Chapter Ten.
“All Hope Abandon, Ye Who Enter Here.”
Throughout that day perfect quiet prevailed, but Grenville, uneasy, he knew not why, and unable to get Winfield’s warning out of his mind, took his sleep early in the evening, and determined himself to keep watch until dawn.
For hours he strained every faculty, but could neither see nor hear anything to cause him anxiety, and when the moon rose he felt much relieved, but after patrolling carefully round the rock he at length heard a curious sound he could not account for, so mounted up to the top, from whence he could see far and wide under the bright moonlight. The rock, as already said, was situated in a hollow, with belts of trees on almost every hand, one exception being on the side furthest from the veldt, consequently nearest to the Western range, and from this quarter a wide channel of rocks seemed to run for miles in the direction of the mountains. To Grenville it had the appearance of a roadway upon which giants had, here and there, flung heaps of stones and enormous masses of rock in the wildest confusion. Winfield, however, had pronounced it to be a quartz river, pregnant with gold beyond the dreams of avarice. Machinery would, however, he had said, be required to work the ore profitably, so that it was extremely improbable the locality would ever be disturbed. Grenville had more than once, in the last few minutes, been rendered uneasy by a distant sighing, soughing noise, such as is caused by wind among fir-trees, and as there was not a breath of air stirring, it was partly the anxious feeling generated by this unknown and uncanny sound which had caused him to ascend the rock.
Even from this coign of vantage he could see nothing alarming; all around and beneath him, bush and veldt and forest, lay sleeping peacefully under the lovely radiance of the African moon.
Still unable to conquer, yet secretly despising, the presentiments which oppressed him, Grenville raised a small silver whistle to his lips and blew a low call upon it, and in a few moments later was joined by Amaxosa, who stalked forth from his lair at the first sound made by his chief indicative of a wish to see him.
Grenville directed his attention to the curious sound, and for some little time the Zulu strained both sight and hearing, but could offer no suggestion as to the cause of the unusual noise. Our hero then sent him to fetch Winfield, who, when he came, listened intently for one brief instant and then wrung his hands in despair.
“My God!” he cried, “those hellish scoundrels have burst the rocky side of the great mountain lake and let loose thousands of tons of water, and in an hour’s time, or less, we shall be drowned out like rats! Whatever shall we do?”
“Go quickly,” said Grenville: “awake everyone pack the quagga with the gold and all the food we can carry. We must be gone in ten minutes. We are down in a hole here, and this place will be a lake in less than no time if you are correct as to the volume of water up yonder.”
“There can, I regret to say, be no doubt about it,” replied Winfield. “I have seen the place myself, and I feel certain that they have done as I say.”
“You are quite right,” rejoined Grenville. “I heard distant explosions once or twice this evening, but thought nothing of them, only congratulating myself, like a fool, at the waste of gunpowder which was going on.” Then, turning to Amaxosa, “Now, what does my brother, the Chief of the Sons of Undi, advise?”
The Zulu thought for a few moments, and then made answer. “Let my father with all the party make a big push for the great stairway; there will be but few guards there, and we will slay them and escape from this fearful country by the dark rood through the mountains; and if the evil ones be too many for my father’s sons, we can but take to the hills beyond the stairway until the water be gone, for it will surely pour itself into the River of Death until there be none remaining, and go far away to the great salt sea from which my father came.”
“Thou art a shrewd man as well as a brave one,” said Grenville, shaking the gratified Zulu by the hand; and instantly descending the rock, they rejoined the others, who were now quite ready, and telling all to follow him and look out sharply for the enemy, our hero, to the surprise of all, led off at a quick pace in the direction of the very danger they sought to escape.
Grenville, however, showed his wisdom by this action, for he thus kept the rock between his party and any prying eyes, and he well knew that large bodies of the foe would be posted on or near the veldt adjacent to the rock, expecting the party—if they were fortunate enough to detect the approach of the water before it overwhelmed them—to make a desperate effort to cut their way through to the stairway. This knowledge had decided Grenville to make a détour, which he successfully did, and the party gained the open veldt some miles further on, without their escape from the rock having been observed by the enemy, and were soon pushing across this rolling prairie, with the terrific sound of the advancing water in their ears, and hoping to gain the stairway without having been perceived.
Vain hope!—when, after some hours of unmolested and ceaseless travel, the little band arrived within earshot of the stairway, a blazing thread of light shot upwards to the sky, and the hissing of a second rocket was heard preparing to take its aerial flight. The Mormon in charge of this incautiously showed himself for one second, and promptly received Leigh’s bullet through his brain; and then, without waiting for orders, the active Zulus rushed up the steps and broke into the cavern, uttering their fearful war-cries, and a moment later were joined by Grenville and Leigh, and an awful battle took place between these four and seven heavily-armed Mormons. Fortunately a torch was burning, and, equally happily, the Zulus had taken the men by surprise and given them no time to prime the pans of their rifles; but even as the cousins entered the cave two men were diligently performing this interesting occupation, and instantly went down with revolver bullets through them. In a couple of minutes the Mormons were all disposed of, the only casualties being a pistol bullet through Myzukulwa’s shoulder, which had fortunately not injured the bone, and a nasty slash from a cutlass which Leigh had received on his left arm. Quickly the whole party passed up the cavernous road, again taking the precaution to carry away all the torches, and congratulating themselves upon the complete and unexpected success of their plan; for Winfield, with the help of Rose—to whom the beast was sincerely attached—had actually got the quagga up the staircase, when suddenly Grenville called a halt, listened carefully, and then turned to the others with the horror of a living death imprinted upon every line of his face.
“Back!” he said, and his voice sounded but a hoarse, dreadful whisper; “back, all of you, quick; the lake has broken out on both sides of the mountain, and the water is racing down, our road, and will be here directly!” With a cry of agony, Winfield seized his daughter by one hand, Leigh grasped the other, and all ran for the stairway, which fortunately was not far off; and having once seen the women safely down, and directed them to hurry on towards the Eastern Mountains with Leigh and Winfield, Grenville and the Zulus, after infinite trouble, succeeded in pushing and pulling master quagga on to terra firma once more, and they then put their best foot foremost, and rejoined their companions.
Soon gaining the shelter of the forest and the rising land, they watched carefully, and could see across the veldt a Mormon host speeding forward to the stairway, in answer to the rocket’s message, and not far behind them was a dull, angry line, which Winfield pronounced to be the advancing water. The band, which numbered some twenty men, was evidently uneasy at its near approach, and anxious to gain the stairway, and now, even as they reached their desired haven, an awful thing happened, and the wicked certainly did fall hopelessly into his own net for once—there was a rushing, roaring sound, and then, with a thundering boom, the torrent came sweeping through the mouth of the cavern in hundreds of tons of water at one awful burst, hung for a short second, as it seemed, in mid air, and then plunged down in one mighty, irresistible volume right upon the luckless Mormons, who were instantly lost to human ken, and in less time than it takes to tell, the two forces of water had combined, and the veldt far and near was blotted out in one vast rolling, tumbling sea of agitated foam, upon which nothing could be seen save here and there a corpse bobbing up and down as it took its gradual and apparently unwilling course towards the River of Death.
After searching for some little time our friends discovered a cave about a mile from the great stairway, into which they thankfully entered; and after setting a watch, though the precaution seemed a useless one, lay down to sleep. The rest of the night passed uneventfully; and when the sun again shone out, the eye rested only upon what was seemingly a vast and wandering waste of waters, for a thick steaming mist, which was already rising from the surface of this suddenly-created inland sea, caused one’s range of vision to be limited to a few miles.
One thing, however, our friends did notice, which filled them with dismay. Grenville had calculated that as soon as the volume of water was quite exhausted in the natural reservoir on the mountains, their way through the subterranean road would be clear, and they would have a long start and be able to get clean through the River Pass before ever their enemies had a chance of moving from their own side of the chasm. Now all hope of escape seemed to be cut off, for the mighty rush of water falling from the subterranean road had entirely demolished the great stairway, not a single step of which they could now see, and it was obviously impossible for them to ascend several hundred feet of a precipitous wall of solid rock, which was what they would now have to do in order to regain the rood.
After two days had been spent hopelessly and aimlessly in the cavern, the water was observed to abate as fast as it had risen, and on the third day the veldt could again be seen in every direction, steaming in a most unpleasant manner under the rays of a vertical sun. Our friends were, however, well situated at some height above the plain, and Amaxosa spent that day in prospecting for a safer hiding-place, which he found about three miles off, along the mountain-side, and which consisted of a three-roomed cave, quite two hundred feet above the veldt, in a commanding position, approached only by narrow paths, a wall of solid rock behind, and blessed with an ample supply of water. Grenville unhesitatingly approved of the place as a temporary residence, and thither the party removed at nightfall.
The following morning smiled down upon East Utah in all its revived loveliness—the veldt looked greener and fresher for its wholesale bath, and a newcomer would certainly have had no idea of the awful tragedies which had recently been enacted in this country, where all looked so quiet and peaceful.
On this morning a band of Mormons, some fifty in number, arrived at the great stairway, and appeared struck dumb by its destruction, for they ran about gesticulating madly, and wringing their hands over the great blocks of stone cast hither and thither about the adjacent veldt. It was, however, evident, as Grenville had foreseen, that they did not believe the enemy had left the country by the roadway. The river had broken through too soon after the rockets had been fired to admit of any possibility of their escape in that direction. The only doubt they entertained was if the invaders had really been drowned and their bodies, together with those of their own ill-fated comrades, carried away by the River of Death.
The Mormons now examined the neighbourhood, with a keen scrutiny which let nothing escape unquestioned; but, having foreseen this search, Grenville had acted with the utmost caution, and no trace of their movements had been left behind, so that he was not in the least surprised when the Mormons—who were, he observed, led by Radford Custance—turned their backs on the stairway early in the afternoon, and set off across the veldt in the direction of their town.
On the day following, our friends went into council. Their position was fast becoming a dangerous one; food was running out and none coming in, and it was evident that unless steps were taken to replenish their larder at an early date, starvation must overtake them in the very midst of plenty, for on the eastern side of the mountains the streams were small, and so far had not even produced fish, which would have helped to eke out their stores.
After a long and earnest consultation it was decided to beard the lion in his den—in other words, Grenville and Amaxosa were detailed to cross the river, penetrate into the enemy’s country, and there endeavour to find in the rear of East Utah a strong position, which they, surrounded by plenty, could defend until they fairly wore the Mormons out and compelled them to make peace and let the party go.
It was a desperate venture; and when our heroes set out at nightfall the Rose of Sharon wept piteously, saying she never expected to see poor Dick again; and Leigh and Winfield, who were left in charge along with Myzukulwa, wrung Grenville’s hand in silence, and also felt the tears starting to their eyes.
The parting between the Zulus was a characteristic one.
“Let my brother,” said Amaxosa, “remember that the great chief our father will look to the sons of Undi for the safety of the gentle Rose of Sharon and the lovely Lily of the Valley. Amaxosa will bring back his father, or will die with him.”
And so the pair set out, instructing those they left behind, to have no uneasiness about them, as it was likely they would be gone at least ten days.
Pushing steadily on all night and lying hidden all day, Grenville and Amaxosa reached the neighbourhood of the eastern bridge just after dawn on the second morning, and crept up as close as they dared under cover of the heavy fog, which hung like a curtain upon the veldt. When the sun’s welcome rays had cleared away the mists, the pair saw, to their surprise, that the eastern bridge was still open, and lying flush with their own side of the chasm, just as the Zulus had left it weeks ago. The Mormons had evidently been too busy to pay any attention to that part of their country, and had considered care in that direction unnecessary whilst they knew the foe to be fifty miles away upon the western mountains.
This was in some degree unsatisfactory; for if our friends turned the bridge and crossed, as they were obliged to do, and the locality was visited by the Mormons in the interim, they would of course realise immediately that the obnoxious little band was still at large, and had, moreover, had the audacity to cross the river. This was an awkward position; yet there appeared to be nothing else for it, and Grenville lay down to sleep at four in the afternoon, determined, at all hazards, to proceed that night. On being awakened at dusk, however, Amaxosa had good news for him. About an hour ago, he said, several of the “witch-finders” had arrived by the outside of the veldt, and, turning on the bridge, had crossed over, laughing and talking. They were apparently in splendid spirits, and, having left two men to guard the bridge, had pressed on at a good speed in the direction of East Utah.
This simplified matters a little, and our friends were arranging in what manner they should rush the guards, so as to avoid the possibility of their getting at the rocket apparatus, when the quick-eared Zulu announced the approach of another party by the eastern veldt. The moon was now rising, and the pair ought to be gone before the advent of the new arrivals; but the guards, having also heard the approach of their comrades, were on the alert, and the only thing to do was to lie quiet and watch their opportunity.
Chapter Eleven.
The Death-Shot.
Gradually the band approached, and at last joined forces with the guards, and, to Grenville’s horror, he now saw that the whole of his own party were prisoners, with their hands bound behind them; and by the clear moonlight he could see that his cousin’s head was bandaged, whilst Winfield’s arm was in a sling. A second look, and he noticed that one person was missing, and that was Myzukulwa. Grenville could have sworn he had seen the Zulu an instant before, and glancing at his companion, he heard his low expressive “Ow!” and in another moment Myzukulwa presented himself before them with his hands tied. He was promptly cut loose and armed with a spear and one of Grenville’s revolvers; but at that moment his escape was discovered, and a tremendous commotion took place, Radford Custance commanding the guards to open the bridge again, so that the fugitive could not cross. He then walked up to the helpless Leigh, pointed that worthy’s own rifle at his head, and threatened to blow his brains out unless he told where the Zulu had gone. Leigh briefly replied that he neither knew nor cared, upon which the other brutally struck him in the face with his fist. It was the cowardly bully’s last act Grenville’s rifle leaped to his shoulder, a stream of fire divided the bushes, and the Mormon leader staggered back with the life-blood spirting from a ragged hole in his breast.
Then ensued a scene of horror and carnage. The Zulus uttered their terrible war-cry, and dashed into the fight, followed by Grenville, after he had first picked off five more of the enemy. Amaxosa had quickly freed Leigh, and put his revolver into his hands; and in less time than it takes to tell, Winfield was at liberty and hurrying the girls into the bushes, whilst the others were fighting desperately.
Here Grenville’s old coolness stood him in good stead. He never gave a single Mormon the chance to prime the pan of his musket; and having emptied his own rifle, he flung it down, and betook himself to Leigh’s weapon. It was the old story—the cowardly Mormons, finding themselves reduced to six, became demoralised, lost their heads, broke, and fled; but the Winchester effectually put a stop to that game, and in less than ten minutes from the commencement of the fight, the re-united friends were in undisputed possession of the ground.
A hasty explanation ensued, from which it appeared that the Mormons had stolen upon their position in the grey dawn, while Winfield was on guard. The poor fellow fairly broke down when Grenville questioned him sharply, and said they seemed to have sprung from the earth, and that he never heard them till they actually had their hands on him. He attempted to make a defence, and in the scuffle was shot through the wrist, whilst Leigh was knocked senseless with the butt of a rifle, and Myzukulwa overpowered by a dozen men, two of whom, however, he killed with his war-club. The Mormons had kept up a forced march through the heat of the day, and the two girls were more dead than alive. Grenville, therefore, turned on the bridge again and got all across, telling the Zulus to bring along such arms as they could find, as well as the case of rockets from the bridge, as he foresaw that when the runners who had gone on ahead found that the main body did not appear in due time, they would return to see what had happened.
Three miles from the bridge a strong position was selected upon the hill-side, and hardly had the party settled down than Amaxosa, who had left them at the bridge, rejoined them with some choice cuts from a fine young deer which he had killed; and getting well amongst the rocks, a fire was lighted, and all thoroughly enjoyed the first meal of fresh meat which had passed their lips for at least a month.
And now, having refreshed the inner man, the girls went off to sleep in a little cave close by, whilst Leigh and Winfield, who were both wounded, kept watch, and Grenville and the two Zulus made their way back to the bridge. Here Grenville coolly took up his post as if he were the guard, ordering the Zulus to lie down behind the timbers.
His calculations had been nicely made, for in less than a quarter of an hour four Mormons came up at a run, and walked blindly into the trap, and, without a shot being fired, were all disposed of—two falling into the chasm and the two others being accounted for by the Zulus. Rapidly rejoining his party, Grenville awakened the women and insisted upon their proceeding, which they did cautiously and with weary feet all night long. Just before the dawn our friends reached a position of which Amaxosa had told Grenville, and which the latter saw with delight was simply impregnable, and was, according to the Zulu, in the heart of the very best centre of the game resorts of East Utah.
To reach this desired spot the party had to ascend a steep narrow path for upwards of a hundred feet, and this brought them on to a grassy plateau some fifty yards square, the back of it being formed by the rocks, which towered away thousands of feet above their heads, and seemed to soar into the very heavens. The base, however, was pierced with several caves, in one of which was a tiny spring of water. The place was in fact like the huge grass-laid initial step of some giant stairway leading up the precipitous face of the mountain.
Amaxosa led away the quagga and hid it in a safe locality, where he thought it improbable the beast would be found, where it had food and water, and was walled in with a zareba of thorn-bushes—anyway, it must take its chance with the rest of them.
When the Zulu reappeared he brought a small deer on his shoulders, and indifferent now whether they were seen or not, the party cooked an excellent breakfast, which was duly appreciated, and then all, with the exception of Grenville, lay down to sleep. Upon his iron constitution the effect of the night’s work was simply nil, and as he had slept the previous afternoon he was fortunately still comparatively fresh.
Grenville now examined the new position of his party with increased care, and found that he could wholly approve of it. The place was admirably adapted for a sustained defence, so long as they had food; and as the game runs were, according to Amaxosa, less than three hundred yards away direct to a small stream, and as there was no scrub that would afford the enemy any cover against their rifles operating from such a height, he could only repeat to himself that the plateau was impregnable. Here neither fire, water, nor gunpowder could touch them, and the Mormon Three would have to devise some further hellish and wonderful scheme before they got the little band into their power again.
On inquiry it had turned out that someone at the cave near the stairway had incautiously knocked the tobacco ash out of his pipe into the little stream, and that the fragrant weed, absolutely still smoking, had been carried down the hill-side out on to the veldt, under the very noses of the astonished Mormon band, who, unknown to Leigh and his party, were camping out below to watch the neighbourhood. The rest, of course, had been a mere matter of careful advance and complete surprise.
In this quiet spot the party remained unmolested and apparently undiscovered for a full week, in which they not only recruited their health, but amply replenished their store of meat. On the eighth day, however, a change took place, for a small band of Mormons, evidently on a hunting expedition, espied our friends, gazed wildly at them for some little time, and then took to their heels in the direction of East Utah, whilst the party on the plateau prepared their arms.
In about three hours’ time the Mormon host appeared, sure enough, and drew a semicircle round the position, keeping about six hundred yards off; then coolly set to to pitch a large tent, upon which their standard was erected, and instantly replied to by the Saint George’s ensign of the beleaguered party.
Leigh was anxious to try his hand at the Mormon flag again, but Grenville would not permit it. “No, Alf,” he said; “I’ve an idea that that tent is meant for the infernal Mormon Trinity; and if it is, we’ll make them wish they’d planted it elsewhere; the impudent beggars evidently fancy they are clean out of range.”
Soon, however, a little diversion occurred; there happened to be only one spring available in this neighbourhood, and towards this water, which lay a shade over three hundred yards from the plateau, a Mormon now took his way, carrying a large water-ewer. When he neared the spring Grenville fired a couple of shots across him and shouted to him to keep away; the man, however, was obstinate, and this resulted in his getting himself shot. Then another pluckily tried the game, running as fast as he could, but was also knocked over. Lastly, the cowardly Mormons, relying on the gallantry of their foes, chased a wretched woman out to obtain the precious fluid. She filled the vessel, then, looking at the rock and seeing Grenville’s rifle raised, set down the water and fell on her knees, lifting her hands to the plateau in an agony of entreaty. This was just what Grenville wanted, and the next instant his bullet struck the water-vessel, which it shattered into fragments, and the woman hastily rushed back to her people, who vented their anger in shouts, curses, and gesticulations.
“They’ll get water at night,” said Leigh; “is it worth wasting powder on them, Dick?”
“I think so, Alf; for if we can only anger them into making an attack and coming into easy range, we’ll treat them to another dose such as we gave them at the Table Rock.”
The Mormons, however, were not to be drawn, and when darkness came down, they had made no further hostile movement. The Zulus now begged leave to slip down to the spring with their spears, and before they had been gone many minutes a fearful shriek was heard, announcing the death of another Mormon. A discharge of fire-arms followed, and by the flashes of the guns those on the plateau could see that a number of Mormons were quickly falling back to their own encampment, and upon these Grenville and Leigh opened fire with their Winchesters, doing considerable execution.
The Zulus were soon back again, bringing three more rifles and ammunition, of which they had forcibly despoiled the late owners.
Soon after this the moon rose, and the little party on the plateau found that the war was only about to begin according to the Mormon calculations.
The great tent was fully lighted up, and near to it the defenders of the rock could see what looked like a stand of arms. On this head they were quickly undeceived, for all at once a rocket rose from its rest and came directly at their position, striking the wall above their heads and falling upon the plateau, where it hissed about quite harmlessly, but alarmed the girls very much indeed.
Grenville ordered them into the cave, and had all the ammunition carefully stored away, and before half-a-dozen of these fiery messengers had reached them, sent two or three of the Mormons’ own bridge signal rockets into the very midst of the mob, the last one setting fire to the tent and causing several people—presumably the wondrous Holy Three and their iniquitous satellites—to scuttle about in a most undignified fashion.
The little band then sent a few shell-bullets into the enemy’s camp, where it was evident they caused fearful damage and confusion, the whole crowd promptly rushing off until they were nearly a mile distant from the Rock.
Our friends now lay down to rest again, as if nothing had happened, Grenville still keeping guard. The night passed away, however, without further disturbance, and when morning came, there was not a single enemy in sight.
After breakfast Winfield elected to go hunting with Amaxosa; his wrist was now practically well, he said, and he felt as if a little exercise would do him good. Grenville, whilst lazily smoking his pipe, was watching the motions of the pair, who were endeavouring, a quarter of a mile away, to stalk several head of game, when he sprang to his feet with a hurried exclamation of fear, and seizing his rifle, pitched it forward, and apparently taking aim at Winfield, fired quickly. Even as he did so a puff of white smoke shot up, apparently from the ground, within forty yards of Winfield’s position, and throwing up his hands he fell prone upon his face. The Zulu promptly sprang forward, and lifting the body in his arms commenced to carry it away, whilst two more shots spirted out from the ground, both fortunately being wide of the mark.
In another instant Leigh was down the rugged path and helping Amaxosa to carry Winfield up to the plateau. Grenville anxiously came forward as they reached their destination and laid down their ghastly burden. “Is he dead?” he asked in broken tones.
“Not quite, my father,” replied the Zulu, “but he cannot live, the evil men have shot him through the chest.” Winfield, as Amaxosa said this, opened his eyes, coughed up some blood, then faintly asked for water; and after receiving this, spoke very feebly to Grenville.
“Thank you for trying to save me, but you were a second too late this time—you have saved my life so often, and I hoped to live to save yours; and now let me say good-bye to Dora, for I am going, going fast;” and again he coughed up great streams of blood.
Leigh broke the awful calamity as gently as possible to the poor girl, and a moment later she sat with her father’s head upon her knee, with the scalding tears running pitifully down her cheeks, and in her heart the awful knowledge that in a few short minutes she would lose the only parent she had, and who was dear to her beyond anything else upon earth.
The end was coming fast; poor Winfield could only whisper, “If you ever get away from here, go home to England, my darling. Oh! how shall I leave you in the hands of strangers. Gentlemen, God be with you as you are kind to my friendless little girl.”
“Not friendless, old fellow,” said Leigh, kneeling beside him. “Winfield, will you give Dora to me? I love her very dearly.”
The poor fellow gazed fixedly at Leigh, then at his daughter, who smiled through her tears at him who had so boldly claimed her without even having asked her consent to the bargain. Leigh held out his hand.
“Won’t you say yes, darling?”
“Oh! yes, yes,” she sobbed, taking his hand for one brief instant.
Winfield smiled feebly.
“God bless you both, my children;” then with a wild choking cry, “Dora, my child, where are you? All grows dark with me, and I go—I go to her I love. Yes, my own sweet wife, I come—at last;” and choked by another awful rush of blood, poor Jack Winfield fell dead.
Who can describe the anguish of the poor orphan girl? Her father had for years been all in all to her, and the love which had lately sprung up in her heart towards Alf Leigh was still too young to act as a consolation to her; in this dread moment she felt as if the world for her was at an end.
Gently and tenderly her lover led her away, whispering words of comfort, and handed her over to Rose, who was weeping mournfully in concert; then leaving the girls sobbing in each other’s arms, he returned to the others, to find the body covered with the British ensign, and Grenville sternly examining the locality from which the death-shot had been fired.
“Alf,” he said, “they have burrowed a hole in the ground, put up an earthwork overhead, and thrown three rifles into it. One is dead, and now you shall see Jack Winfield avenged.” As he spoke a rocket directed by Amaxosa was fired straight into the cover chosen by the enemy, which in one second more was enveloped in a sheet of flame, the foolish Mormons having built it amongst the dried grass. Unable to stand the heat and smoke, both marksmen made a dash for life, but were tumbled over by the cousins before they had run a dozen yards.
Chapter Twelve.
Stormed at with Shot and Shell.
The next few days passed slowly and sadly on the plateau. Winfield was quietly buried close by, his grave being concealed from view, as it was most desirable that the Mormons should be kept in ignorance of the fact that the little band had lost a man.
The gloom of Winfield’s untimely death hung over all, and it was all Leigh could do to keep poor Dora from breaking down entirely; and when the Mormons, a week later, made a desperate attack on the plateau, it was a relief to the party to feel that the call for prompt and unanimous action had taken them out of their thoughts, and brought them back to their old ways of living and working.
The attempt of the Mormons proved utterly futile, as the main body never even succeeded in getting within shooting distance of Grenville’s party; and after some twenty of their bravest men had been sent to the shades to swell their already awful list of casualties they sullenly drew off and troubled our friends no more for a considerable period.
On the occasion of this attack Dora Winfield developed unexpected qualities. She calmly came forward, insisted on having Leigh’s rifle, and used it with a coolness and precision that astonished no one more than the Zulu Amaxosa. “Ow,” he said, “the lovely Lily of the Valley has slain two of the witch-finders. See! my brother, there they lie kicking like wounded oxen—ow! my sister, it is good.” Her face was set like a flint; and when the Mormons fell back, she returned the weapon to Leigh, expressing the hope that she might yet have a chance of avenging her father’s death by shooting at least one of the Holy Three.
All this time the Rose of Sharon was comporting herself very quietly, and though he knew it not, a passionate love was growing up in her heart towards Grenville. To Dora only was this revealed. “I would die for a kind word from him,” she said.
“Rose, you mustn’t say that,” remonstrated Miss Winfield; “poor Dick is very kind to everybody, but he has such a weight of responsibility on his shoulders you can’t expect him to think of love-making; only let us get clear of this horrible country, and I’m sure he will soon see what a lovely little woman my dear sister Rose can be. I think, too, he has some great scheme on hand, for of late he has asked me very many questions I have been unable to answer with regard to the Mormon city; and it was only yesterday that I referred him to you, dear, for information; so I daresay he will soon want you for a private conference;” and Dora slily pinched the cheek of the blushing girl.
It fell out exactly as Miss Winfield had said, for that very evening Grenville led Rose apart, and sitting down beside her, began to question her very closely with regard to the position, defences, public offices, and so forth, of East Utah—particularly asking in what portion of the city the Holy Three resided.
As Grenville catechised her he wondered at the eager comprehensive answers, and the blushing face of the young girl, particularly when he thanked her warmly for the information, and noted the tears which started to her eyes. Still, it never occurred to the stupid fellow that this lovely flower of the wilderness had lost her heart to him. Grenville was, as a matter of fact, one of those unimpressionable men who rarely fall in love, unless moved by some mighty and overmastering passion. All his life he had made honour and fame his mistress. The path of glory looked none the less inviting to his intrepid soul, because he well know that sooner or later it would, in all probability, lead to a premature and bloody grave. He was fond of saying that he knew no grander record in English history than that of the famous warrior of the Elizabethan period whose name he bore, and though he was unrelated to him he should consider it sacrilege to mar in any way a name which would be written in the annals of England in golden letters as long as the nation existed.
Miss Winfield, moreover, was right. Grenville had a deep-laid scheme which was just now hatching in his fertile brain, and what this superbly audacious project was, will presently appear. Do not, however, gentle reader, go away with the idea that Dick Grenville, for the sake of a little cheap glory, bought perhaps with his life-blood, was willing to sacrifice all his friends. Far from it; his scheme meant salvation to them, and to his Mormon foes destruction and death in their most awful forms.
Grenville’s next move was to turn Amaxosa inside out by a simple method of cross-questioning, which was yet complete enough in its results to satisfy even an astute detective.
One of the points he was particularly anxious about was the presence of Game in this curious country. Grenville had now recognised almost every known species of deer, yet had seen no destructive beasts, such as lions; nor was there, Amaxosa assured him, a single one in the place, nor yet an elephant, though he had once trapped and killed a rhinoceros. Eager questions with regard to this latter animal resulted in the Zulu going off next day and returning late in the evening with the rhinoceros hide, which was the very thing Grenville wanted. Putting this up at twenty yards, he fired two or three of the Mormon muskets at it, the balls all failing to penetrate its horny thickness, and in a short time he had contrived a regular suit of clumsy armour out of the hide—armour which, he felt sure, would prove absolutely bullet-proof, unless hit in the seams where he had had to shave it to a mere skin in order to unite the edges with cord.
However, to return to the subject of the deer. Amaxosa declared that the animals were not in any way preserved. On the contrary, the Mormons killed them off freely; but he had always noticed that in the driest season the herds seemed to increase; it was also at the latter end of the dry season he had settled the rhinoceros, and this season was now rapidly drawing to a close—in fact in six weeks, at the outside, the rains would begin.
Over this information Grenville puzzled his brains for days without coming to any satisfactory conclusion. His own opinion coincided with Amaxosa’s, and from the vantage ground of the plateau he carefully watched the animals feeding, and on several days noted entirely new classes arriving. Did these beasts migrate from some other feeding-ground in East Utah, or had they some means of entrance into the country as yet unknown to man and undiscovered even by such keen instinct as that of the Zulu chief?
Amaxosa reiterated his assurance that he had searched every foot of the country for a way of escape, and had never found one. Still, remembering that the Zulu had never hit upon the subterranean roadway, Grenville thought it possible that some other exit might exist without him having any knowledge of it.
Putting aside this important subject for the nonce, however, our hero’s mind reverted to his pet scheme, and to the best methods of carrying it out he now directed all his faculties.
Night after night, accompanied by Amaxosa, did Grenville creep up to the walls—ay, into the very streets of East Utah—until its ways and buildings were as familiar to him as were the streets of fashionable London. The Zulu accompanied his chief in utter wonder, but his splendid training withheld him from asking any explanation—indeed, if “his Father” had asked him to jump into the River of Death he would have complied without hesitation, such power can a brave and fearless leader wield over the heart of any true follower, be he white or black.
Dawn after dawn saw the pair cautiously retaking their devious way to the plateau, comforting the anxious watchers there, who heaved a sigh of relief on being assured of the safe return of the wanderers.
Devious their way certainly was, for the pair invariably went and came along the course of a river which they struck a few miles from the town, through which it ran and emptied itself into the River of Death. By means of this small stream they were able to pass the walls unseen and obtain access to the very heart of the city.
One morning, however, soon after Grenville had lain down to rest, being exhausted with the labours of the night, he was awakened by Leigh, with the news that the Mormons were again approaching in force; and on taking up his position on the plateau our hero found that the enemy had brought with them a new engine of warfare in the shape of an enormous catapult somewhat after the ancient Roman style, but worked with india-rubber springs, the country being of course alive with rubber-trees. The operators, moreover, were securely ensconced behind a sheet and roof of the same product, the thickness of which must have been immense, as the rifle-bullets of the little party had evidently not the remotest effect upon it. This curious-looking half-house on wheels was moved forward by its defenders to within fifty feet of the rock, and after some little time had elapsed the engine correctly pitched its first missile right upon the plateau, where, to the horror and consternation of our friends, it revealed itself fuming and hissing, in the shape of an explosive shell. “Where ignorance is bliss, ’tis folly to be wise;” still, the sight of that infernal bomb must have roused suspicions as to its capacity for evil in even the ignorant mind of Amaxosa, and he could read a confirmation of some unknown horror in the countenances of his friends. Coolly stepping forward, he took up the shell in his powerful hands, and with a mighty effort threw it, with the fuse still smoking, right on to the top of the covered catapult, where it spontaneously exploded with a fearful roar, tearing the entire engine to pieces and killing its miserable occupants. The Mormon band, watching at a distance to see their foes destroyed, at once made a stampede in the direction of the town, and disappeared from view.
On descending to the plain it was found that the catapult had been worked by five men, all of whom were fairly cut to pieces; and lying close by, Grenville discovered two more shells with fuses attached. These bombs were evidently home-made, being simply a lead casing filled with powder and ball, and ignited by a long fuse. They might, however, come in most useful in case of a concentrated Mormon attack upon the plateau; so these instruments of destruction were carefully stowed away in one of the smaller caves, and Grenville was again able to betake himself to his prematurely-disturbed slumbers.
The effect of this last attempt was, however, an added determination upon his part to read the whole Mormon community—and particularly, if it were possible, the Holy Three—such a salutary lesson as would forcibly and unpleasantly bring them to their senses, and teach them for the future to leave our friends severely alone, if it did not indeed deprive them of all power to render any future attack upon their position otherwise than sheer waste of human life without the very faintest hope of success.
As yet Grenville had not given anyone upon the plateau an inkling of the deadly project which his fertile brain had matured, and the putting into operation of which was only hastened by the latest ingenious and vindictive though futile effort of the enemy.
On that afternoon, being anxious to draw a small plan of the city for the purpose of defining his exact intentions to the party, Grenville applied to everyone for a scrap of paper on which to work his diagram. No one was, however, possessed of the desired commodity. All at once Leigh recollected that he had a Bank of England note for one hundred pounds in his purse, and this was forthwith produced, and was the outcome of a curious statement.
Taking the note with a laugh, Grenville laid it out upon a rock to remove the creases, and then proceeded to delineate with pencil upon its back his modus operandi.
Rose, however, suddenly exclaimed, “Oh! how did you get that?”
“Get what?” asked Leigh, mystified.
“That wonderful paper money which belongs to the Holy Three.”
“Holy Three be hanged,” replied Leigh. “I got it from my bankers, Rose.”
The young girl was then questioned, and stated that amongst the treasures of the Community was a box which had formerly belonged to her father, and of which she had been deprived by the Holy Three; and this receptacle was, she averred, filled with this paper money, which her grandfather had, her father said, obtained in exchange for gold dust.
“Why then, Rose, you are an heiress,” said Grenville, laughing, “and we must get you back your inheritance.”
“I don’t want it,” said the impulsive girl; “I will give it to you if you can get it, Dick; but don’t run any risks, I implore you.”
Wondering inwardly where the old Mormon could have found the opportunity of converting his gold into English bank paper, Grenville resumed his operations, and for the instruction of Leigh drew on the back of the note a small plan of East Utah and its principal streets and offices, and then in an undertone said a few words to his cousin which made the other turn pale with fear and dread.
“The scheme is a grand one, Dick,” he at length gasped out; “but even if it succeeds, I don’t see how you personally can possibly make your escape from the town. Don’t risk it, old man,” he pleaded; “we can’t afford to lose you. And if you got caught, what am I to do? I shall never be able to keep these scoundrels off, or get Dora and Rose out of the country with only the Zulus to help me.”
“Now, Alf,” replied Grenville, “you know I always make my mind up beforehand, so it’s no use you arguing; besides, I really think I can escape from the place. Remember, the confusion created will amount to a positive wholesale panic, and a man less or more in the streets will never be noticed. Moreover, if the plan succeeds, it will mean at all events practical immunity from interference in the future, and will probably result in our finding an exit from the country. Of this I am determined—either I will find a way out or I will make one.”
In vain Leigh urged his view of the question—our hero had indeed come to a determination, and met all opposition, remonstrance, and entreaty with the same inflexible resolve.
His cousin next pleaded to be permitted to share the danger, but neither would Grenville allow this.
“I will,” he said, “risk no one’s life or liberty except my own upon such a fearfully hazardous expedition. I intend that Amaxosa shall accompany me inside the walls, to carry my heavy armour; and when once I have reached my destination, he will return to you. And remember, Alf, that if I happen to be taken or killed before or, possibly indeed, after the execution of my project, the Mormons will at once deliver a tremendous attack upon your position. Keep them off as long as you can with the rifles—for I shall leave you mine, as also my revolvers—and then when they are massed together and absolutely climbing the rock, light those infernal machines of theirs and throw them into the crowd. Let the fuses burn at least thirty seconds before you throw them down, though; and I guess you won’t have much more trouble with the Mormons. And if you, or I, or both fail, God help us, old man.”
“You don’t mean to tell me you are going unarmed amongst those devils, who are raging for your blood?” remonstrated Leigh.
“Not a bit of it,” was the reply; “I’m going to take that heavy revolver of Myzukulwa’s. If needful, it will come in handy as a club after it is emptied. Besides, my game this time is not fighting, but hiding and then running; and I am specially anxious that should I have the ill-luck to fall into their hands, they may not along with me obtain any of our own modern weapons of warfare. Had I not had the luck to drop Radford Custance before he had time to hand your Winchester over to the community, we should all have gone under a month ago. Let me tell you, these fellows are not bad shots—remember the man who nearly dropped us in the Pass; and above all, don’t forget poor Winfield’s end.”
“I see, nothing can move you,” groaned poor Leigh.
“No earthly consideration will induce me to forego the attempt, Alf,” was the quick reply; “so help me, instead of seeking to divert me from the end I have in view; and above all do not mention my project to the girls. It will be time enough for them to hear it when the result is a matter of history.”
Chapter Thirteen.
Guy Fawkes Redivivus.
All the following day Grenville rested and slept, and when the night closed in he saw with growing satisfaction that there was likely to be a heavy storm, and this in itself indicated the probable advent of the rainy season at no very distant date.
Not wishing to be delayed in any way, he set out early with Amaxosa, and by midnight, when the storm broke, had arrived within pistol-shot of the town.
By this time everywhere had grown dark as pitch, and looking up, Grenville saw that all the stars had disappeared, whilst at that very moment the surrounding landscape as well as the town stood revealed in a blinding glare of lightning, instantly succeeded by a terrific clap of thunder.
Quickly gaining the cover of the walls, Grenville hastily donned his protective armour, exchanged weapons with the Zulu, much to that worthy’s astonishment, and then armed exactly as he had intended to be, and with a dozen spare cartridges in his pocket, commanded Amaxosa to return to the plateau as fast as he possibly could.
The indignation of the Zulu knew no bounds.
“Why,” he said, “does my father distrust his faithful war-dog? Does he fear that when the time of danger comes his son will not be there? Has my father forgotten how the children of the Undi fought for him at the narrow crossing by the River of Death, has he forgotten the battle of the rock, the fight in the great black cavern, or the mighty struggle at the eastern bridge, where the red blood flowed in streams? Does he not remember how Amaxosa bore away the body of the Inkoos Winfield when he had fallen by the bullets of the witch-finders, or how, with his own hand and the box of lightning (Anglice bombshell), he slew five men and destroyed their moving castle? Why does the Inkoos, my father, doubt me? Amaxosa the son of Undi has but one heart, which beats true with the heart of his father; and the poor Zulu war-dog has but one body, but it would fain stand between the great white chief and the death he seeks to meet.”
Grenville was sincerely moved by this impassioned burst of feeling, exhibited by a man usually so dignified and self-contained, and it took him quite ten minutes before he could convince the chief of the wisdom of his plan; but when he had at last succeeded, and somewhat pacified his friend by accepting the loan of his war-club, the Zulu raised himself to his full height, and shaking his spear at the city, delivered himself thus:—
“Beware, witch-finders—beware, ye evil men! Touch but one hair upon the head of my father, the great white chief, beloved of his faithful children, and the sons of the Undi will rip open every fighting man in your accursed land.”
Then, grasping Grenville’s hand, he stalked moodily away, and the last our friend saw of him, by the help of a vivid flash of lightning, was as he slowly entered the cover half a mile off, walking in a heavy and dejected manner, with his head sunk upon his breast.
And now our hero proceeded to effect his entry into the city; for if the rain came on, as it usually does in these latitudes, in the form of a vast sheet of water, the little river might become too much swollen for him to obtain his usual safe and easy access.
Had he been able to count upon the night being as dark as it proved to be, and had the lightning not been so much in evidence, Grenville would gladly have taken the Zulu with him; but he well knew that where a white man might possibly pass undetected amongst a half-paralysed and wholly terror-stricken mob of his own colour, the black skin of his faithful friend would at once draw down upon him stern and unfailing punishment, or rather retribution.
The thunder now sounded like one uninterrupted roll of heavy artillery, and the utter blackness of the atmosphere was cut by the almost incessant flashes of lightning, which, to our hero’s discomfiture, kept the whole countryside in a constant and brilliant state of illumination.
Creeping carefully on, Grenville soon gained the welcome shadow of the houses, and at this moment the storm broke with added fury, the wind howling as if all the fiends of hell were let loose, and, sweeping along the earth, carried with it a perfect avalanche of stones, leaves, and branches. Blast followed blast, and crash succeeded crash, until, with a shock like an earthquake, two large buildings suddenly gave way and came to the ground like houses of cards, crushing their wretched inmates under their ruins, and drawing half of East Utah to the scene of the calamity.
Silently gliding away like the spirit of evil, Grenville at last approached the public offices of the town, which consisted of a large rough building pierced with one small door below, at the rear, and entered from the front by a handsome flight of steps through a portal of commanding appearance.
Towards the back door, however, Grenville directed his tortuous course, constantly hiding, yet cautiously and continuously approaching, until, hidden by a stone buttress, he stood within a dozen feet of the little door, and within half that distance of the guard pacing up and down before it with his musket on his shoulder, and from time to time casting uneasy glances at the sky. Waiting for the next flash, Grenville sprang upon the sentry and felled him like a log with a blow from Amaxosa’s war-club, and with a second blow from the same weapon burst open the door and dragged the man’s body inside.
The first drops of rain now began to fall, and in another moment the water was coming down in sheets, and Grenville knew that for some minutes at least, the absence of the sentry was likely to remain unperceived.
Striking a light, he found himself in a sort of low cellar, and seeing another door before him, he burst this in, and, to his complete satisfaction, found himself exactly where he had hoped to be, yet feared the possibility of penetrating. There before his eyes lay piled up barrel upon barrel of what—wine? No, gentle reader. Richard Grenville’s desperate scheme was now realised beyond his fondest hopes, and he stood in the powder magazine of East Utah.
Grenville lost no time, but knocking in the heads of a number of barrels with his club, he filled his hat with powder, and laid a thick train across the ground to the outer door; this operation, however, took some little time, for it had unfortunately to be performed entirely in the dark; and when our friend thought he had reached the door he was considerably taken aback to find he was pouring powder on the dead face of the hapless sentinel. Quietly striking a match, Grenville with the utmost caution inspected his work. He found the train perfect, and was about to leave the place, when a low horrified exclamation caused him to turn, and find himself confronted by several Mormons.
These men were not slow to see through his intentions, and with an awful yell rushed out of the place, and tried to close the door upon him. Grenville was, however, too quick for them, braining one man, who fell across the door and blocked it open.
The street beyond, he saw, was already alive with his foes, who were rushing away from him in every direction, and dashing outside he fired his revolver into the train and flew along the street towards the river. For one instant the success of the plot hung upon a thread, and that thread was the dead sentinel His death in point of fact almost saved the Mormons from the fearful calamity which was now rushing madly upon them.
The miserable man’s blood had trickled along the floor and damped the powder, which fizzed and sputtered in the gory stream, and for one brief instant seemed to be extinguished; then a single spark caught the dry material beyond the tiny crimson rivulet, the serpentine flame spurted across the rooms in one lightning flash of fire, and in the next moment East Utah was shaken to its foundations by the explosion of fifty barrels of gunpowder, which rent the earth and seemed to dwarf into utter insignificance the thunder of the heavens, which still pealed and crashed overhead.
For the succeeding moments nothing could be heard but the crash of falling houses, accompanied rather than succeeded by the awful cry of “Fire! Fire!” And almost immediately the whole city, or rather what was left of it, could be plainly seen in the fearful conflagration which broke out.
Fortunate was it for the hapless Mormons that that night of terror was a night of storm, for had the tropic rain not stood their friend, every soul in the place would have been left houseless and homeless; as it was, however, the sheets of water which were teeming down, soon extinguished the fires on every side, and the city once more settled down into ominous and tangible darkness.
The author of all this ruin was meantime speeding in the direction of the river, but as he turned the last corner, only a hundred yards from the water, he ran right into a mob of Mormons, to whom a vivid flash of lightning revealed his hated and now well-known personality. With a hoarse cry like the angry roar of wild beasts they went at him, looking for an easy victory, but planting his back against the wall Grenville used his revolver freely, laughing in their faces as they discharged at him gun after gun at point-blank range without penetrating his singular armour. Then, taking advantage of the darkness which succeeded an unusually brilliant flash of lightning, he charged through them, killing two or three with his war-club, and then dived boldly into the stream, which was now boiling down its angry course towards the River of Death. Thither Grenville dared not go; against the stream he found it impossible to swim; so, rather than be drowned like a dog, he sprang out of the water and again faced his enemies, determination in his countenance, strength and activity in every nerve of his body, but without a shadow of hope in his heart. Once more getting to the wall, Grenville fought desperately with his club, killing man after man, and then, when he felt himself getting weak, pitched his revolver into the river and again prepared for a final charge. At this moment, however, a cowardly Mormon who had gained an adjacent roof, dropped a great piece of rock full upon our hero’s defenceless head, and he fell to the earth stunned and unconscious.
When Grenville regained his senses, he found himself pinioned hand and foot, and lying in a great hall, which was thickly packed with Mormons of both sexes.
Anxious to get an idea of his position he did not immediately open his eyes, but he was keenly watched, and detecting him in the act of trying to look through his half-open eyelids, Grenville’s guards brutally jerked him on to his feet, one of them calling out, “The prisoner has come to, your Holiness.” Pulling himself together, though feeling very weak, our friend saw he was gazing down upon a perfect sea of faces, and this multitude, as soon as he stood up, gave vent to one common roar of vengeance and execration.
Coolly turning his back upon them with a gesture of ineffable contempt, Grenville found himself face to face with the Mormon Trinity, and for a few moments the Holy Three gazed wonderingly upon this man who had penetrated their secret kingdom, worsted and defeated them at every turn, held them up to the ridicule of their own people, slaughtered at least one-fourth of the whole nation, and finally had, single-handed, almost entirely destroyed their town, and at one fell swoop wrested from their grasp the precious gunpowder which was to have sustained and defended them for many years to come.
On his part, Grenville was quietly saying to himself that these three men were very much what he had expected them to prove.
There was one venerable old man, with snowy white hair; his age must have been quite eighty years, and his countenance, though stern, had a certain appearance of benevolence upon it. The next man—his son beyond a doubt—was possessed of all his father’s bad features without any of the good; taken all through, he had a cruel face and one which was, moreover, weak and vacillating, as well as sinister and sensual. The third member of this singular triumvirate was an enormous fellow, standing at least six feet three, and broad in proportion, a repulsive countenance, with villainy, murder, and rapine written upon every line of it—a man with the face of a satyr and the manners of a bear. Such was Ishmael Warden, the latter day Saint who clearly dominated the Mormon Trinity in East Utah.
For fully a minute Grenville waited the pleasure of his captors, and then the oldest member of the Trinity addressed him.
“What is your name, prisoner?” he asked.
“Richard Grenville, a subject of her Britannic Majesty,” was the answer, given in clear and contemptuous tones.
“You are accused of the crime of wilful murder, and will be tried in three days. Guards, remove prisoner.”
“And,” bellowed the Satyr, “if he should escape, remember your life goes for his.”
Grenville was then dragged away by his captors, who threw him into a damp underground cell, apparently cut out of the rock. Here, without food, water, or light, they left him, and, fastening the door upon him, placed an armed sentry outside.
As he was led away from the Common Hall, Grenville had noticed that the night had become clear and fine again, and through the grated door he could see the rays of silvery moonlight, and thought regretfully to himself that it was now shimmering down upon the plateau in all its radiant glory, and lighting up the anxious faces of the friends waiting for one who would return to them no more.
He thoroughly realised his awful position. The Mormon prophet’s words meant that in three days’ time Richard Grenville would be but dust and ashes, and that fearless and generous spirit of his would have returned to the God who gave it.
Even so, he had played for a desperate stake and won, but the victory was to be paid for with his life; a light price, it seemed to him, in return for the practical destruction of the Mormon town and the perfect future security of his own friends.
Grenville tried to engage the guard in conversation, but the surly brute began to whistle a tune instead of replying. Our hero then laid himself down on the rocky floor, and worn out with fatigue, and still weak from the effects of the blow he had received, slept soundly, until he was aroused by the entrance of the guard in the morning, with breakfast for him, which, it need hardly be said, was most acceptable.
The door was left open whilst Grenville ate, and the guard, who had been relieved by an officer, supported by two subordinates, seemed to be quite a different class of man from the surly warrior of the previous night. The new sentinel, in fact, commenced to chaff Grenville while he ate, saying that he was surprised that a man of his ability, who had killed so many people, should have allowed himself to be floored with a stone; but our friend laughingly responded that he never was remarkable for being thick-headed.
He then asked the officer when and how he was to depart this life.
“Oh!” said the other, “don’t be in a hurry, we’ve hardly begun to like you yet.”
And in this manner he fenced with all the questions put to him.
“And now,” said the Mormon, when Grenville had finished eating, “I am commissioned to place these irons upon your hands and feet if you choose to be at liberty in the Square here; but you are to have the option of staying in this black hole of a prison if you prefer it.”
Grenville gladly accepted the alternative of being fettered, thinking he might as well see as much of the sun as he could while he had the chance.
The day passed quietly enough; he was well fed and carefully guarded, but the men round him seemed decent people, and not at all of the bullying type.
Just about tea-time, as Grenville was sitting listlessly thinking, the dull boom of a distant explosion broke upon his ear. The guards stood still, gazed inquiringly at one another, and at that moment another smothered report followed.
Seeing Grenville smile, one of the men turned to him quickly, and asked him what the joke was.
“Why,” replied he, “I was just wondering, when I heard the first explosion, how many of the men you sent against my friends this morning would come back alive; but when I heard the second one, I came to the satisfactory conclusion that not one of them would ever see East Utah again.”
The guard looked angry for a moment, but then smiled and said, “You are a bold man; however, we shall see.”
Soon after, Grenville was hurried away to his prison, and that night he heard wailing and lamentations in the city, and knew that he had guessed the truth, that another fearful calamity had befallen the Mormons, and that his friends at the plateau were now practically safe from further molestation.