CHAPTER II.
_The Wild Ram of the Mountains_
Slight though his figure was, it was lithe and active and well-muscled,and he knew as they struggled that his assailant was possessed of nogreater advantage than had lain in his point of attack. In strength,apparently, they were well-matched. Twice they rolled over on thecarpeted floor, and then, despite the big, bony hands pressing about histhroat, he turned his burden under him, and all but loosened the killingclutch. This brought them close to the window, but again he was swiftlydrawn underneath. Then, as he felt his head must burst and his senseswere failing from the deadly grip at his throat, his feet caught in thefolds of the heavy curtain, and brought it down upon them in a cloud ofdust.
As the light flooded in, he saw the truth, even before his now pantingand sneezing antagonist did. Releasing the pressure from his throat witha sudden access of strength born of the new knowledge, he managed togasp, though thickly and with pain, as they still strove:
"Seth Wright--wait--let go--wait, Seth--I'm Joel--Joel Rae!"
He managed it with difficulty.
"Joel Rae--Rae--Rae--don't you see?"
He felt the other's tension relax. With many a panting, puffing "Hey!"and "What's that now?" he was loosed, and drew himself up into a chairby the saving window. His assailant, a hale, genial-faced man of forty,sat on the floor where the revelation of his victim's identity hadovertaken him. He was breathing hard and feeling tenderly of his neck.This was ruffled ornamentally by a style of whisker much in vogue at thetime. It had proved, however, but an inferior defense against theonslaught of the younger man in his frantic efforts to save his ownneck.
They looked at each other in panting amazement, until the older manrecovered his breath, and spoke:
"Gosh and all beeswax! The Wild Ram of the Mountains a-settin' on theLute of the Holy Ghost's stomach a-chokin' him to death. My sakes! I'ma-pantin' like a tuckered hound--a-thinkin' he was a cussed milishymobocrat come to spoil his household!"
The younger man was now able to speak, albeit his breathing was stillheavy and the marks of the struggle plain upon him.
"What does it mean, Brother Wright--all this? Where are the Saints weleft here--why is the city deserted--and why this--this?"
He shook back the thick, brown hair that fell to his shoulders,tenderly rubbed the livid fingerprints at his throat, and readjusted thecollar of his blue flannel shirt.
"Thought you was a milishy man, I tell you, from the careless way youhollered--one of Brockman's devils come back a-snoopin', and I didn'tcrave trouble, but when I saw the Lord appeared to reely want me to copewith the powers of darkness, why, I jest gritted into you for theconsolation of Israel. You'd 'a' got your come-uppance, too, if you'd'a' been a mobber. You was nigh a-ceasin' to breathe, Joel Rae. Inanother minute I wouldn't 'a' give the ashes of a rye-straw for yourpart in the tree of life!"
"Yes, yes, man, but go back a little. Where are our people, the sick,the old, and the poor, that we had to leave till now? Tell me, quick."
The older man sprang up, the late struggle driven from his mind, hisface scowling. He turned upon his questioner.
"Does my fury swell up in me? No wonder! And you hain't guessed why?Well, them pitiful remnant of Saints, the sick, the old, the poor,waitin' to be helped yender to winter quarters, has been throwed outinto that there slough acrost the river, six hundred and forty of 'em."
"When we were keeping faith by going?"
"What does a mobocrat care for faith-keepin'? Have you brought back thewagons?"
"Yes; they'll reach the other side to-night. I came ahead and made thelower crossing. I've seen nothing and heard nothing. Go on--tellme--talk, man!"
"Talk?--yes, I'll talk! We've had mobs and the very scum of hell to boilover here. This is Saturday, the 19th, ain't it? Well, Brockman marchedagainst this stronghold of Israel jest a week ago, with eight hundredmen. They had cannons and demanded surrender. We was a scant two hundredfightin' men, and the only artillery we had was what we made ourselves.We broke up an old steamboat shaft and bored out the pieces so's they'dtake a six-pound shot--but we wasn't goin' to give up. We'd learned ourlesson about mobocrat milishies. Well, Brockman, when he got our defy,sent out his Warsaw riflemen as flankers on the right and left, put theLima Guards to our front with one cannon, and marched his main bodythrough that corn-field and orchard to the south of here to the citylines. Then we had it hot. Brockman shot away all his cannon-balls--hehad sixty-one--and drew back while he sent to Quincy for more. He'dkilled three of our men. Sunday and Monday we swopped a few shots. Andthen Tuesday, along comes a committee of a hundred to negotiate peace.Well, Wednesday evening they signed terms, spite of all I could do._I'd_ 'a' fought till the white crows come a-cawin', but the rest of 'emwasn't so het up with the Holy Ghost, I reckon. Anyway, they signed. Theterms wasn't reely set till Thursday morning, but we knew they would be,and so all Wednesday night we was movin' acrost the river, and it keptup all next day,--day before yesterday. You'd ought to 'a' been herethen; you wouldn't wonder at my comin' down on you like a thousand ofbrick jest now, takin' you for a mobocrat. You'd 'a' seen families druvright out of their homes, with no horses, tents, money, nor a day'sprovisions,--jest a little foolish household stuff they could carry intheir hands,--sick men and women carried on beds, mothers luggin' babiesand leadin' children. My sakes! but I did want to run some bullets andfill my old horn with powder for the consolation of Israel! They'relyin' out over there in the slough now, as many as ain't gone to glory.It made me jest plumb murderous!"
The younger man uttered a sharp cry of anguish. "What, oh, what has beenour sin, that we must be proved again? Why have we got to be chastened?"
"Then Brockman's force marched in Thursday afternoon, and hell was letloose. His devils have plundered the town, thrown out the bedridden thatjest couldn't move, thrown their goods out after 'em, burned, murdered,tore up. You come up from the river, and you ain't seen that yet--theyain't touched the lower part of town--and now they're bunkin' in thetemple, defacin' it, defilin' it,--that place we built to be a house ofrest for the Lord when he cometh again. They drove me acrost the riveryesterday, and promised to shoot me if I dast show myself again. Isneaked over in a skiff last night and got here to get my two pistolsand some money and trinkets we'd hid out. I was goin' to cross againto-night and wait for you and the wagons."
"My God! and this is the nineteenth century in a land of liberty!"
"State of Illinois, U.S.A., September 19, 1846--but what of that? We'rethe Lord's chosen, and over yender is a generation of vipers warned toflee from the wrath to come. But they won't flee, and so we're outcastsfor the present, driven forth like snakes. The best American blood is inour veins. We're Plymouth Rock stock, the best New England graft; thefathers of nine tenths of us was at Bunker Hill or Valley Forge orYorktown, but what of that, I ask you?"
The speaker became oratorical as his rage grew.
"What did Matty Van Buren say to Sidney Rigdon and Elias Higbee whenthey laid our cause before him at Washington after our Missouripersecutions--when the wicked hatred of them Missourians had as a besomof fire swept before it into exile the whipped and plundered Saints ofJackson County? Well, he said: 'Gentlemen, your cause is just, but I cando nothing for you.' That's what a President of the United States saidto descendants of _Mayflower_ crossers who'd been foully dealt with, andbeen druv from their substance and their homes, their wheat burned inthe stack and in the shock, and themselves butchered or put into thewilderness. And now the Lord's word to this people is to gether outagain."
The younger man had listened in deep dejection.
"Yes, it's to be the old story. I saw it coming. The Lord is proving usagain. But surely this will be the last. He will not again put usthrough fire and blood."
He paused, and for a moment his quick brown eyes looked far away.
"And yet, do you know, Bishop, I've thought that he might mean us tosave ourselves against this Gentile persecution. Sometimes I find ithard to control
myself."
The Bishop grinned appreciatively.
"So I heer'd. The Lute of the Holy Ghost got too rambunctious back inthe States on the subject of our wrongs. And so they called you backfrom your mission?"
"They said I must learn to school myself; that I might hurt the cause bymy ill-tempered zeal--and yet I brought in many--"
"I don't blame you. I got in trouble the first and only mission I wenton, and the first time I preached, at that. When I said, 'Joseph wasordained by Peter, James, and John,' a drunken wag in the audience gotup and called me a damned liar. I started for him. I never reached him,but I reached the end of my mission right there. The Twelve decided Iwas usefuller here at home. They said I hadn't got enough of the Lord'shumility for outside work. That was why they put me at the head of--thatlittle organisation I wanted you to join last spring. And it's done goodwork, too. You'll join now fast enough, I guess. You begin to see theneed of such doin's. I can give you the oath any time."
"No, Bishop, I didn't mean that kind of resistance. It sounded toopractical for me; I'm still satisfied to be the Lute of the Holy Ghost."
"You can be a Son of Dan, too."
"Not yet, not yet. We must still be a little meek in the face ofHeaven."
"You're in a mighty poor place to practise meekness. What'd you crossthe river for, anyway?"
"Why, for father and mother, of course. They must be safe at GreenPlains. Can I get out there without trouble?"
The Bishop sneered.
"Be meek, will you? Well, mosey out to Green Plains and begin there.It's a _burned_ plains you'll find, and Lima and Morley all the same,and Bear Creek. The mobbers started out from Warsaw, and burned all intheir way, Morley first, then Green Plains, Bear Creek, and Lima. They'dset fire to the houses and drive the folks in ahead. They killed EdDurfee at Morley for talkin' back to 'em."
"But father and mother, surely--"
"Your pa and ma was druv in here with the rest, like cattle to theslaughter."
"You don't mean to say they're over there on the river bank?"
"Now, they are a kind of a mystery about that--why they wa'n't throwedout with the rest. Your ma's sick abed--she ain't ever been peart sincethe night your pa's house was fired and they had to walk in--but thatain't the reason they wa'n't throwed out. They put out others sicker.They flung families where every one was sick out into that slough. Iguess what's left of 'em wouldn't be a supper-spell for a bunch oflong-billed mosquitoes. But one of them milishy captains was certainlypartial to your folks for some reason. They was let to stay in PhinDaggin's house till you come."
"And Prudence--the Corsons--Miss Prudence Corson?"
"Oh, ho! So she's the one, is she? Now that reminds me, mebbe I canguess the cute of that captain's partiality. That girl's been kind oflookin' after your pa and ma, and that same milishy captain's been kindof lookin' after the girl. She got him to let her folks go toSpringfield."
"But that's the wrong way."
"Well, now, I don't want to spleen, but I never did believe Vince Corsonwas anything more'n a hickory Saint--and there's been a lot of talk--butyou get yours from the girl. If I ain't been misled, she's got someready for you."
"Bishop, will there be a way for us to get into the temple, for her tobe sealed to me? I've looked forward to that, you know. It would be hardto miss it."
"The mob's got the temple, even if you got the girl. There's a versewrit in charcoal on the portal:--
"'Large house, tall steeple, Silly priests, deluded people.'
"That's how it is for the temple, and the mob's bunked there. But thegirl may have changed her mind, too."
The young man's expression became wistful and gentle, yet serenely sure.
"I guess you never knew Prudence at all well," he said. "But come, can'twe go to them? Isn't Phin Daggin's house near?"
"You may git there all right. But I don't want _my_ part taken out ofthe tree of life jest yet. I ain't aimin' to show myself none. Hark!"
From outside came the measured, swinging tramp of men.
"Come see how the Lord is proving us--and step light."
They tiptoed through the other rooms to the front of the house.
"There's a peek-hole I made this morning--take it. I'll make me onehere. Don't move the curtain."
They put their eyes to the holes and were still. The quick, rhythmic,scuffling tread of feet drew nearer, and a company of armed men marchedby with bayonets fixed. The captain, a handsome, soldierly young fellow,glanced keenly from right to left at the houses along the line of march.
"We're all right," said the Bishop, in low tones. "The cusses have beenhere once--unless they happened to see us. They're startin' in now downon the flat to make sure no poor sick critter is left in bed in any ofthem houses. Now's your chance if you want to git up to Daggin's. Go outthe back way, follow up the alleys, and go in at the back when you gitthere. But remember, 'Dan shall be a serpent by the way, an adder in thepath that biteth the horse heels, so that his rider shall fallbackward!' In Clay County we had to eat up the last mule from the tipsof his ears to the end of the fly-whipper. Now we got to pass throughthe pinches again. We can't stand it for ever."
"The spirit may move us against it, Brother Seth."
"I wish to hell it would!" replied the Bishop.
The Lions of the Lord: A Tale of the Old West Page 4
