CHAPTER XL.
_A Procession, a Pursuit, and a Capture_
Follett awoke to find himself superfluous. The women were rushingexcitedly through their housework in order to be at hand when theprocession of Brigham and his suite should march in. Of Joel Rae hecaught but a glimpse through the door of his little room, the faceflushed that had a long time been sallow and bloodless. When the doorhad closed he could hear the voice, now strong again. He seemed to be,as during the night, rehearsing something he meant to say. And later itwas plain that he prayed, though he heard nothing more than the highpleading of the voice.
Follett would not have minded these things, but Prudence was gone and noone could tell him where. From Christina of the rock-bound speech heblasted the items that she was wearing "a dress all new" and "ared-ribbon hat." Lorena, too, with all her willingness of speech, knewnothing definite.
"All I know is she fixed herself up like she was going to an eveningball or party. I wish to the lands I'd kep' my complexion the way shedoes hern. And she had on her best lawn that her pa got her in SaltLake, the one with the little blue figures in it. She does look sweeterthan honey on a rag in a store dress, and that Leghorn hat with the redbow, though what she wanted to start so early for I don't know. Theprocession can't be along yet, but she might have gone down to marchwith them, or to help decorate the bowery. I know when I was her age Iwas always a great hand for getting ready long before any one come, whenmy mother was making a company for me, putting up my waterfall andcurling my beau-catchers on a hot pipe-stem. But, land! I ain't no timeto talk with _you_."
Down at the main road he hesitated. To the right he could see where thegreen mouth of the canon invited; but to the left lay the village wherePrudence doubtless was. He would find her and bring her away. ForFollett had determined to toe the mark himself now.
In the one street of Amalon there was the usual Sabbath hush; but abovethis was an air of dignified festivity. The village in its Sunday besthomespun, with here and there a suit of store goods, was holding itsbreath. In the bowery a few workers, under the supervision of BishopWright, were adding the last touches of decoration. It was a spot ofpleasant green in the dusty square--a roof of spruce boughs, withevergreens and flowers garnishing the posts, and a bank of flowers andfruit back of the speaker's stand.
But Prudence was not there, and he wondered with dismay if she hadjoined the rest of the village and gone out to meet the Prophet. He hadseen the last of them going along the dusty road to the north, men andwomen and little children, hot, excited, and eager. It did not seem likeher to be among them, and yet except for those before him working aboutthe bowery, and a few mothers with children in arms, the town wasapparently deserted.
But even as he waited, he heard the winding alarm of a bugle, and saw ascurrying of backs in the dusty haze far up the road. The Wild Ram ofthe Mountains gave a few hurried commands for the very final touches,called off his force from the now completed bowery, and a solitaryGentile was for the moment left to greet the oncoming procession.
Presently, however, from the dark interiors of the log houses came themothers with babies, a few aged sires too feeble for the march, and suchof the remaining housewives as could leave for a little time the dinnersthey were cooking. They made but a thin line along the little street,and Follett saw at once that Prudence was not among them. He must waitto see if she marched in the approaching procession.
Already the mounted escort was coming into view, four abreast, captainedby Elder Wardle, who, with a sash of red and gold slanted across hisbreast, was riding nervously, as if his seat could be kept only by themost skillful horsemanship, a white mule that he was known to treat withfearless disrespect on days that were not great. Behind the martialWardle was Peter Peterson, Peter Long Peterson, and Peter Long PeterPeterson, the most martial looking men in Amalon after their leader; andthen came a few more fours of proudly mounted Saints.
After this escort, separated by an interval that would let the dustsettle a little, came the body of the procession. First a carriagecontaining the Prophet, portly, strong-faced, easy of manner, as becamea giant who felt kindly in his might. By his side was his wife, Amelia,the reigning favourite, who could play the piano and sing "Fair Bingenon the Rhine" with a dash that was said to be superb. Behind this floatof honour came other carriages, bearing the Prophet's Counsellors, theApostles, Chief Bishop, Bishops generally, Elders, Priests, and Deacons,each taking precedence near the Prophet's carriage by seniority of rankor ordination. Along the line of carriages were outriders, bearingproudly aloft banners upon which suitable devices were printed:
"God bless Brigham Young!"
"Hail to Zion's Chief!"
"The Lion of the Lord."
"Welcome to our Mouthpiece of God!"
Behind the last carriage came the citizens in procession, eachdetachment with its banner. The elderly brethren stepped briskly under"Fathers in Israel"; the elderly sisters gazed proudly aloft to "Mothersin Israel." Then came a company of young men whose banner announced themas "Defenders of Zion." They were followed by a company of maidens ledby Matilda Wright, striving to be not too much elated, and whose bannerbore the inscription, "Daughters of Zion." At the last came thechildren, openly set up by the occasion, and big-eyed with importance,the boy who carried their banner, "The Hope of Israel," going withwonderful rigidity, casting not so much as an eye either to right orleft.
But Prudence had not been in this triumphal column, nor was she amongany of the women who stood with children in their arms, or who rushed tothe doors with sleeves rolled up and a long spoon or fork in theirhands.
Then all at once a great inspiration came to Follett. When the lastdusty little white-dressed girl had trudged solemnly by, and the head ofthe procession was already winding down the lane that led to ElderWardle's place, he called himself a fool and turned back. He walked likea man who has suddenly remembered that which he should not haveforgotten. And yet he had remembered nothing at all. He had only thoughtof a possibility, but one that became more plausible with every step;especially when he reached the Rae house and found it deserted. Wheneverhe thought of his stupidity, which was every score of steps, he wouldbreak into a little trot that made the willows along the creek on hisleft run into a yellowish green blur.
He was breathing hard by the time he had made the last ascent and stoodin the cool shade of the comforting pines. He waited until his pulsebecame slower, wiping his forehead with the blue neckerchief whichPrudence had suggested that she liked to see him wear in place of theone of scarlet. When he had cooled and calmed himself a little, hestepped lightly on. Around the big rock he went, over the "down timber"beyond it, up over the rise down which the waters tumbled, and thensharply to the right where their nook was, a call to her already on hislips.
But she was not there. He could see the place at a glance. Nothing belowmet his eye but the straight red trunks of the pines and the browncarpet beneath them. A jay posed his deep shining blue on a cluster ofscarlet sumac, and, cocking his crested head, screamed at him mockingly.The canon's cool breath fanned him and the pine-tops sighed and sang. Atfirst he was disheartened; but then his eyes caught a gleam of white andred under the pine, touched to movement by a low-swinging breeze.
It was her hat swaying where she had hung it on a broken bough of thetree she liked to lean against. And there was her book; not the book ofMormon, but a secular, frivolous thing called "Leaflets of Memory, anIlluminated Annual for the Year 1847." It was lying on its face, open atthe sentimental tale of "Anastasia." He put it down where she had leftit. The canon was narrow and she would hardly leave the waterside forthe steep trail. She would be at the upper cascade or in the little parkabove it, or somewhere between. He crossed the stream, and there in thedamp sand was the print of a small heel where she had made a long stepfrom the last stone. He began to hurry again, clambering recklessly overboulders, or through the underbrush where the sides of the stream weresteep. When the upper cascade came in sight his heart leaped, for the
rehe caught the fleeting shimmer of a skirt and the gleam of a dark head.
He hurried on, and after a moment's climb had her in full view, standingon the ledge below which the big trout lay. There he saw her turn sothat he would have sworn she looked at him. It seemed impossible thatshe had not seen him; but to his surprise she at once started up thestream, swiftly footing over the rough way, now a little step, now afree leap, grasping a willow to pull herself up an incline, thendisappearing around a clump of cedars.
He redoubled his speed over the rocks. When she next came into view,still far ahead, he shouted long and loud. It was almost certain thatshe must hear; and yet she made no sign. She seemed even to speed aheadthe faster for his hail.
Again he sprang forward to cover the distance between them, and again heshouted when the next view of her showed that he was gaining. This timehe was sure she heard; but she did not look back, and she very plainlyincreased her speed.
For an instant he stood aghast at this discovery; then he laughed.
"Well if you _want_ a race, you'll get it!"
He was off again along the rough bed of the stream. He shouted no more,but slowly increased the gain he had made upon her. Instead of losingtime by climbing up over the bank, he splashed through the water at twoplaces where the little stream was wide and shallow. Then at last he sawthat he was closing in upon her. Soon he was near enough to see that shealso knew it.
He began at that moment an extended course of marvelling at the ways ofwoman. For now she had reached the edge of the little open park, and wasplacidly seating herself on a fallen tree in the grove of quakingaspens. He could not understand this change of manner. And when hereached the opening she again astounded him by greeting him with everymanifestation of surprise, from the first nervous start to the pushingup of her dark brows.
"Why," she began, "how did you ever think of coming _here_?"
But he had twice hurried fruitlessly this hot morning and he was notagain to be baffled. As he advanced toward her, she regarded him withsome apprehension until he stopped a safe six feet away. She had notedcertain lines of determination in his face.
"Now what's the use of pretending?--what did you run for?"
"I?--_run_?"
Again the curving black brows went up in frank surprise.
"Yes,--you _run_!"
He took a threatening step forward, and the brows promptly fell toserious intentness of his face.
"What did you do it for?"
She stood up. "What did I do it for?--what did I do _what_ for?"
But his eyes were searching her and she had to lower her own. Then shelooked up again, and laughed nervously.
"I--I don't know--I couldn't help it." Again she laughed. "And why didyou run? How did you think of coming here?"
"I'll tell you how, now I've caught you." He started toward her, but shewas quickly backing away into the opening of the little park, stilllaughing.
"Look out for that blow-down back of you!" he called. In the second thatshe halted to turn and discover his trick he had caught her by the arm.
"There--I caught you fair--_now_ what did you run for?"
"I couldn't help it." Her face was crimson. His own was pale under thetan. They could hear the beating of both their hearts. But with hiscapture made so boldly he was dumb, knowing not what to say.
The faintest pulling of the imprisoned arm aroused him.
"I'd 'a' followed you till Christmas come if you'd kept on. Clear overthe divide and over the whole creation. I never _would_ have given youup. I'm never _going_ to."
He caught her other wrist and sought to draw her to him.
With head down she came, slowly, yielding yet resisting, with littleshudders of terror that was yet a strange delight, with eyes that daredgive him but one quick little look, half pleading and half fear. Butthen after a few tense seconds her struggles were all housed far withinhis arms; there was no longer play for the faintest of them; and she wasstrained until she felt her heart rush out to him as she had once feltit go to her dream of a single love,--with the utter abandon of thefalling water beside them.
On the opposite side of the park across the half-acre of wavingbunch-grass, a many-pronged old buck in his thin red summer coat lay atthe edge of the quaking aspens, sunning the velvet of his tender newhorns to harden them against approaching combats. He had shrewdly notedthat the first comer did not see him; but this second was a creature ofaction in whose presence it were ill-advised to linger. Noiselessly hishindquarters raised from the ground, and then with a snort ofindignation and a mighty, crashing rush he was off through the trees andup the hill. Doubtless the beast cherished a delusion of clever escapefrom a dangerous foe; but neither of the pair standing so near saw orheard him or would have been conscious of him even had he led past themin wild flight the biggest herd it had ever been his lot to domineer.For these two were lost to all but the wonder of the moment, pushingfearfully on into the glory and sweetness of it.
His voice came to her in a dull murmur, and the sound of the runningwater came, again like the muffled tinkling of little silver bells inthe distance. Both his arms were strong about her, and now her own handsrose in rebellion to meet where the kerchief was knotted at the back ofhis neck, quite as the hands of the other woman had rebelliously flungdown the scarf from the balcony. Then the brim of his hat came down overher hair, and her lips felt his kiss.
They stood so a long time, it seemed to them, in the high grass, amidthe white-barked quaking aspens, while a little wind from the dark pinesat their side, lowered now to a yearning softness, played over them.They were aroused at last by a squirrel that ran half-way down the trunkof a near-by spruce to bark indignantly at them, believing they menacedhis winter's store of spruce cones piled at the foot of the tree. Withrattle after rattle his alarm came, until he had the satisfaction ofnoting an effect.
The young man put the girl away from him to look upon her in the newlight that enveloped them both, still holding her hands.
"There's one good thing about your marriages,--they marry you foreternity, don't they? That's for ever--only it isn't long enough, evenso--not for me."
"I thought you were never coming."
"But you said"--he saw the futility of it, however, and kissed herinstead.
"I was afraid of you all this summer," he said.
"I was afraid of you, too."
"You got over it yesterday all right."
"How?"
"You kissed me."
"Never--what an awful thing to say!"
"But you did--twice--don't you remember?"
"Oh, well, it doesn't matter. If I did it wasn't at all like--like--"
"Like that--"
"No--I didn't think anything about it."
"And now you'll never leave me, and I'll never leave you."
They sat on the fallen tree.
"And to think of that old--"
"Oh, don't talk of it. That's why I ran off here--so I couldn't hearanything about it until he went away."
"Why didn't you tell me you were coming?"
"I didn't think you were so stupid."
"How was I to know where you were coming?"
But now she was reminded of something.
"Tell me one thing--did you ever know a little short fat girl, a blondethat you liked very much?"
"Never!"
"Then what did you talk so much about her for yesterday if you didn't?You'd speak of her every time."
"I didn't think you were so stupid."
"Well, I can't see--"
"You don't need to--we'll call it even."
And so the talk went until the sun had fallen for an hour and they knewit was time to go below.
"We will go to the meeting together," she said, "and then father shalltell Brigham,--tell him--"
"That you're going to marry me. Why don't you say it?"
"That I'm going to marry you, and be your only wife." She nestled underhis arm again.
"For time and eternity--that's the
way your Church puts it."
Then, not knowing it, they took their last walk down the pine-hungglade. Many times he picked her lightly up to carry her over roughplaces and was loth to put her down,--having, in truth, to be bribedthereto.
At their usual resting-place she put on her hat with the cherry ribbons,and he, taking off his own, kissed her under it.
And then they were out on the highroad to Amalon, where all was aglaring dusty gray under the high sun, and the ragged rim of the westernhills quivered and ran in the heat.
He thought on the way down of how the news would be taken by the littlebent man with the fiery eyes. She was thinking how glad she was thatyoung Ammaron Wright had not kissed her that time he tried to at thedance--since kisses were like _that_.
The Lions of the Lord: A Tale of the Old West Page 42