly and generous spirit.
His wife, Mrs. Esther Burton, was a grand and noble-looking woman, in the very glory of her years, with a wide, intellectual forehead, great soulful eyes, and a presence at once winning and commanding. Endowed with a magnificent vitality, she seemed formed to enjoy life and to make all around her happy. But now her eyes, like those of her husband, were full of a brooding sadness, and her face pale and anxious, even to an air of dread expectancy, as if she feared at every moment to feel the hand of a Danite dutching her shoulder.
"I will go and saddle the horses now," said Dr. Burton, after a moment of reflection. "Mountain Jack will be waiting for us, and it's time to be moving."
"And I will pack up the few things that we can take with us," murmured the lady.
Within five minutes these measures were taken. The horses were placed in waiting under a little shed between the house and the stable. They were three in number—the two the doctor had for sometime been using in his practice, and a good saddle-horse he had recently purchased for the use of his daughter. During the time he was engaged in saddling and bridling them, Mrs. Burton gathered in a couple of valises the few light articles she had decided to take with her.
"I've seen nothing, heard nothing, to alarm me," observed Dr. Burton, as he came back to his wife. "There's no one lurking about the house, so far as I have been able to discover. I hope and pray that we may get off unmolested!"
"Heaven grant it," implored Mrs. Burton. "I am all packed up, you see, and we must now awaken Winnie. We will go to her together."
Taking the light in her hand, the wife crossed the pleasant little sitting-room, led the way noiselessly up a flight of stairs, pushed open a door off the landing that was ajar, and entered a large, square chamber.
In this apartment, as the parents thus entered it, was sleeping their only daughter.
"How beautiful she is!" whispered Mrs. Burton, half in pride, half in bitterest anguish. "And I have been so proud of her beauty! Yet it is a fatal gift to her. Better had she been deformed from her birth. This loveliness is what has turned the brain of that old Mormon Elder. Oh, my God!" she breathed, in a passionate sorrow, lifting her eyes to heaven. “If this cup had but been spared me! If I could but have suffered in her stead!"
Unconscious of the agonized eyes fixed upon her, the young girl continued to sleep as sweetly as an infant.
As her mother had said, she was very beautiful, after the delicate and refined type peculiar to the best class of American girls. Not tall, but slender, she was gifted with the rarest grace—that gift which is, to women, as the perfume to flowers. She had a fair, sweet, spirited face, lit up by dark and glowing eyes, full of tender radiance. From her broad, full brow her brown hair now rippled away over her pillow and night dress. She appeared, as she was, a glorious incarnation of youth, beauty and innocence.
She had been left in her native village at school when her parents migrated to the Mormon capital, and only two months had passed since her arrival in Salt Lake City, at her parents' desire, to take her place in their home.
But these two months had been prolific of peril to the dazzling young beauty. An old Elder, who was one of the dignitaries of the Mormon church, had promptly fixed his eyes upon her.
"Would to God she had never come here," sighed the mother, after a pause. "Then she would have never encountered this dreadful peril. How terrible it is for us to be compelled to awaken her from this sweet sleep, and drag her forth into the night, a fugitive, homeless and helpless!"
"Yet it must be done," said Dr. Burton, repressing his grief resolutely. "And it must be done now. There is no time to lose."
The suffering mother lifted her tearful eyes to her husband's face, and a wild prayer, without the medium of words, leaped from her soul to Heaven. She had never once swerved from the Christian faith she had learned in childhood, in the little wooden church of her birthplace, and now the consolations of this faith were with her.
As a partial calm settled upon her soul, she advanced to her daughter's bedside.
"Winnie," she called softly.
The maiden ceased her regular breathing, moving uneasily.
"Winnie," repeated Mrs. Burton more loudly.
" Wake up, Winnie!"
The daughter awoke fully at length, springing up in her bed, with a suppressed cry of alarm.
At sight of her parents thus standing beside her, so anxious and excited, at the dead of night, she was naturally startled.
"Father! mother! what has happened?" she murmured.
"Do not be alarmed, dear," enjoined Mrs. Burton.
"It is only this," said the doctor quickly. "Your mother and I are compelled to take a journey suddenly, and we want you to go with us."
"A journey, father!" exclaimed Winnie, with a bewildered air. "A journey at midnight! Where are we going ?"
The husband looked at his wife. "Perhaps we had better tell her," he suggested.
"We will," was the wife's answer. "Tell me what, mother ?" asked the girl, all wonder and astonishment.
"We must tell you why we are about to fly from Salt Lake City," said Mrs. Burton. "To fly, mother?"
"Yes, dear; to go as fugitives, to go unseen and unheard, if we can. We have kept the matter from you until now for several reasons. We did not want you to worry. We had not reached a final decision as to our course of action. We intended to explain matters to you only after our departure from the city. But you are almost a woman, dear, and will bravely bear your share of our burdens."
"Yes, yes, mother," protested the daughter, controlling her agitation. "Let me know everything. Why must we leave Salt Lake City in this strange manner ?"
"It is because we are in great danger from the Mormons," explained Mrs. Burton hurriedly. "Since you came here from our old home, two months ago, the eyes of a Mormon wolf have fallen upon you—"
"You mean Elder True, mother ?" interrupted the maiden. "You mean the hideous old man who has called here so often, under one pretence or another, since I came from the East?"
" Yes, I mean Elder True, Winnie," the mother continued.
"The Elder is a pillar of the Mormon church, and one of Brigham's advisers and intimates. In short, he is one of the most powerful and unscrupulous Mormons in Utah. And this man, Winnie—oh! how can I ever break the news to you, my poor child?—this man, Winnie, this Elder True, desires you for a wife!"
Winnie uttered an exclamation of horror.
" For a wife!" she echoed. "Why, Elder True is more than sixty!"
"I know it!" groaned the mother. "And has six wives already!" and Winnie's dilating eyes attested how terribly she was startled.
"Yes! six wives already! But he wants you for the seventh!"
"The seventh! A seventh wife, mother?" and the hues of Winnie's fair cheeks changed to the color of her night dress.
"It is just as I tell you," declared Mrs. Burton, wringing her hands. "This wicked, dangerous Elder True has become infatuated with you—mad, delirious! He has sworn that you shall be his wife. For a month past he has been hounding your father and I on the subject. He has begged and entreated us to give you to him. His entreaties failing, he has raved and threatened."
"But you could have told him, mother," said the girl, as a bright flush illuminated her features, " you could have told him that I am already engaged to be married; that I have for months been betrothed to Harry Osburn; that Harry is even now on his way to Utah to marry me, and is expected from one day to another—"
The mother threw up her hands with a gesture full of anguish.
"We have told him all these things," she declared. "We have told him again and again that you shall never be added to his victims. But our refusals have only made him the more determined, and at last he is raging like a wild beast. He not only threatens to take you by violence, but to expel your father and me from Utah, to burn and destroy our property, to ruin us completely, and even to put the terrible Dan-ites on our track! This he has not said in so many words, but he has more than hinted at all these acts of vengeance, and he is all-powerful for evil in Utah!"
"Then we must fly," said Winnie emphatically, her ready brain at once perceiving the only relief possible. "We must leave Salt Lake City to-night!"
"I am glad you see the necessity so readily and so clearly," said Dr. Burton. "We must be off at once. My only fear is that we have delayed too long already. My every step during the day may have been watched. Two or three times during the evening I fancied I heard lurking footsteps around the house. But let me not alarm you with these things. The case being as it is, Winnie, you see that we must make our escape ?"
"Yes, father. We must go to-night!"
"Get ready, then, my child, as soon as you can," enjoined Dr. Burton, turning away. "I have been preparing for this movement for two weeks past. The horses are already saddled. The few valuables that we can carry have been packed up by your mother. You will take only such things as you can carry upon the saddle in front of you, in a little bundle, or in a travelling bag!"
"I will be ready in ten minutes," said Winnie energetically, and her father withdrew,retracing his steps to the sitting-room.
"You will put on your riding habit, of course," said Mrs. Burton, lingering a moment after the withdrawal of her husband. "And you had better put your jewelry and a few under-clothes in your morocco bag. Be brave and hopeful, dear, and come to us as soon as you can."
"But what of Harry, mother?" asked Winnie, slipping from her bed. "How will he know, when he arrives, what has become of us ?"
"Your father says we shall meet him on our way to the East; but to make all sure, one of our friends here will be on the look-out for him."
A moment Mrs. Burton embraced her daughter, with all the great love of her soul beaming from her eyes, and then she descended the stairs, rejoining her husband.
Within the ten minutes specified, while her parents were discussing their plans, Winnie descended to the sitting-room, with her travelling bag in her hand.
"I am all ready," she said, striving to speak calmly. "How soon shall we start ?"
"Immediately," answered the mother, in a broken voice. "I had hoped to leave without all this bitterness, but it's hard to turn our backs, as fugitives, upon a home where we have been so happy!"
"Yes, it's hard," returned Dr. Burton, hardly less agitated than his wife.
They looked around the bright and pleasant little sitting-room, with its books and pictures and flowers, for the last time. They went in and out of the cozy little bedroom adjoining, with slow steps and tearful eyes.
This pleasant two-storied house had been their home for years, and happy, singularly happy, had been, until lately, all the days they had passed within its walls. Here all their little household treasures were gathered, many of them relics of their Eastern home, and here they had expected to pass their days in the light of Winnie's presence.
Their hearts clung to the place. The wife choked back a sob, and even the husband's face grew pale with a sudden agitation.
"We have been very happy here, William," said Mrs. Burton, her gaze turning from Winnie's piano to the pictures of her own parents on the walls.
"But it was the happiness of a child who sports upon the brink of a frightful precipice," rejoined the doctor. " I only hope that we have awakened to the danger in time to save ourselves. Let us go!"
The last look to their home was given, the last tear, half of regret and half of foreboding, shed.
Then they extinguished their light, secured their little bundles, and took their way toward the rear entrance.
At that moment, without the least previous warning, a loud and hurried knock resounded on the front door of the physician's dwelling.
"Ah, my God!" groaned Dr. Burton, as the trio halted abruptly. " It is as I feared!"
"It's that old Elder True again, no doubt," whispered Winnie.
"Or the Danites," suggested the mother. "They have watched us," added the doctor. "Our flight is cut off."
The knock was repeated, and with increased vigor.
"I must see what is wanted," whispered the physician, with forced calmness. "Sit down a moment. I will go to the door. Whoever may be there, I must answer the summons.
The door was at once opened.
A solitary man stood on the steps.
"If you please. Dr. Burton," said this man, "Bishop Coulter wants you to come to his house immediately. His wife has been taken suddenly ill."
The physician drew involuntarily a sigh of relief, and then asked:
"But can't you go for Dr. Bromley?"
"I've called there already. He is absent. And the case is very pressing."
“Wait a moment," enjoined Dr. Burton, leaving the door ajar. "I will speak to my wife."
He returned to the sitting-room.
"It's a professional call," he announced in a whisper to the ladies. "I shall have to respond to it. The distance is only two or three blocks. I will be gone but a few minutes. Or, if I am delayed beyond a quarter of an hour, I will send you word."
"But—" began Mrs. Burton, with a terrible foreboding.
"I think I had better go, as Dr. Bromley is absent," interrupted the physician. "This is probably the best way of getting rid of the matter. To refuse might endanger everything. Have no uneasiness about me."
"But where are you going—if anything should happen?"
The physician mentioned the address, and the next instant was gone.
A long silence followed his departure. " I don't feel right about this," at length murmured Mrs. Burton. " Nor I either," returned Winnie. Then they crept into each other's arms, and another long interval of silence succeeded.
"Your father should be back by this time," at last said the mother.
"Yes; or we should have word from him, as he promised."
They waited with hushed breathing, listening for the doctor's returning footsteps, but not a sound disturbed the silence.
By the time half an hour had thus passed the uneasiness of the mother and daughter had increased to a wild agitation.
"I fear the worst," broke out Mrs. Burton suddenly, unable to master her excitement. "There may have been no illness in the case. The man who came here may be in Elder True's service. The whole idea may have been to inveigle your father from the house and get him into some trap!"
"O mother! what a horrible fear!"
A still more excited and anxious pause followed, until a whole hour had slowly wasted, and then Mrs. Burton arose to her feet, ghastly pale and trembling.
"I cannot endure this," she said, pressing her hand to her heart." This anxiety is too terrible for endurance!"
"But what can we do, mother?" asked Winnie, also arising.
"I must go to Bishop Coulter's, Winnie! I must look for your father!"
"Oh, wait, mother! He may be back soon!" Hearkening to this entreaty, the mother waited and waited until another half hour had passed, and then her patience gave way.
"It's half past one," she sighed. "Your father has been gone nearly an hour and a half! He would have come or sent, if he could. Something is wrong, Winnie ! Something terrible has happened ! I must go to the Bishop's and learn why your father is still absent. The night is slipping away, and flight will soon be impossible. Oh, I must go, Winnie! I cannot endure this agony of fear any longer!"
The daughter did not offer any objections, or even reply. She merely embraced and kissed her mother, with all the earnestness of a great distress, and accompanied her to the door."I will be back as soon as I can," whispered Mrs. Burton, on reaching the steps. "I can go to the Bishop's and back in fifteen minutes, I should think. And yet—"
The thought was left unuttered. In good truth, the thoughts of the poor wife and mother at that moment were too many and terrible for utterance.
Unable to speak, she stole away in the direction in which her husband had gone, and was soon lost to the view of her daughter, who then returned to the little sitting-room in a state of fearful depression.
"Oh! if Harry were only here!" she murmured. "If he had only started a little sooner! But he can't be far distant. He must have crossed the plains. Oh, that he were here! A terrible trouble is upon us!"
How slowly the time passed! Every breath seemed an age. But five minutes at length rolled away—then a second period of that length, and then a third!
And finally the clock struck two! The mother had been gone half an hour, and the father nearly two hours.
"Oh! where can they be?" at length cried Winnie, wringing her hands in agony. "This anxiety is killing me! Both father and mother are in trouble! Some plot is on foot against us! Oh. Harry! Harry! where are you?"
At this instant the front door was opened with a quick, firm movement, and a burly figure entered the house almost noiselessly and advanced to the sitting-room.
"Is it you, mother?" cried Winnie, unable to see in the darkness more than the dim outlines of the intruder. "Is it you, father?"
"No, dear; it's neither yer pa nor yer ma," answered a hoarse exultant voice. "It's me!"
"You!" gasped Winnie, recoiling in horror. "You! the Elder! Elder True!"
"Yes, dear, it's me!" declared the intruder, as the light of a dark lantern held aloft in his hand suddenly illuminated the room. "It'll be a long time, young woman, before you see yer pa and yer ma ag'in, and so it's my duty to come here and comfort you, and I'm here for that business—haw! haw!" and a hyena-like laugh pervaded the apartment.
CHAPTER II.
the danites at work.
What need I fear of thee?
But yet I'll make assurance doubly sure,
And take a bond of fate. Thou shalt not live.
MACBETH
About fourteen miles east of Salt Lake City, on the brow of one of the steep and rugged ascents of Little Mountain, as the divide between Emigration and Big Kanyon creeks is called, sat a man on horseback, armed with a knife and revolver, and looking intently away to the eastward, along the great highway leading to the capital.
He was scarcely above medium height, but was powerfully built, having a deep, full chest, wide and massive shoulders, formidable hands and arms, a pair of legs like pillars, and eyes suggestive of sinister energy. He was rather past the prime of life, and his once black hair was changing to gray.
Both horse and rider, halted in the shadow of the trees by the roadside, were as motionless as statues, and the man's whole mien, no less than
his aspect, showed that he was waiting and watching for prey.
The time was a few hours earlier than the occurrence of the preceding scenes, or just as the sun was reaching the western horizon.
"Well, well," ejaculated the solitary horseman at length, as he changed his position in the saddle uneasily. "The boys must have made a mistake. I see nothing of any traveller. It's time for him to be along, if they really saw him."
Facing his horse—a large, powerful animal—to the left, the watcher bent a sharp glance into a little ravine, with densely wooded slopes, some ten or twelve rods from the road, and almost out of view from it.
In the depths of this ravine, lounging carelessly under the trees, were a couple of coarse, ruffianly looking fellows, whose arms corresponded with those of the horseman, who was evidently their leader. Hitched to a couple of saplings still deeper in the woods were the horses of these men, duly saddled and bridled, and quietly nibbling the bushes immediately around them.
"I say, boys," called the horseman. "Come here!"
The two men leaped to their feet promptly, and moved toward the road.
"I don't see our cub coming," proceeded the man oh horseback. "Are you sure that you saw a traveller from the look-out?"
"Perfectly," answered one of the men, while the other nodded confirmation.
"And he was a reg'lar traveller, an out-and-out overlander ?" "Not an inch of anything less, Cap'n." "Sure he isn't an Injun, nor a station-keeper, nor a stock-herder, nor a straggler from some wagon, nor a native of no kind whatsoever, Bull?"
"As sure as these two eyes o' mine can be of anything, Cap'n," answered the man, rejoicing in that taurine sobriquet. "Bear and I both saw him coming down the slope of Big Mountain into the valley."
"Yes, we did." affirmed Bear. "And a gallus-looking chap he is, Cap'n. We saw him, with the aid o' the glass, as plain as we see you at this minute."
"And you still think he's the cub we're looking for?" demanded the horsemen.
"There's no kind o' doubt on't," answered the taurine henchman. "He jest fills out the 'scrip-tion. He's the very chap you want, Cap'n, you may be sartain." "Then why isn't he here? It's time." "It may be time, Cap'n," assented Bull, "but you've given him a mighty small allowance of windage. True, he could have got here before now, and p'r'aps he oughter, but his horse is winded, and he may be in no hurry, you see, Cap'n—no more'n he would be if he knew jest who is waiting here to see him," and here the man chuckled grimly.
"Hark! I hear him now!" suddenly exclaimed the horseman, as his face lighted up wickedly. "There are the hoofs of his horse!"
They all listened a moment. "Sure enough!" Bull then muttered. "He's just climbing the Bend," added the horseman. "Slip into the bushes and keep well under cover until wanted. I hope and expect to get along with this chap without any fighting. But be ready with your lasso, if it should be needed."
The two men retired in the direction of the ravine in which they had been waiting, while their leader rode ten or fifteen reds to the westward at a walk, and then turned back, with the evident intention of meeting the approaching horseman at the point of the road abreast of which his followers were hidden.
The sound of a horse's hoofs grew louder and louder in that narrow gorge of the mountains, echoing against its wooded sides, and ere long the traveller, thus riding toward Salt Lake City, came jogging around a bend in the road, and appeared in full view of the watcher.
The man thus riding into danger—for the attitude of the three men awaiting him in that lonely mountain pass was sufficiently suggestive of danger—was no other, as the reader may have suspected, than Harry Osburn, the lover of Winnie Burton, who was on his way to Salt Lake City, as she had said, to make her his wife. And a line young fellow he was. He had been born and bred in one of the Atlantic States, was brave, honest and manly, with a handsome face, a frame of the finest proportions and endowments, an educated mind, and a noble and heroic soul. He rode a line-looking but somewhat jaded horse, with the easy, fearless grace of one accustomed to the saddle. No arms were visible on his person, but no one would have suspected him of being without them, in that particular section of the great republic.
In a word, Harry Osburn was one of those keen, ready, daring young hunters of fortune who are at home in every emergency, and a little more at home when abroad than in any other situation.
"I must be about out of this desert of mountains," he was saying to himself, at the moment preceding his appearance. "Wonder if I shall reach Salt Lake City to-night? I hope so. My arrival will be a great surprise to Winnie. She has hardly received my last letter, and won't be looking for me quite so soon. Ah! how glad she'll be, the little darling!" he added, as a sunny gleam came to his eyes and a tender smile wreathed his lips. "What a joyful meeting is before us!"
So absorbed was Harry in these pleasant anticipations that he did not notice the approaching horseman until they were within a few rods of each other.
Then he drew rein gradually, determined to ask the distance to his destination, and to make a few other inquiries.
His horse coming to a halt, he was just in the act of bowing to the stranger, when that personage, also drawing rein, bestowed upon him a look of singular recognition, and said: "Good-evening, Mr. Osburn." To travel fifteen hundred miles in one stretch by railway, and to then take a good horse and push on, by day and by night, for several hundred miles further, and at the end of all these miles to have a perfect stranger present himself with such a salutation as that, in the lonely defiles of a mountain, where neither habitation nor inhabitant is expected, is one of the most startling occurrences that can possibly happen.
To say, therefore, that Harry was astounded at hearing his name thus spoken, is a very feeble way of describing the shock those four simple words gave him.
"Good-evening, stranger," he responded, lifting his hat politely. "You have the advantage of me decidedly. Mr. Osburn, did you say?"
"Yes, sir—Mr. Osburn, Hairy Osburn, as you are familiarly called by your friends," said the stranger, inclining his figure politely.
It was in vain that Harry stared long and intently at the form and features before him. They were as new and strange to him as would have been the form and features of Adam.
"Decidedly, stranger," he said, with a third bow and a smile, at the end of a somewhat awkward pause, "you have a very great advantage of me. You know me so well that I am almost ashamed to confess that I do not recall your name, nor even your features."
"You need not hesitate, Mr. Osburn, to make such a confession," returned the strange horseman. "You can hardly be expected to remember either the name or the features of a man who has never set eyes upon you until this moment!"
The surprise of the young Gentile deepened.
"We are utter strangers, then?" he muttered. "Certainly, we are utter strangers."
"I hardly need say how much I am surprised to hear you call me by name," said Harry. " Will it be too much to ask of you to give me your name, as a sort of equivalent for the possession of mine?"
"Well, I don't give my name to everybody who asks for it," said the stranger, with a bluff jauntiness, "but I ‘ll give it to you, Mr. Osburn, for several reasons. My name is Rockwell!"
Harry uttered the conventional expression of pleasure at making the gentleman's acquaintance and exchanged the conventional pressure of hands. Then, feeling as much in the dark as ever in regard to the gentleman, he ventured to inquire:
"Do you live hereabouts, Mr. Rockwell ?"
"Not exactly hereabouts," was the answer. "I live in Salt Lake City."
"In Salt Lake City!" echoed Harry. "Any relative of Porter Rockwell ?"
"No, not a relative. I am Porter himself!" As quietly as these words were spoken, they were as startling as a shower of bullets.
Harry drew up his reins so excitedly that his horse recoiled several yards. "What! you Porter Rockwell ?" he cried. "Yes, I am Porter Rockwell." "The chief of the Danites? the leader of the Destroying Angels ?"
"You Gentiles have given me these titles," said the horseman quietly. "I answer to most any name when I choose to."
Harry marked the man well, recalling what various travellers have written about him. Captain Burton, in his City of the Saints, speaks of him as "the old Danite." Fitz Hugh Ludlow, in his Heart of the Continent, calls him "the Destroying Angel and chiefof the Danites." Bowles, in his Across the Continent, says that "one of the characters of Mormondom is Porter Rockwell, the accredited leader of the Danites or 'Avenging Angels'of the church." All these authors, and scores of others, have written largely about this singular personage, and as Harry was quite familiar with his reputation, he could not help but survey the man before him with the keenest interest.
"But to business," added the horseman, with a quick glance at the shadows which had begun to gather in the depths of the solitudes around him. "I have come here to meet you, Mr. Osburn, with the intention of having a little chat with you, and we may as well begin talking immediately, or it'll be night before we have finished."
"A talk with me, Mr. Rockwell?" questioned Harry, in astonishment. " You have come from Salt Lake City, to meet me here and have a talk with me?" "Exactly,!"
"Well, this is odd enough," commented Harry, with constantly increasing surprise. "What interest you can have in me I cannot imagine. I am a Gentile, of course, and am on my way to Salt Lake City, but I have never given your peculiar people any trouble, nor do I know that I have a solitary Mormon for an enemy."
"Of course not," said the horseman. '"But nevertheless I have come here expressly to meet you."
"Not 'on hostile thoughts intent,' I hope?"
"Certainly not. I am here as a friend."
"More and more singular," said Harry. "Did you come alone?"
The horseman stole a glance in the direction of his followers, who were well concealed in the bushes, although close at hand. Then lie answered : "Yes, I came alone, of course."
" But how did you know me ?"
"By a true and' full description of you which has been furnished me."
"Well, this is strange, truly!'' exclaimed Harry. "What is the cause of this extraordinary interest in me, Mr. Rockwell, if I may inquire ?'"
"To begin with," answered the horseman, "you are the lover of Winnie Burton, the only daughter of Doctor William Burton, of our city."
The astonishment of Harry at this declaration was sufficiently proclaimed by his features.
"You are even engaged to be married to the young lady in question," continued the horseman, "and are now on your way to Salt Lake City to carry out that engagement!"
Harry was astounded. He had supposed that his betrothal to Winnie was still a secret be-tween themselves, with the exception of their parents and a few intimate friends.
"But an Elder of our church has made the acquaintance of Miss Burton, during the two months she has been in our midst," resumed the horseman, "and so agreeable has he made his suit to the young lady that she has agreed to marry him !
The young Gentile's face flushed hotly. At last he found his voice.
"What do you mean, sir?" he demanded. "I mean," replied the horseman, "that Miss Burton has already married the Elder in question—Elder Hyson True, one of the leaders of our church. They were married three days ago. In telling you that they were engaged, I was merely endeavoring to break the news gently to you."
"Married?" cried Harry. "Married three days ago ? It is false, Mr. Rockwell!" "It is true, Mr. Osburn."
"I will not believe it," declared Harry. "Winnie never could have been guilty of such folly and deception. She never could have engaged herself to this Hyson True, who probably has a dozen wives already. You are trying to deceive me, Mr. Rockwell. You have doubtless been sent here by the Elder !"
"You are mistaken, young man," rejoined the messenger, flushing. "I was sent here by Winnie herself!" " By Winnie? Impossible!" "To the contrary, nothing is more possible. The easiest thing in the world is for a woman to change her mind—as you will realize after you've had a few more years of experience with them!"
"But Winnie false to me! I will not believe it!"
"Oh, yes, yon will," asserted the messenger insolently. "You cannot fail to believe it. I will prove the fact to you beyond all question. To begin with, here is a letter to you from Miss Burton that will teach you to never put any confidence again in a woman!"
He drew a letter from his pocket, as he spoke, and thrust it under the focus of the young Gentile's gaze. Harry recoiled as if it had been a serpent. The messenger smiled grimly. "I see that you recognize the handwriting," he remarked. " Do you not know that it is Winnie's ?"
For a moment Harry looked troubled. "I see that the address is in Winnie's handwriting," he acknowledged. "The envelope even, in size and color, is just like those I have lately received from her!"
He continued to stare at the missive.
"Well, why don't you read it, man?" demanded the messenger. " it will confirm all I have told you!"
Harry took the letter, with a strange expression of feature, and opened it. The sheet within was written on such paper as he was in the habit of receiving from Winnie. The contents were as follows:
"Salt Lake City, October 10. "Mr. Osburn: You will doubtless be surprised at the news brought you by Mr. Rockwell, at my request. Pity and forgive me! My parents wish me to marry Elder True, partly for pecuniary reasons, and I have consented, the Elder being a man of whom any woman might be proud. I was mistaken in supposing that I loved you, and I hope you will see the propriety, under the actual circumstances, of giving this city a wide berth, even if you do not at once return to the East, which course I advise. In any case, it is my wish, and that of my parents, that you spare us the pain of a visit. Hoping that you will get rich in some of the many new fields open to you, and especially that you will find a wife more worthy of you than I could have ever been, I remain
"Respectfully yours, Winnie Burton."
The countenance with which Harry looked up from the perusal of this letter was a picture to look upon—it was so bright, so mocking, so expressive of scorn and contempt.
"Who got up this thing?" he asked, turning the letter over and over.
The messenger's countenance fell, becoming as black as a thunder-cloud, "This thing?" he echoed. "Yes. Who got it up?"
"That letter, sir," said the messenger stiffly, "was written by Miss Burton."
"No, it wasn't, sir! Miss Burton isn't engaged in that sort of business!" saw her write it, sir!" "No, you didn't!"
"But you recognized the handwriting yourself as that of the young lady!"
"So far as the envelope is concerned-yes," admitted Harry. "But the letter itself is not in Miss Burton's handwriting, nor are these her sentiments. The thing is merely a clever forgery!"
"You believe that I am a liar, then ?"
"Yes, sir. I know it! And now that I look at you more closely, I do not even believe that you are Porter Rockwell!"
The messenger flushed still more hotly. "Not Porter Rockwell!" he ejaculated.
"No, not Porter Rockwell!" declared Harry emphatically. "Porter has a position in Salt Lake City, and is a man of family, and whatever may have been his exploits in former times against his enemies, he is not likely to be playing Thug at this stage of his life, nor is he such a fool as to bring me such a clumsy forgery as that letter. No, sir, you are a lying impostor, and have been sent here by the Elder!"
For a moment the messenger stood motionless, looking like a statue of consternation and detected guilt.
"Now!" he then cried, turning his eyes toward the bushes immediately behind the young Gentile.
A whizzing sound followed, as a coil of rope clove the air, encircling the form of Harry Osburn, and he was dragged headlong from his saddle.
"At him, boys!" cried the messenger, leaping from his horse. "For your lives!"
With one impulse the three men hurled themselves upon their victim. The conflict was of brief duration. Entangled as he was in the lasso, Harry could not draw a weapon, nor could he resist the numerous hands extended to clutch him. Still he struggled desperately, regaining his feet more than once, and giving his adversaries several severe blows with his feet, but a blow upon the temple from the barrel of Bull's revolver finally stretched him senseless on the ground.
"Bind him fast," commanded his chief assailant, "and carry him out of sight into the bushes!" The two men obeyed.
It must have been some fifteen or twenty minutes thereafter when Harry, recovering his senses, raised his head feebly a few inches, looking about him and wondering what was the nature of the strange sounds which had Mien upon his hearing.
At a little distance from him, the leader of the trio was seated upon a stone, as motionless as a statue, and looking fixedly before him.
And a little further on, in the depths of the wooded ravine, the two other men were busily engaged in digging a hole in the ground, their spades causing the strange sounds which had attracted Harry's attention.
"You needn't make it very deep," observed the leader, in a hard, metallic voice. "A couple of feet will answer!"
Harry stared at the trio as if fascinated, his hair bristling in a wild horror.
He comprehended that he was in the hands of the terrible "Danites," or "Avengers"—that the old Elder had sent them to kill him—and that they were digging his grave!
[TO BE CONTINUED.]
