by Dean Hughes
“The prosecution wanted a continuance, so Justice Smith delayed the hearing. He set our bail at $500 each. I don’t think he expected us to produce the money, but our friends pledged their property, and we’ve all been freed for now.”
“Are we all going back to Nauvoo, then?”
“Most are. But a few of us are staying with Joseph and Hyrum. The justice informed us just now that they are about to be charged with a second crime. The dissenters are claiming they committed treason when they called up the Nauvoo Legion against the citizens of Illinois.”
“To protect ourselves from those fine citizens of Illinois. It’s what the governor told us to do.”
“I know. But the judge can hold a man without bail on a treason charge. I heard Governor Ford tell Joseph that it was a groundless accusation, but he felt he couldn’t interfere with the legal system. For now, he thinks Joseph and Hyrum are safer in prison anyway, so after supper they’ll be escorted to the jail.”
“What can we do?”
“Nothing, for now. You should ride back with the men from the city council. They may need protection themselves. Willard Richards and I, and two or three others, plan to stay in the jail with Joseph and Hyrum. Joseph told me to send everyone else home. You’re in more danger out here than we shall be in the jail.”
“I’ll wait to see you safely installed in the jail, then.”
“Will, there’s nothing you can do. How can you take on a whole mob, if it should come to that?”
Will nodded and walked out the door, but he couldn’t stand to think of riding off, only to learn that a mob had attacked as soon as Joseph and Hyrum were led outside. So he waited, and he watched as the Smith brothers, John Taylor, and Willard Richards, along with Dan Jones, Steven Markham, and John Fullmer, were marched to the jail. But the prisoners had no more than entered when one of the Carthage Greys turned to Will and said, “What is it you’re looking for—a chance to die with Joe Smith?”
Will didn’t answer, but several more men looked his way, and one of them said, “See this finger.” He held his finger in the air. “It’s itchin’ to pull a trigger. I want me some Mormon blood. You might jist satisfy that itch if you don’t get yerself out of town. And I mean now.” He slowly raised his musket, pointing the muzzle toward Will.
Will said nothing. He turned and walked away. He went after his horse, and he did ride out of town. What he knew was that most of the men who had escorted Joseph to Carthage had left well ahead of him. He worried about riding the road alone at night with so many angry men about, so he found himself a quiet spot in a little copse of willow trees and slept on the ground. Very early the next morning, he set out again for Nauvoo.
• • •
Will had barely slept the last two nights. He was only half awake as Socks trudged along. When they crossed a little stream with a rocky bottom, he paid more attention, and then he looked up as the horse began to climb out of the little valley full of willow trees. When he heard a loud clap and saw a flash off to his right, he didn’t know what had happened for a moment. But Socks suddenly hunched, took a staggering step, then dropped to her knees.
Will fell off to the left and rolled to stay out from under the horse. At the same moment he heard another loud report, this time from the other side, and something—by then he knew it was a musket ball—slapped into the dirt just a few inches from his leg. He rolled again and then clambered on his hands and knees toward the brush on the side of the trail. But as he did, he saw a man step out of the trees. Will stopped, looked up, and saw that it was Blake Samples. “Stop right thar,” he said.
And then there was another voice, behind him. “We coulda killt ya if we wanted to, but we di’n’t. But if you try to run, we won’t miss nex’ time.”
It was George, of course. Will couldn’t think what to do. He stayed on the ground, turning back only enough to see George, who was reloading his musket, driving a cartridge into the barrel with a ramrod. George raised the weapon then, pointing it toward Will.
Socks was snorting wildly and flailing her legs.
“Don’ move atall, Lewis,” George said. “I need to put yer horse out of her misery. I don’t like to see a animal in pain like ’at.” He laughed.
But he waited, and Will looked to see that Blake was pouring black powder into the pan of his flintlock. He took his time, inserted a paper cartridge into the barrel, and then withdrew his ramrod and drove the cartridge into the breech. Clearly, George wasn’t about to fire again until he knew that Blake was ready to stop Will if he tried anything.
Will straightened up but stayed on his knees, and he turned enough to be able to glance toward either man. He tried to think of some way to escape, but the only direction he could run would be back across the stream, with his back to Blake, an easy target.
“I know what yer thinkin’, but don’t try it,” George said. He stepped closer to the horse, aimed, and fired a ball into her head. There was a splash of blood from just over the animal’s eye, and then all movement, all sound stopped.
George turned and glared at Will. “We thought about jist shootin’ ya and lettin’ that be the end of it, but it jist did’n’ feel like it was quite anough, after the way you done me twice now. The first thing I’d like ya to do is to tell me how wrong you was to show me up the way ya done.” He was pulling another cartridge from the box that hung on a strap around his shoulder. He tore it with his teeth and then poured the powder.
Will’s mind was working. He hated the idea of asking forgiveness of these two, but he had to buy some time, and he had to get back to Liz and his boys somehow. He knew already that he would say whatever he had to say.
“So what is it ya want to tell me?” George’s musket was ready now and aimed toward him. There was no way to make a charge on one of the men without being fired on from both directions.
“Listen, George, I still say we can talk about this. You insulted my wife once, and I know I lost my temper about that—and I wish I hadn’t—but I think any man can understand that—”
“Thass not a good way to go on, Lewis. When a man has a gun pointin’ at yer head, it’s not good to argue with ’im. Get on with tellin’ me how much ya regret what ya done.”
“I do regret it, George. That’s the honest truth. I lost my temper, and I know I embarrassed you, throwing you down that way. I should have turned the other cheek and let it go. It’s something I’m trying to learn.”
“He ain’t beggin’ ya, George,” Blake said. “He’s goin’ on the way he allus do. I think he ought to break down and cry, tell ya’ how sorrowful he is, maybe even kiss yer boots or somethin’ like ’at.”
“Thass right. Thass more what I was thinkin’ too. Beg me a little, Lewis. Thass what I want to hear.”
Will’s anger was mounting, but he knew he had to keep control. He gripped his knees, looked down. He heard the birds in the willow trees, the water in the stream. He felt the steam in the air—felt it all without exactly knowing it—and sensed that life was going on outside himself, and he couldn’t make the wrong move and lose his part in all that. “George, I beg you to let me live. As you know, I have two sons. They need me.”
“What about gittin’ out of Hancock County, the way I telled ya to do. Ya ready to do what I said?”
“Aye. I can do that.”
“That ain’t no promise. Yer allus tellin’ me what a Christian man ya are. Promise in the name of yer Book of Mormon, that yull leave this place.”
“All right. I’m willing to do that.”
“Swear it.”
“I swear I’ll leave.”
“Swear on yer book.”
“We don’t swear on the Book of Mormon, George. I’d rather leave Illinois with my family than go through any more of this. That’s all I can tell you. If you’ll let me go, I’ll leave as soon as I get back to Nauvoo, and you won’t ever see me again.”
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br /> “What ’bout that, Blake? Do ya believe ’im now?”
Will glanced at Blake, saw him grin. Will wanted more than anything to get his chance with these men, to fight them both without those muskets. But he had to save himself, for Liz’s sake. He had to hold his temper for once in his life.
“I don’ b’lieve ’im one bit, George. I say it’s time he kisst them boot of yers. One nice big kiss on each boot.”
George laughed, making a sound like gravel rolling out of his throat. “It do seem right to me. Crawl on over here, Lewis. Tell me how much ya want to live one more time, and then pucker up and kiss my boots.”
Will stared at him for a time, watched George grin, his shaggy teeth showing through his beard. “All you want to do is humiliate me, and then you’ll kill me anyway. If that’s what you have in mind, just go ahead and pull the trigger right now.”
“No, Lewis. I telled ya afore, I don’ like ta kill a man. Not unless I hafta. You kiss my boots and promise that yer leavin’ the state, and that’ll be the end of it.”
“Unless we change our minds here in a minute,” Blake said, and he and his brother joined in a huge laugh.
But Will knew by then what he would do. He bent forward and crawled on all fours past Socks and over to George. He stopped a few feet away and raised his head. “I’m sorry all these things happened between us,” he said. “I’m willing to humble myself before you to save my life. I ask you to spare me, and I promise to move away from here. And I don’t mind kissing your boots to prove that I appreciate your kindness in letting me live. But you have to promise me that you won’t let me kiss your boots and then shoot me anyway.”
Blake and George were both roaring. “The way I see it, you ain’t in no position to be askin’ for any promises. But I like the way ya made it sound—like ya mean it and everythin’. You kiss them boots, and then jist see how it all turns out.”
“What about my boots, Lewis?” Blake bellowed. “I think ya oughta slobber a little over me, too.”
Will was quite sure he knew where this was going. They would never let him go. They would do everything to rub his nose in the ground, and then they would kill him. “I’ll kiss your boots, too, Blake. Anything. Anything you ask of me. Just let me live.”
But by then, George seemed to see the obvious danger. “Naw. No boot kissin’, Lewis. I ain’t lettin’ ya get that close to me. I think we need to do ya the way we done your mare. We need to put ya out of yer misery.”
Will raised up a little more. “Did you know someone is traveling with me?” he asked.
“I know the opposite. We watched ya leave and we followed ya. We saw ya go into them woods and we moved on ahead and waited ’til we could get the drop on ya when mornin’ come.”
“Think again. I hear horses coming. Look up the trail.”
George only glanced, but in that instant, Will dove at his feet, grabbed both boots, and yanked with all his strength. George landed hard on his back with a great grunt, and Will rolled quickly to one side just as a ball stung him in the backside. But Will was up quickly and had hold of George’s musket, which had dropped to the ground. George was struggling to get up, but Will was too quick for him. He swung the musket by the barrel and bashed the man in the side of the head with the stock. George dropped back to the ground like a dead man.
Will was turning by then. Blake had taken off running for the trees, not having tried to load his musket again. Will plunged through underbrush and caught up with him quickly. He swung the musket again, brought it down on the top of Blake’s head, the thud sickening and hollow sounding, and the shock of the blow shooting through Will’s arms. But he had seen all this in his mind, and he knew what he had to do. He wasn’t going to stop and kill these men—if they weren’t dead already. He was only going to get away, as fast as he could. He ran back to the trail and caught a glance of George rolled onto his side, his bloody hands grasping the side of his head.
Will knew that he had to get across the open prairie as fast as he could. If George and Blake roused themselves, they surely had horses tied up somewhere, and they would come after him.
He ran hard for a time, found another shallow valley with a stream, and then ran in the water northward, hoping to leave no trail, hoping to find another way across the prairie. He had many miles to go. What he didn’t know was how bad his wound was and whether he was losing a lot of blood. He only knew that his backside was aflame with pain.
He ran in the stream for maybe half a mile, and then he slipped into the bracken under some cottonwood trees and let himself rest for a few minutes. He finally twisted around as best he could and saw blood on his trousers, but not as much as he had expected. So he didn’t worry about treating the wound. He knew he had to make time while he could, before the wound began to cause him more trouble. He set off across an open field of grass, heading west. The grass was deep enough that he could drop down if he saw anyone, and someone looking for him out there would have a hard time picking out the spot. But the going wasn’t easy, and he wondered how long he would last in the heat.
What Will was also thinking was that George and Blake were surely in bad shape. He had hit them with a viciousness that he had hardly known he was capable of. He heard the sounds again, felt those thudding blows. He knew he had wanted, for a moment, to kill them, but he hoped now that he hadn’t done that. He was in great danger from them, not only today but in the days ahead, but he knew what Joseph had told him. He didn’t want to be the one to start the killing. Where would it end?
Will walked all day. He rested each time he found water and cover but kept pushing himself as much as he could. The pain in his backside kept getting worse, but he told himself he had to get home as soon as he could. If George and Blake were able to ride, they may head straight to his house. But it was well into the afternoon when he made it to Jesse’s place, and he knew he had to stop long enough to get some help.
Jesse and Ellen dressed his wound. The ball had cut a swath through the muscle, but it hadn’t penetrated very deep. The blood had stopped flowing after a time. Ellen cleaned the wound with soap and water and then wrapped it in muslin cloth. By then Will was thinking ahead to his arrival at home. He had to be ready if the Samples brothers showed up—or even the county constable—but he also had to avoid alarming Liz and Jacob any more than necessary. He asked whether Jesse had a pair of trousers he could borrow—ones that weren’t torn and bloody. Jesse didn’t have any, but he ran to Benbows’ house, and Brother Benbow returned with a pair Will could wear. He then borrowed Jesse’s horse even though the pain of riding was much worse than that of walking.
When Will finally made it home, late in the day, Liz rushed to him, embraced him. “Oh, Will,” she said, “I’ve been scared I’d never see you again.”
Will understood that. He held Liz for a long time, and then he picked up Jacob, who had wrapped his arms around Will’s legs. The pain in his wound was throbbing, but he wasn’t going to bring that up yet. “It was bad over there,” he said, “but it was worse to wonder what might be happening here.”
“Is Joseph home now? Is he—”
“No, Liz. He and Hyrum are in the Carthage Jail. The governor is promising that they’ll be protected, but I’m not sure he can make good on that.”
“Sit down. I’ll get you something to eat. But tell me everything.”
Will didn’t sit down, but he related the story briefly, told about arriving in Carthage late at night and about the Carthage Greys shouting insults at Joseph. He decided not to describe all the hatred and anger. And he said nothing of George and Blake.
He kept watching her, though, and he could see that she was starting to comprehend the reality of the situation. “Can’t the Legion break Joseph and Hyrum out of the jail?” she asked.
“The Legion doesn’t have many guns now, Liz. And Joseph keeps telling everyone to trust in the law. I don’t see how anyone
can trust Governor Ford, but Joseph says we have to. We can’t start a war.”
But Will couldn’t stop thinking about the things that had been going through his head all day. If one or both of the Samples brothers were well enough, they would be coming after him before long. Maybe he had to keep the promise, even if he had made it under duress, to leave the county soon. The last thing he wanted was to give up the Zion he had worked so hard to become part of, but he also had to protect Liz and the boys. He had to think clearly, and yet, he was feeling weak enough to collapse.
Chapter 21
Will knew that he shouldn’t say any more to Liz. She was frightened enough. But the truth was, things were ever so much worse than she could imagine. Fresh in Will’s mind was what Brother Benbow had told him. Brother Benbow hadn’t said much as Will described what had happened to him and what he had done to the Samples brothers, or even when he described what was going on in Carthage. But Will watched him, and the man looked broken.
“I thought we might find peace here,” Brother Benbow had said, “but the Lord’s not finished with us. We have more we have to learn.”
“What is it yer expecting?” Jesse asked.
“I’m thinking, no matter what the Saints have been through before, we haven’t seen the worst yet. I hope it’s not true, but it’s what I feel today.”
Will had come away from Carthage feeling the same way. He had seen the hatred in the faces of those men in Carthage, seen it up close in George and Blake Samples. There was no way that all this could end well. He had saved his life and gotten away from his attackers, but he had to think about taking his wife and at least crossing the river, maybe moving on to St. Louis or even farther away. Even if the Saints remained in Zion, he doubted that he could.
What Will hadn’t expected was to hear Brother Benbow say, “We’ve brought much of this on ourselves. We didn’t enter into friendships here. We came in and took over—or at least that’s the way the old citizens see it. And we weren’t humble about it. Even Joseph himself railed at Tom Sharp and made him an enemy. Maybe there was no avoiding that, but we all could have tried more than we did. We strutted our army about and we puffed out our chests. We showed our strength when we might have shown our goodness. I’m not sure we’ve learned yet to be followers of Jesus Christ.”