time, and dancing away around the fire from the back-sweep of her hand.
As for the man himself, my conduct had not disturbed him in the slightest. I was prepared for I knew not what violent visitation from this terrible stranger, and I watched him warily while he considered me with the utmost gravity.
At last he spoke, and he spoke solemnly, with solemn shaking of the head, as if delivering a judgment.
“Like fathers like sons,” he said. “The young generation is as bad as the elder. The whole breed is unregenerate and damned. There is no saving it, the young or the old. There is no atonement. Not even the blood of Christ can wipe out its iniquities.”
“Damned Mormon!” was all I could sob at him. “Damned Mormon! Damned Mormon! Damned Mormon!”
And I continued to damn him and to dance around the fire before my mother’s avenging hand, until he strode away.
When my father, and the men who had accompanied him, returned, camp-work ceased, while all crowded anxiously about him. He shook his head.
“They will not sell?” some woman demanded.
Again he shook his head.
A man spoke up, a blue-eyed, blond-whiskered giant of thirty, who abruptly pressed his way into the centre of the crowd.
“They say they have flour and provisions for three years, Captain,” he said. “They have always sold to the immigration before. And now they won’t sell. And it ain’t our quarrel. Their quarrel’s with the government, an’ they’re takin’ it out on us. It ain’t right, Captain. It ain’t right, I say, us with our women an’ children, an’ California months away, winter comin’ on, an’ nothin’ but desert in between. We ain’t got the grub to face the desert.”
He broke off for a moment to address the whole crowd.
“Why, you-all don’t know what desert is. This around here ain’t desert. I tell you it’s paradise, and heavenly pasture, an’ flowin’ with milk an’ honey alongside what we’re goin’ to face.”
“I tell you, Captain, we got to get flour first. If they won’t sell it, then we must just up an’ take it.”
Many of the men and women began crying out in approval, but my father hushed them by holding up his hand.
“I agree with everything you say, Hamilton ,” he began.
But the cries now drowned his voice, and he again held up his hand.
“Except one thing you forgot to take into account, Hamilton —a thing that you and all of us must take into account. Brigham Young has declared martial law, and Brigham Young has an army. We could wipe out Nephi in the shake of a lamb’s tail and take all the provisions we can carry. But we wouldn’t carry them very far. Brigham’s Saints would be down upon us and we would be wiped out in another shake of a lamb’s tail. You know it. I know it. We all know it.”
His words carried conviction to listeners already convinced. What he had told them was old news. They had merely forgotten it in a flurry of excitement and desperate need.
“Nobody will fight quicker for what is right than I will,” father continued. “But it just happens we can’t afford to fight now. If ever a ruction starts we haven’t a chance. And we’ve all got our women and children to recollect. We’ve got to be peaceable at any price, and put up with whatever dirt is heaped on us.”
“But what will we do with the desert coming?” cried a woman who nursed a babe at her breast.
“There’s several settlements before we come to the desert,” father answered. “Fillmore’s sixty miles south. Then comes Corn Creek. And Beaver’s another fifty miles. Next is Parowan. Then it’s twenty miles to Cedar City . The farther we get away from Salt Lake the more likely they’ll sell us provisions.”
“And if they won’t?” the same woman persisted.
“Then we’re quit of them,” said my father. “ Cedar City is the last settlement. We’ll have to go on, that’s all, and thank our stars we are quit of them. Two days’ journey beyond is good pasture, and water. They call it Mountain Meadows. Nobody lives there, and that’s the place we’ll rest our cattle and feed them up before we tackle the desert. Maybe we can shoot some meat. And if the worst comes to the worst, we’ll keep going as long as we can, then abandon the wagons, pack what we can on our animals, and make the last stages on foot. We can eat our cattle as we go along. It would be better to arrive in California without a rag to our backs than to leave our bones here; and leave them we will if we start a ruction.”
With final reiterated warnings against violence of speech or act, the impromptu meeting broke up. I was slow in falling asleep that night. My rage against the Mormon had left my brain in such a tingle that I was still awake when my father crawled into the wagon after a last round of the night-watch. They thought I slept, but I heard mother ask him if he thought that the Mormons would let us depart peacefully from their land. His face was turned aside from her as he busied himself with pulling off a boot, while he answered her with hearty confidence that he was sure the Mormons would let us go if none of our own company started trouble.
But I saw his face at that moment in the light of a small tallow dip, and in it was none of the confidence that was in his voice. So it was that I fell asleep, oppressed by the dire fate that seemed to overhang us, and pondering upon Brigham Young who bulked in my child imagination as a fearful, malignant being, a very devil with horns and tail and all.
And I awoke to the old pain of the jacket in solitary. About me were the customary four: Warden Atherton, Captain Jamie, Doctor Jackson, and Al Hutchins. I cracked my face with my willed smile, and struggled not to lose control under the exquisite torment of returning circulation. I drank the water they held to me, waved aside the proffered bread, and refused to speak. I closed my eyes and strove to win back to the chain-locked wagon-circle at Nephi. But so long as my visitors stood about me and talked I could not escape.
One snatch of conversation I could not tear myself away from hearing.
“Just as yesterday,” Doctor Jackson said. “No change one way or the other.”
“Then he can go on standing it?” Warden Atherton queried.
“Without a quiver. The next twenty-four hours as easy as the last. He’s a wooz, I tell you, a perfect wooz. If I didn’t know it was impossible, I’d say he was doped.”
“I know his dope,” said the Warden. “It’s that cursed will of his. I’d bet, if he made up his mind, that he could walk barefoot across red-hot stones, like those Kanaka priests from the South Seas .”
Now perhaps it was the word “priests” that I carried away with me through the darkness of another flight in time. Perhaps it was the cue. More probably it was a mere coincidence. At any rate I awoke, lying upon a rough rocky floor, and found myself on my back, my arms crossed in such fashion that each elbow rested in the palm of the opposite hand. As I lay there, eyes closed, half awake, I rubbed my elbows with my palms and found that I was rubbing prodigious calluses. There was no surprise in this. I accepted the calluses as of long time and a matter of course.
I opened my eyes. My shelter was a small cave, no more than three feet in height and a dozen in length. It was very hot in the cave. Perspiration noduled the entire surface of my body. Now and again several nodules coalesced and formed tiny rivulets. I wore no clothing save a filthy rag about the middle. My skin was burned to a mahogany brown. I was very thin, and I contemplated my thinness with a strange sort of pride, as if it were an achievement to be so thin. Especially was I enamoured of my painfully prominent ribs. The very sight of the hollows between them gave me a sense of solemn elation, or, rather, to use a better word, of sanctification.
My knees were callused like my elbows. I was very dirty. My beard, evidently once blond, but now a dirt- stained and streaky brown, swept my midriff in a tangled mass. My long hair, similarly stained and tangled, was all about my shoulders, while wisps of it continually strayed in the way of my vision so that sometimes I was compelled to brush it aside with my hands. For the most part, however, I contented myself with peering through it like a wild animal from a thicket.
Just at the tunnel-like mouth of my dim cave the day reared itself in a wall of blinding sunshine. After a time I crawled to the entrance, and, for the sake of greater discomfort, lay down in the burning sunshine on a narrow ledge of rock. It positively baked me, that terrible sun, and the more it hurt me the more I delighted in it, or in myself rather, in that I was thus the master of my flesh and superior to its claims and remonstrances. When I found under me a particularly sharp, but not too sharp, rock-projection, I ground my body upon the point of it, rowelled my flesh in a very ecstasy of mastery and of purification.
It was a stagnant day of heat. Not a breath of air moved over the river valley on which I sometimes gazed.
