The Lions of the Lord: A Tale of the Old West

by Harry Leon Wilson

  CHAPTER XVII.

  _The Meadow Shambles_

  They chose William Bateman to go forward with a flag of truce. He wasshort and plump, with a full, round, ingenuous face. He was chosen, sosaid Klingensmith, for his plausible ways. He could look right at youwhen he said anything; and the moment needed a man of this talent. Hewas to enter the camp and say to the people that the Mormons had come tosave them; that on giving up their arms they would be safely conductedto Cedar City, there to await a proper time for continuing theirjourney.

  From the hill to the west of the besieged camp they watched theplausible Bateman with his flag of truce meet one of the emigrants whocame out, also with a white flag, and saw them stand talking a littletime. Bateman then came back around the end of the hill that separatedthe two camps. His proposal had been gratefully accepted. The besiegedemigrants were in desperate straits; their dead were unburied in thenarrow enclosure, and they were suffering greatly for want of water.

  Major Higbee, in command of the militia, now directed Lee to enter thecamp and see that the plan was carried out. With him went two men withwagons. Lee was to have them load their weapons into one wagon, toseparate the adults from the children and wounded, who were to be putinto the other, and then march the party out.

  As Lee approached the corral its occupants swarmed out to meethim,--gaunt men, unkempt women and children, with the look of huntedanimals in their eyes. Some of the men cheered feebly; some were silentand plainly distrustful. But the women laughed and wept for joy as theycrowded about their deliverer; and wide-eyed children stared at him in afriendly way, understanding but little of it all except that thenewcomer was a desirable person.

  It took Lee but a little time to overcome the hesitation of the fewsuspicious ones. The plan he proposed was too plainly their only way ofescape from a terrible death. Their animals had been shot down or runoff so that they could neither advance nor retreat. Their ammunition wasalmost gone, so that they could not give battle. And, lastly, theirprovisions were low, with no chance to replenish them; for on the southwas the most to be dreaded of all American deserts, while on the norththey had for some reason unknown to themselves been unable to buy of theabundance through which they passed.

  Arrangements for the departure were quickly completed under Lee'ssupervision. In one wagon were piled the guns and pistols of theemigrants, together with half a dozen men who had been wounded in thefour days' fighting. In the other wagon a score of the smaller childrenwere placed, some with tear-stained faces, some crying, and some gravelyapprehensive. At Lee's command the two wagons moved forward. After thesethe women followed, marching singly or in pairs; some with littlebundles of their most precious belongings; some carrying babes too youngto be sent ahead in the wagon. A few had kept even their older childrento walk beside them, fearing some evil--they knew not what.

  One such, a young woman near the last of the line, was leading by thehand a little girl of three or four, while on her left there marched asturdy, pink-faced boy of seven or eight, whose almost white hair andeyebrows gave him a look of fright which his demeanour belied. Thewoman, looking anxiously back over her shoulder to the line of men,spoke warningly to the boy as the line moved slowly forward.

  "Take her other hand, and stay close. I'm afraid something willhappen-that man who came is not an honest man. I tried to tell them, butthey wouldn't believe me. Keep her hand in yours, and if anything doeshappen, run right back there and try to find her father. Remember now,just as if she were your own little sister."

  The boy answered stoutly, with shrewd glances about for possibledanger.

  "Of course I'll stay by her. I wouldn't run away. If I'd only had agun," he continued, in tones of regretful enthusiasm, "I know I couldhave shot some of those Indians--but these, what do you callthem?--Mormons--they'll keep the Indians away now."

  "But remember--don't leave my child, for I'm afraid--something warnsme."

  Farther back the others had now fallen in, so that the whole company wasin motion. The two wagons were in the lead; then came the women; andsome distance back of these trailed the line of men.

  When the latter reached the place where the column of militia stooddrawn up in line by the roadside, they swung their hats and cheeredtheir deliverers; again and again the cheers rang in tones that werefull of gratitude. As they passed on, an armed Mormon stepped to theside of each man and walked with him, thus convincing the last doubterof their sincerity in wishing to guard them from any unexpected attackby the Indians.

  In such fashion marched the long, loosely extended line until the rearhad gone some two hundred yards away from the circle of wagons. At thehead, the two wagons containing the children and wounded had now fallenout of sight over a gentle rise to the north. The women also were wellahead, passing at that moment through a lane of low cedars that grewclose to the road on either side. The men were now stepping briskly,sure at last of the honesty of their rescuers.

  Then, while all promised fair, a call came from the head of the line ofmen,--a clear, high call of command that rang to the very rear of thecolumn:

  _"Israel, do your duty!"_

  Before the faces of the marching men had even shown surprise orquestioning, each Mormon had turned and shot the man who walked besidehim. The same instant brought piercing screams from the column of womenahead; for the signal had been given while they were in the lane ofcedars where the Indian allies of the Saints had been ambushed. Shotsand screams echoed and reechoed across the narrow valley, and clouds ofsmoke, pearl gray in the morning sun, floated near the ground.

  The plan of attack had been well laid for quick success. Most of the menhad fallen at the first volley, either killed or wounded. Here and therealong the all but prostrate line would be seen a struggling pair, or oneof the emigrants running toward cover under a fire that always broughthim low before he reached it.

  On the women, too, the quick attack had been almost instantlysuccessful. The first great volume of mad shrieks had quickly died lowas if the victims were being smothered; and now could be heard only thesingle scream of some woman caught in flight,--short, despairingscreams, and others that seemed to be cut short--strangled at theirheight.

  Joel Rae found himself on the line after the first volley, drawn bysome dread power he could not resist. Yet one look had been enough. Heshut his eyes to the writhing forms, the jets of flame spitting throughthe fog of smoke, and turned to flee.

  Then in an instant--how it had come about he never knew--he wasstruggling with a man who shouted his name and cursed him,--a dark manwith blood streaming from a wound in his throat. He defended himselfeasily, feeling his assailant's strength already waning. Time after timethe man called him by name and cursed him, now in low tones, as theyswayed. Then the Saint whose allotted victim this man had been, havingreloaded his pistol, ran up, held it close to his head, fired, and ranback to the line.

  He felt the man's grasp of his shoulders relax, and his body growsuddenly limp, as if boneless. He let it down to the ground, looking atlast full upon the face. At first glance it told him nothing. Then afaint sense of its familiarity pushed up through many old memories.Sometime, somewhere, he had known the face.

  The dying man opened his eyes wide, not seeing, but convulsively, andthen he felt himself enlightened by something in their darkcolour,--something in the line of the brow under the black hair;--a facewas brought back to him, the handsome face of the jaunty militia captainat Nauvoo, the man who had helped expel his people, who had patronisedthem with his airs of protector,--the man who had--

  It did not come to him until that instant--this man was Girnway. In theflash of awful comprehension he dropped, a sickened and nerveless heap,beside the dead man, turning his head on the ground, and feeling for anysign of life at his heart.

  Forward there, where the yells of the Indians had all but replaced thescreams of frantic women--butchered already perhaps, subjected to heknew not what infamy at the hands of savage or Saint--was theyellow-haired, pink-faced girl he had loved
and kept so long imaged inhis heart; yet she might have escaped, she might still live--she mighteven not have been in the party.

  He sprang up and found himself facing a white-haired boy, who held alittle crying girl by a tight grasp of her arm, and who eyed himaggressively.

  "What did you hurt Prudence's father for? He was a good man. Did youshoot him?"

  He seized the boy roughly by the shoulder.

  "Prudence--Prudence--where is she?"

  "Here."

  He looked down at the little girl, who still cried. Even in that glancehe saw her mother's prettiness, her pink and white daintiness, and theyellow shine of her hair.

  "Her mother, then,--quick!"

  The boy pointed ahead.

  "Up there--she told me to take care of Prudence, and when the Indianscame out she made me run back here to look for him." He pointed to thestill figure on the ground before them. And then, making a brave effortto keep back the tears:

  "If I had a gun I'd shoot some Indians;--I'd shoot you, too--you killedhim. When I grow up to be a man, I'll have a gun and come here--"

  He had the child in his arms, and called to the boy:

  "Come, fast now! Go as near as you can to where you left her."

  They ran forward through the gray smoke, stepping over and around bodiesas they went. When they reached the first of the women he would havestopped to search, but the boy led him on, pointing. And then, half-wayup the line, a little to the right of the road, at the edge of thecedars, his eye caught the glimpse of a great mass of yellow hair on theground. She seemed to have been only wounded, for, as he looked, she wasup on her knees striving to stand.

  He ran faster, leaving the boy behind now, but while he was still faroff, he saw an Indian, knife in hand, run to her and strike her down.Then before he had divined the intent, the savage had gathered the longhair into his left hand, made a swift circling of the knife with hisright,--and the thing was done before his eyes. He screamed in terror ashe ran, and now he was near enough to be heard. The Indian at his cryarose and for one long second shook, almost in his face as he camerunning up, the long, shining, yellow hair with the gory patch at theend. Before his staring eyes, the hair was twisting, writhing, andundulating,--like a golden flame licking the bronzed arm that held it.And then, as he reached the spot, the Indian, with a long yell ofdelight and a final flourish of his trophy, ran off to other prizes.

  He stood a moment, breathless and faint, looking with fearful eyes downat the little, limp, still figure at his feet. One slender, bare arm wasflung out as if she had grasped at the whole big earth in her lastagony.

  The spell of fear was broken by the boy, who came trotting up. He hadgiven way to his tears now, and was crying loudly from fright. Joel madehim take the little girl and sit under a cedar out of sight of the spot.