by Zane Grey
X. STONEBRIDGE
In October Shefford arranged for a hunt in the Cresaw Mountains with JoeLake and Nas Ta Bega. The Indian had gone home for a short visit, andupon his return the party expected to start. But Nas Ta Bega did notcome back. Then the arrival of a Piute with news that excited Withersand greatly perturbed Lake convinced Shefford that something was wrong.
The little trading-post seldom saw such disorder; certainly Sheffordhad never known the trader to neglect work. Joe Lake threw a saddle ona mustang he would have scorned to notice in an ordinary moment, andwithout a word of explanation or farewell rode hard to the north on theStonebridge trail.
Shefford had long since acquired patience. He was curious, but he didnot care particularly what was in the wind. However, when Withers cameout and sent an Indian to drive up the horses Shefford could not refrainfrom a query.
"I hate to tell you," replied the trader.
"Go on," added Shefford, quickly.
"Did I tell you about the government sending a Supreme Court judge outto Utah to prosecute the polygamists?"
"No," replied Shefford.
"I forgot to, I reckon. You've been away a lot. Well, there's been hellup in Utah for six months. Lately this judge and his men have workeddown into southern Utah. He visited Bluff and Monticello a few weeksago.... Now what do you think?"
"Withers! Is he coming to Stonebridge?"
"He's there now. Some one betrayed the whereabouts of the hidden villageover in the canyon. All the women have been arrested and taken toStonebridge. The trial begins to-day."
"Arrested!" echoed Shefford, blankly. "Those poor, lonely, good women?What on earth for?"
"Sealed wives!" exclaimed Withers, tersely. "This judge is after thepolygamists. They say he's absolutely relentless."
"But--women can't be polygamists. Their husbands are the ones wanted."
"Sure. But the prosecutors have got to find the sealed wives--the secondwives--to find the law-breaking husbands. That'll be a job, or I don'tknow Mormons.... Are you going to ride over to Stonebridge with me?"
Shefford shrank at the idea. Months of toil and pain and travail had notbeen enough to make him forget the strange girl he had loved. But he hadremembered only at poignant intervals, and the lapse of time had madethought of her a dream like that sad dream which had lured him into thedesert. With the query of the trader came a bitter-sweet regret.
"Better come with me," said Withers. "Have you forgotten the Sago Lily?She'll be put on trial.... That girl--that child!... Shefford, you knowshe hasn't any friends. And now no Mormon man are protect her, for fearof prosecution."
"I'll go," replied Shefford, shortly.
The Indian brought up the horses. Nack-yal was thin from his longtravel during the hot summer, but he was as hard as iron, and the way hepointed his keen nose toward the Sagi showed how he wanted to make forthe upland country, with its clear springs and valleys of grass. Withersmounted his bay and with a hurried farewell to his wife spurred themustang into the trail. Shefford took time to get his weapons and thelight pack he always carried, and then rode out after the trader.
The pace Withers set was the long, steady lope to which these Indianmustangs had been trained all their lives. In an hour they reached themouth of the Sagi, and at sight of it it seemed to Shefford that thehard half-year of suffering since he had been there had disappeared.Withers, to Shefford's regret, did not enter the Sagi. He turned off tothe north and took a wild trail into a split of the red wall, and woundin and out, and climbed a crack so narrow that the light was obscuredand the cliffs could be reached from both sides of a horse.
Once up on the wild plateau, Shefford felt again in a different worldfrom the barren desert he had lately known. The desert had crucifiedhim and had left him to die or survive, according to his spirit and hisstrength. If he had loved the glare, the endless level, the deceivingdistance, the shifting sand, it had certainly not been as he loved thissofter, wilder, more intimate upland. With the red peaks shining up intothe blue, and the fragrance of cedar and pinyon, and the purple sageand flowers and grass and splash of clear water over stones--with thesethere came back to him something that he had lost and which had hauntedhim.
It seemed he had returned to this wild upland of color and canyon andlofty crags and green valleys and silent places with a spirit gainedfrom victory over himself in the harsher and sterner desert below. And,strange to him, he found his old self, the dreamer, the artist, thelover of beauty, the searcher for he knew not what, come to meet him onthe fragrant wind.
He felt this, saw the old wildness with glad eyes, yet the greater partof his mind was given over to the thought of the unfortunate women heexpected to see in Stonebridge.
Withers was harder to follow, to keep up with, than an Indian. For onething he was a steady and tireless rider, and for another there weretimes when he had no mercy on a horse. Then an Indian always foundeasier steps in a trail and shorter cuts. Withers put his mount to somebad slopes, and Shefford had no choice but to follow. But they crossedthe great broken bench of upland without mishap, and came out upon apromontory of a plateau from which Shefford saw a wide valley and thedark-green alfalfa fields of Stonebridge.
Stonebridge lay in the center of a fertile valley surrounded by pinkcliffs. It must have been a very old town, certainly far older thanBluff or Monticello, though smaller, and evidently it had been built tolast. There was one main street, very wide, that divided the town andwas crossed at right angles by a stream spanned by a small natural stonebridge. A line of poplar-trees shaded each foot-path. The little logcabins and stone houses and cottages were half hidden in foliage nowtinted with autumn colors. Toward the center of the town the houses andstores and shops fronted upon the street and along one side of agreen square, or plaza. Here were situated several edifices, themost prominent of which was a church built of wood, whitewashed, andremarkable, according to Withers, for the fact that not a nail had beenused in its construction. Beyond the church was a large, low structureof stone, with a split-shingle roof, and evidently this was the townhall.
Shefford saw, before he reached the square, that this day in Stonebridgewas one of singular action and excitement for a Mormon village. The townwas full of people and, judging from the horses hitched everywhere andthe big canvas-covered wagons, many of the people were visitors. Acrowd surrounded the hall--a dusty, booted, spurred, shirt-sleeved andsombreroed assemblage that did not wear the hall-mark Shefford had cometo associate with Mormons. They were riders, cowboys, horse-wranglers,and some of them Shefford had seen in Durango. Navajos and Piutes werepresent, also, but they loitered in the background.
Withers drew Shefford off to the side where, under a tree, they hitchedtheir horses.
"Never saw Stonebridge full of a riffraff gang like this to-day," saidWithers. "I'll bet the Mormons are wild. There's a tough outfitfrom Durango. If they can get anything to drink--or if they've gotit--Stonebridge will see smoke to-day!... Come on. I'll get in thathall."
But before Withers reached the hall he started violently and pulledup short, then, with apparent unconcern, turned to lay a hand uponShefford. The trader's face had blanched and his eyes grew hard andshiny, like flint. He gripped Shefford's arm.
"Look! Over to your left!" he whispered. "See that gang of Indiansthere--by the big wagon. See the short Indian with the chaps. He's got aface big as a ham, dark, fierce. That's Shadd!... You ought to know him.Shadd and his outfit here! How's that for nerve? But he pulls a reinwith the Mormons."
Shefford's keen eye took in a lounging group of ten or twelve Indiansand several white men. They did not present any great contrast tothe other groups except that they were isolated, appeared quiet andwatchful, and were all armed. A bunch of lean, racy mustangs, restiveand spirited, stood near by in charge of an Indian. Shefford had to takea second and closer glance to distinguish the half-breed. At once herecognized in Shadd the broad-faced squat Indian who had paid him athreatening visit that night long ago in the mouth of the Sagi. A fireran
along Shefford's veins and seemed to concentrate in his breast.Shadd's dark, piercing eyes alighted upon Shefford and rested there.Then the half-breed spoke to one of his white outlaws and pointed atShefford. His action attracted the attention of others in the gang, andfor a moment Shefford and Withers were treated to a keen-eyed stare.
The trader cursed low. "Maybe I wouldn't like to mix it with that damnedbreed," he said. "But what chance have we with that gang? Besides,we're here on other and more important business. All the same, before Iforget, let me remind you that Shadd has had you spotted ever since youcame out here. A friendly Piute told me only lately. Shefford, didany Indian between here and Flagstaff ever see that bunch of money youpersist in carrying?"
"Why, yes, I suppose so--'way back in Tuba, when I first came out,"replied Shefford.
"Huh! Well, Shadd's after that.... Come on now, let's get inside thehall."
The crowd opened for the trader, who appeared to be known to everybody.
A huge man with a bushy beard blocked the way to a shut door.
"Hello, Meade!" said Withers. "Let us in."
The man opened the door, permitted Withers and Shefford to enter, andthen closed it.
Shefford, coming out of the bright glare of sun into the hall, could notsee distinctly at first. His eyes blurred. He heard a subdued murmurof many voices. Withers appeared to be affected with the same kind ofblindness, for he stood bewildered a moment. But he recovered soonerthan Shefford. Gradually the darkness shrouding many obscure formslifted. Withers drew him through a crowd of men and women to one sideof the hall, and squeezed along a wall to a railing where progress wasstopped.
Then Shefford raised his head to look with bated breath and strangecuriosity.
The hall was large and had many windows. Men were in consultation upon aplatform. Women to the number of twenty sat close together upon benches.Back of them stood another crowd. But the women on the benches heldShefford's gaze. They were the prisoners. They made a somber group. Somewere hooded, some veiled, all clad in dark garments except one on thefront bench, and she was dressed in white. She wore a long hood thatconcealed her face. Shefford recognized the hood and then the slendershape. She was Mary--she whom her jealous neighbors had named the SagoLily. At sight of her a sharp pain pierced Shefford's breast. His eyeswere blurred when he forced them away from her, and it took a moment forhim to see clearly.
Withers was whispering to him or to some one near at hand, but Shefforddid not catch the meaning of what was said. He paid more attention;however, Withers ceased speaking. Shefford gazed upon the crowd backof him. The women were hooded and it was not possible to see what theylooked like. There were many stalwart, clean-cut, young Mormons of JoeLake's type, and these men appeared troubled, even distressed and at aloss. There was little about them resembling the stern, quiet, somberausterity of the more matured men, and nothing at all of the strange,aloof, serene impassiveness of the gray-bearded old patriarchs. Thesevenerable men were the Mormons of the old school, the sons of thepioneers, the ruthless fanatics. Instinctively Shefford felt that it wasin them that polygamy was embodied; they were the husbands of the sealedwives. He conceived an absorbing curiosity to learn if his instinct wascorrect; and hard upon that followed a hot, hateful eagerness to seewhich one was the husband of Mary.
"There's Bishop Kane," whispered Withers, nudging Shefford. "And there'sWaggoner with him."
Shefford saw the bishop, and then beside him a man of striking presence.
"Who's Waggoner?" asked Shefford, as he looked.
"He owns more than any Mormon in southern Utah," replied the trader."He's the biggest man in Stonebridge, that's sure. But I don't know hisrelation to the Church. They don't call him elder or bishop. But I'llbet he's some pumpkins. He never had any use for me or any Gentile. Aclose-fisted, tight-lipped Mormon--a skinflint if I ever saw one! Justlook him over."
Shefford had been looking, and considered it unlikely that he would everforget this individual called Waggoner. He seemed old, sixty at least,yet at that only in the prime of a wonderful physical life. Unlike mostof the others, he wore his grizzled beard close-cropped, so close thatit showed the lean, wolfish line of his jaw. All his features were ofstriking sharpness. His eyes, of a singularly brilliant blue, were yetcold and pale. The brow had a serious, thoughtful cast; long furrowssloped down the cheeks. It was a strange, secretive face, full of apower that Shefford had not seen in another man's, full of intelligenceand thought that had not been used as Shefford had known them usedamong men. The face mystified him. It had so much more than the strangealoofness so characteristic of his fellows.
"Waggoner had five wives and fifty-five children before the law wentinto effect," whispered Withers. "Nobody knows and nobody will ever knowhow many he's got now. That's my private opinion."
Somehow, after Withers told that, Shefford seemed to understand thestrange power in Waggoner's face. Absolutely it was not the force, thestrength given to a man from his years of control of men. Shefford, longschooled now in his fair-mindedness, fought down the feelings of otheryears, and waited with patience. Who was he to judge Waggoner or anyother Mormon? But whenever his glance strayed back to the quiet, slenderform in white, when he realized again and again the appalling nature ofthis court, his heart beat heavy and labored within his breast.
Then a bustle among the men upon the platform appeared to indicate thatproceedings were about to begin. Some men left the platform; several satdown at a table upon which were books and papers, and others remainedstanding. These last were all roughly garbed, in riding-boots and spurs,and Shefford's keen eye detected the bulge of hidden weapons. Theylooked like deputy-marshals upon duty.
Somebody whispered that the judge's name was Stone. The name fitted him.He was not young, and looked a man suited to the prosecution of thesesecret Mormons. He had a ponderous brow, a deep, cavernous eye thatemitted gleams but betrayed no color or expression. His mouth was thesaving human feature of his stony face.
Shefford took the man upon the judge's right hand to be a lawyer, andthe one on his left an officer of court, perhaps a prosecuting attorney.Presently this fellow pounded upon the table and stood up as if toaddress a court-room. Certainly he silenced that hallful of people. Thenhe perfunctorily and briefly stated that certain women had been arrestedupon suspicion of being sealed wives of Mormon polygamists, and were tobe herewith tried by a judge of the United States Court. Shefford felthow the impressive words affected that silent hall of listeners, buthe gathered from the brief preliminaries that the trial could not beotherwise than a crude, rapid investigation, and perhaps for that themore sinister.
The first woman on the foremost bench was led forward by a deputy to avacant chair on the platform just in front of the judge's table. She wastold to sit down, and showed no sign that she had heard. Then the judgecourteously asked her to take the chair. She refused. And Stone noddedhis head as if he had experienced that sort of thing before. He strokedhis chin wearily, and Shefford conceived an idea that he was a kind man,if he was a relentless judge.
"Please remove your veil," requested the prosecutor.
The woman did so, and proved to be young and handsome. Shefford hada thrill as he recognized her. She was Ruth, who had been one of hisbest-known acquaintances in the hidden village. She was pale, angry,almost sullen, and her breast heaved. She had no shame, but she seemedto be outraged. Her dark eyes, scornful and blazing, passed over thejudge and his assistants, and on to the crowd behind the railing.Shefford, keen as a blade, with all his faculties absorbed, fancied hesaw Ruth stiffen and change slightly as her glance encountered someone in that crowd. Then the prosecutor in deliberate and chosen wordsenjoined her to kiss the Bible handed to her and swear to tell thetruth. How strange for Shefford to see her kiss the book which he hadstudied for so many years! Stranger still to hear the low murmur fromthe listening audience as she took the oath!
"What is your name?" asked Judge Stone, leaning back and fixing thecavernous eyes upon her.
"
Ruth Jones," was the cool reply.
"How old are you?"
"Twenty."
"Where were you born?" went on the judge. He allowed time for the clerkto record her answers.
"Panguitch, Utah."
"Were your parents Mormons?"
"Yes."
"Are you a Mormon?"
"Yes."
"Are you a married woman?"
"No."
The answer was instant, cold, final. It seemed to the truth. AlmostShefford believed she spoke truth. The judge stroked his chin and waiteda moment, and then hesitatingly he went on.
"Have you--any children?"
"No." And the blazing eyes met the cavernous ones.
That about the children was true enough, Shefford thought, and he couldhave testified to it.
"You live in the hidden village near this town?"
"Yes."
"What is the name of this village?"
"It has none."
"Did you ever hear of Fre-donia, another village far west of here?"
"Yes."
"It is in Arizona, near the Utah line. There are few men there. Is itthe same kind of village as this one in which you live?"
"Yes."
"What does Fre-donia mean? The name--has it any meaning?"
"It means free women."
The judge maintained silence for a moment, turned to whisper to hisassistants, and presently, without glancing up, said to the woman:
"That will do."
Ruth was led back to the bench, and the woman next to her broughtforward. This was a heavier person, with the figure and step of amatured woman. Upon removing her bonnet she showed the plain face ofa woman of forty, and it was striking only in that strange, stonyaloofness noted in the older men. Here, Shefford thought, was the realMormon, different in a way he could not define from Ruth. This womanseated herself in the chair and calmly faced her prosecutors. Shemanifested no emotion whatever. Shefford remembered her and could notsee any change in her deportment. This trial appeared to be of littlemoment to her and she took the oath as if doing so had been a habit allher life.
"What is your name?" asked Judge Stone, glancing up from a paper heheld.
"Mary Danton."
"Family or married name?"
"My husband's name was Danton."
"Was. Is he living?"
"No."
"Where did you live when you were married to him?"
"In St. George, and later here in Stonebridge."
"You were both Mormons?"
"Yes."
"Did you have any children by him?"
"Yes."
"How many?"
"Two."
"Are they living?"
"One of them is living."
Judge Stone bent over his paper and then slowly raised his eyes to herface.
"Are you married now?"
"No."
Again the judge consulted his notes, and held a whispered colloquy withthe two men at his table.
"Mrs. Danton, when you were arrested there were five children found inyour home. To whom do they belong?"
"Me."
"Are you their mother?"
"Yes."
"Your husband Danton is the father of only one, the eldest, according toyour former statement. Is that correct?"
"Yes."
"Who, then, is the father--or who are the fathers, of your otherchildren?"
"I do not know."
She said it with the most stony-faced calmness, with utter disregardof what significance her words had. A strong, mystic wall of cold flintinsulated her. Strangely it came to Shefford how impossible either todoubt or believe her. Yet he did both! Judge Stone showed a little heat.
"You don't know the father of one or all of these children?" he queried,with sharp rising inflection of voice.
"I do not."
"Madam, I beg to remind you that you are under oath."
The woman did not reply.
"These children are nameless, then--illegitimate?"
"They are."
"You swear you are not the sealed wife of some Mormon?"
"I swear."
"How do you live--maintain yourself?"
"I work."
"What at?"
"I weave, sew, bake, and work in my garden."
"My men made note of your large and comfortable cabin, even luxurious,considering this country. How is that?"
"My husband left me comfortable."
Judge Stone shook a warning finger at the defendant.
"Suppose I were to sentence you to jail for perjury? For a year? Farfrom your home and children! Would you speak--tell the truth?"
"I am telling the truth. I can't speak what I don't know.... Send me tojail."
Baffled, with despairing, angry impatience, Judge Stone waved the womanaway.
"That will do for her. Fetch the next one," he said.
One after another he examined three more women, and arrived, by variousquestions and answers different in tone and temper, at precisely thesame point as had been made in the case of Mrs. Danton. Thereupon theproceedings rested a few moments while the judge consulted with hisassistants.
Shefford was grateful for this respite. He had been worked up to anunusual degree of interest, and now, as the next Mormon woman to beexamined was she whom he had loved and loved still, he felt rise inhim emotion that threatened to make him conspicuous unless it couldbe hidden. The answers of these Mormon women had been not altogetherunexpected by him, but once spoken in cold blood under oath, how tragic,how appallingly significant of the shadow, the mystery, the yoke thatbound them! He was amazed, saddened. He felt bewildered. He needed tothink out the meaning of the falsehoods of women he knew to be good andnoble. Surely religion, instead of fear and loyalty, was the foundationand the strength of this disgrace, this sacrifice. Absolutely, shame wasnot in these women, though they swore to shameful facts. They had beencoached to give these baffling answers, every one of which seemedto brand them, not the brazen mothers of illegitimate offspring, butfaithful, unfortunate sealed wives. To Shefford the truth was not intheir words, but it sat upon their somber brows.
Was it only his heightened imagination, or did the silence andthe suspense grow more intense when a deputy led that dark-hooded,white-clad, slender woman to the defendant's chair? She did not walkwith the poise that had been manifest in the other women, and she sankinto the chair as if she could no longer stand.
"Please remove your hood," requested the prosecutor.
How well Shefford remembered the strong, shapely hands! He saw themtremble at the knot of ribbon, and that tremor was communicated to himin a sympathy which made his pulses beat. He held his breath while sheremoved the hood. And then there was revealed, he thought, the loveliestand the most tragic face that ever was seen in a court-room.
A low, whispering murmur that swelled like a wave ran through the hall.And by it Shefford divined, as clearly as if the fact had been blazonedon the walls, that Mary's face had been unknown to these villagers. Butthe name Sago Lily had not been unknown; Shefford heard it whispered onall sides.
The murmuring subsided. The judge and his assistants stared at Mary.As for Shefford, there was no need of his personal feeling to make thesituation dramatic. Not improbably Judge Stone had tried many Mormonwomen. But manifestly this one was different. Unhooded, Mary appearedto be only a young girl, and a court, confronted suddenly with her youthand the suspicion attached to her, could not but have been shocked.Then her beauty made her seem, in that somber company, indeed the whiteflower for which she had been named. But, more likely, it was heragony that bound the court into silence which grew painful. Perhaps thethought that flashed into Shefford's mind was telepathic; it seemed tohim that every watcher there realized that in this defendant the judgehad a girl of softer mold, of different spirit, and from her the bittertruth could be wrung.
Mary faced the court and the crowd on that side of the platform. Unlikethe other women, she did not look at or seem to see an
y one behind therailing. Shefford was absolutely sure there was not a man or a woman whocaught her glance. She gazed afar, with eyes strained, humid, fearful.
When the prosecutor swore her to the oath her lips were seen to move,but no one heard her speak.
"What is your name?" asked the judge.
"Mary." Her voice was low, with a slight tremor.
"What's your other name?"
"I won't tell."
Her singular reply, the tones of her voice, her manner before the judge,marked her with strange simplicity. It was evident that she was notaccustomed to questions.
"What were your parents' names?"
"I won't tell," she replied, very low.
Judge Stone did not press the point. Perhaps he wanted to make theexamination as easy as possible for her or to wait till she showed morecomposure.
"Were your parents Mormons?" he went on.
"No, sir." She added the sir with a quaint respect, contrasting markedlywith the short replies of the women before her.
"Then you were not born a Mormon?"
"No, sir."
"How old are you?"
"Seventeen or eighteen. I'm not sure."
"You don't know your exact age?"
"No."
"Where were you born?"
"I won't tell."
"Was it in Utah?"
"Yes, sir."
"How long have you lived in this state?"
"Always--except last year."
"And that's been over in the hidden village where you were arrested?"
"Yes."
"But you often visited here--this town Stonebridge?"
"I never was here--till yesterday."
Judge Stone regarded her as if his interest as a man was running counterto his duty as an officer. Suddenly he leaned forward.
"Are you a Mormon NOW?" he queried, forcibly.
"No, sir," she replied, and here her voice rose a little clearer.
It was an unexpected reply. Judge Stone stared at her. The low buzz ranthrough the listening crowd. And as for Shefford, he was astounded. Whenhis wits flashed back and he weighed her words and saw in her face truthas clear as light, he had the strangest sensation of joy. Almost itflooded away the gloom and pain that attended this ordeal.
The judge bent his head to his assistants as if for counsel. All of themwere eager where formerly they had been weary. Shefford glanced aroundat the dark and somber faces, and a slow wrath grew within him. Then hecaught a glimpse of Waggoner. The steel-blue, piercing intensity of theMormon's gaze impressed him at a moment when all that older generationof Mormons looked as hard and immutable as iron. Either Shefford wasover-excited and mistaken or the hour had become fraught with greatersuspense. The secret, the mystery, the power, the hate, the religion ofa strange people were thick and tangible in that hall. For Shefford thefeeling of the presence of Withers on his left was entirely differentfrom that of the Mormon on his other side. If there was not a shadowthere, then the sun did not shine so brightly as it had shone when heentered. The air seemed clogged with nameless passion.
"I gather that you've lived mostly in the country--away from people?"the judge began.
"Yes, sir," replied the girl.
"Do you know anything about the government of the United States?"
"No, sir."
He pondered again, evidently weighing his queries, leading up to thefatal and inevitable question.
Still, his interest in this particular defendant had become visible.
"Have you any idea of the consequences of perjury?"
"No, sir."
"Do you understand what perjury is?"
"It's to lie."
"Do you tell lies?"
"No, sir."
"Have you ever told a single lie?"
"Not--yet," she replied, almost whispering.
It was the answer of a child and affected the judge. He fussed with hispapers. Perhaps his task was not easy; certainly it was not pleasant.Then he leaned forward again and fixed those deep, cavernous eyes uponthe sad face.
"Do you understand what a sealed wife is?"
"I've never been told."
"But you know there are sealed wives in Utah?"
"Yes, sir; I've been told that."
Judge Stone halted there, watching her. The hall was silent except forfaint rustlings and here and there deep breaths drawn guardedly. Thevital question hung like a sword over the white-faced girl. Perhaps shedivined its impending stroke, for she sat like a stone with dilating,appealing eyes upon her executioner.
"Are you a sealed wife?" he flung at her.
She could not answer at once. She made effort, but the words would notcome. He flung the question again, sternly.
"No!" she cried.
And then there was silence. That poignant word quivered in Shefford'sheart. He believed it was a lie. It seemed he would have known it ifthis hour was the first in which he had ever seen the girl. He heard,he felt, he sensed the fatal thing. The beautiful voice had lacked somequality before present. And the thing wanting was something subtle, anessence, a beautiful ring--the truth. What a hellish thing to make thatpure girl a liar--a perjurer! The heat deep within Shefford kindled tofire.
"You are not married?" went on Judge Stone.
"No, sir," she answered, faintly.
"Have you ever been married?"
"No, sir."
"Do you expect ever to be married?"
"Oh! No, sir."
She was ashen pale now, quivering all over, with her strong handsclasping the black hood, and she could no longer meet the judge'sglance.
"Have you--any--any children?" the judge asked, haltingly. It was a hardquestion to get out.
"No."
Judge Stone leaned far over the table, and that his face was purpleshowed Shefford he was a man. His big fist clenched.
"Girl, you're not going to swear you, too, were visited--over there bymen... You're not going to swear that?"
"Oh--no, sir!"
Judge Stone settled back in his chair, and while he wiped his moist facethat same foreboding murmur, almost a menace, moaned through the hall.
Shefford was sick in his soul and afraid of himself. He did not knowthis spirit that flamed up in him. His helplessness was a most hatefulfact.
"Come--confess you are a sealed wife," called her interrogator.
She maintained silence, but shook her head.
Suddenly he seemed to leap forward.
"Unfortunate child! Confess."
That forced her to lift her head and face him, yet still she did notspeak. It was the strength of despair. She could not endure much more.
"Who is your husband?" he thundered at her.
She rose wildly, terror-stricken. It was terror that dominated her, notof the stern judge, for she took a faltering step toward him, liftinga shaking hand, but of some one or of some thing far more terrible thanany punishment she could have received in the sentence of a court. Stillshe was not proof against the judge's will. She had weakened, and theterror must have been because of that weakening.
"Who is the Mormon who visits you?" he thundered, relentlessly.
"I--never--knew--his--name.
"But you'd know his face. I'll arrest every Mormon in this country andbring him before you. You'd know his face?"
"Oh, I wouldn't. I COULDN'T TELL!... _I_--NEVER--SAW HIS FACE--IN THELIGHT!"
The tragic beauty of her, the certainty of some monstrous crime to youthand innocence, the presence of an agony and terror that unfathomablyseemed not to be for herself--these transfixed the court and theaudience, and held them silenced, till she reached out blindly and thensank in a heap to the floor.
