The Work and the Glory

by Gerald N. Lund

  It was as if Scadlock had the ears of a cat. He jerked around, swept up a fist-sized rock, and hurled it at Derek. “I said no talking!” he barked.

  Derek jerked his head to one side and the rock bounced off the tree trunk above him with a solid thud. If it had hit him . . . He shuddered. Matthew, watching him, gave a quick shake of his head.

  One of the men tossed a piece of meat through the air to where the half dozen dogs lay on the ground near the horses. In an instant the dogs were at each other, snarling, snapping, fighting furiously for the morsel. The men roared with laughter. After a moment, one of the dogs came slinking to the fire to see if there was more. The man who had thrown the meat, one of the younger of the group, swore and gave the animal a hard kick, sending it yelping away. That brought another roar from the group.

  And that seemed to bring Scadlock back to the task at hand. Muttering something under his breath, he stood up. He looked toward Derek and Matthew. “It’s getting late boys. The missus will be wondering how the ‘squirrel hunt’ went.” He pronounced the two words with exaggerated seriousness.

  There was another burst of laughter, as if he had made some enormous joke. The rest stood now and moved closer to Scadlock. That is, all except for one. Matthew saw that the man who had first accosted them still sat on his haunches, staring into the fire.

  “Come on, Webster,” Scadlock snarled. “You’re not going soft on us now, are you?”

  The man called Webster got to his feet, shaking his head. “What’s your plan, Pulse?”

  The big man jerked his head at the one nearest him. “Get the rope.”

  That brought startled looks from several of the men. Webster just stared at his neighbor but said nothing. Scadlock strode over to where Matthew and Derek were tied. “Untie their legs,” he commanded. Two men sprang to obey, and in a moment dragged the prisoners to their feet, a man at each elbow, partly restraining them, partly holding them up, as they were having difficulty standing with their legs and feet so numb. In a moment, the man returned from the horses with a large coil of rope.

  Scadlock was looking up at the trees around him. Finally, he found what he was looking for—a stout horizontal branch where there was sufficient space for a horse to stand beneath it. He pointed. “There. That will do.” The man with the rope didn’t move. Scadlock swore loudly. “Don’t just stand there, tie a noose in the end of that rope.”

  Now the men around him fell silent. The hunt was over, the funning was done. Find their prey, thrash them soundly, maybe even play with them a little to scare them real good. That had been their expectation. But it was clear that Scadlock wasn’t playing at anything. He was far too determined for the rest of them to be comfortable now.

  The youngest man—a boy of no more than sixteen or seventeen—looked at Scadlock, then away quickly. Another man was staring at his feet, pushing the dirt and leaves around with the toe of his boot. Webster hung back, watching closely, waiting to see what the others said. Finally one of them cleared his throat. “You didn’t say nothing about no hanging, Scadlock.”

  Scadlock didn’t even turn. “What’d you think,” he asked in contempt, “that we’d give these whoremongers a pat on the cheek and let them go? You heard what the circuit rider said. They’ve been seducing women all the way from Memphis to Little Rock. They left a fourteen-year-old girl in Bonnerdale in a family way.”

  “That’s a lie,” Matthew said quietly.

  Scadlock whirled with the agility of a cat and swung. The back of his hand caught Matthew full across the face, snapping his head back with a sharp crack. “You calling me a liar?” he screamed into Matthew’s face.

  When Matthew straightened again, a trickle of blood was coming out of his nose. His chin came up slowly. “No, sir, I am calling the man who told you that a liar.”

  Again the beefy arm swung and there was the thud of flesh on flesh. Derek leaped forward to stand between the two of them, half dragging with him the two men who held him by the arms. Scadlock cocked his fist back, ready to strike again. Derek looked at him calmly. “I can prove that the man was lying to you.”

  Scadlock’s fist tightened, but Webster spoke quickly. “How?”

  Gratefully, Derek turned toward the man who he was almost positive had once been a Mormon. “We only came to Bonnerdale day before yesterday. Knowing how fast news travels around up here, you know that’s true. So how could we have gotten a girl in a family way when it takes two months to even know if a girl is in a family way?”

  The men surrounding them looked at each other, and Derek could tell his point was made. No one spoke. Every eye was on Scadlock. His arm slowly lowered and he seemed to relax. Derek took a quick breath. “Mr. Scadlock, we are just a couple of missionaries from—”

  The blow came so quickly that Derek didn’t have time to even steel himself. The massive fist buried itself up to the wrist in his solar plexus. With an explosion of air, Derek gasped and dropped to his knees, his mouth working frantically, his eyes nearly popping out. The bearded man didn’t even look down at him. “Get this slug out of the way!” he snarled.

  The two men grabbed Derek’s arms and dragged him backwards, letting him drop to the ground where he coiled into a ball, gasping and wheezing and fighting for breath, the struggle made all the worse by the fact that his arms were tied behind his back.

  “Now,” the leader said, jutting his face up next to Matthew’s, “who was that you were calling a liar?” Matthew said nothing, but neither did he drop his eyes. He looked steadily into the beady roundness of Pulsipher Scadlock’s bloodshot and rheumy eyes.

  “Now, you listen, boy, I’m going to ask you some questions. I’m only going to ask them once. And you’d better try real hard to make me like your answers, you hear?”

  “I hear you,” Matthew said evenly.

  “What are you doing here in Caddo Gap country?”

  “Like my brother-in-law said, we are missionaries from Nauvoo, Illinois, for The Church of—”

  This time it was a slap with the flat of his palm. But it still cracked like a pistol shot in the stillness of the night around them. “I didn’t ask you what you are, mister! I asked you what you are doing here in Caddo Gap country.”

  The marks of the beefy fingers left sharp pink outlines on Matthew’s cheeks. He licked his lower lip. “We were told there were some members of our church who lived up this way.”

  “Names?”

  Matthew hesitated for a moment, but knew that it wouldn’t take much of this kind of interrogation to leave him blind or without some of his teeth. “Scadlock and Webster.”

  There was a low grunt. “And when you found them, then what?”

  “We just wanted to see how they were doing, let them know that the Church still cared about them. Actually, my brother-in-law and I are ready to go back to Illinois. This was going to be our last place to visit and—”

  Crack! His head was flung to one side and his ears were instantly ringing.

  “Then what?” Scadlock roared again.

  Matthew wanted to shake his head, make the stinging and the ringing go away, get his mind working again. “We just wanted to see how they were doing,” he started again, his words slurring slightly now. He jerked away, but not fast enough. The blow caught him alongside the head.

  “You came looking for wives for Joe Smith, didn’t ya?” Scadlock screamed into his face. “You came looking for women.”

  Matthew shook his head and the hand came up again.

  “Leave him alone,” Derek cried, still curled up on the ground. “Joseph Smith is dead. Haven’t you heard?”

  Swearing loudly, Scadlock swung around, took three steps, and kicked out. The toe of his boot caught Derek just below the knee, squarely on the shinbone. Derek screamed in agony, writhing on the ground. “You don’t hear very well, preacher boy!” Scadlock breathed, panting heavily. He looked at one of the men. “If he speaks again, put a ball through his head.”

  Webster stepped forward. “Pulse,
I know you’re angry, but—”

  One look from Scadlock and Webster’s mouth clamped shut again. The big man stepped back to Matthew and grabbed him by the front of his shirt. “You married, boy?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He looked around, grinning suddenly. It was more frightening than his anger. “Did you hear that, boys? He called me sir. These Mormons are learning a little respect now, aren’t they?” His head jerked back around to face Matthew. “Children?”

  “A little girl that’s two. Another one coming next month.”

  “Aah,” Scadlock said, all honey and molasses now. “Ain’t that nice?” Then instantly his voice was hard again. “How many wives?”

  “One, sir.”

  “Liar!” The roar was almost like being struck again. “How many wives you got, boy?”

  “One, sir. Her name is Jennifer Jo Steed.”

  “And how many does your friend here have?”

  “One. She’s my sister, and—”

  “So that’s it?” he said curiously, as though just having heard an interesting piece of gossip down at the local saloon. Then in a flash his voice was all ice and steel again. “So it’s not for old Joe Smith? You’re out looking to find more wives for yourselves, is that it?”

  Matthew didn’t even bother to answer. His hands were still tied behind his back, so he tensed for the next blow, but to his surprise Scadlock stepped back. “Tell you what, Mr.—What was your name again, boy?”

  “Steed. Matthew Steed.”

  “Tell you what, Mr. Matthew Steed, I’m going to do a little preaching of my own here for a minute.” He stepped over and took the coiled rope from the man who had fetched it from the horse. Suddenly Matthew felt like he was going to be sick. One end of it was tied in a typical hangman’s noose. Barely looking at what he was doing, Scadlock began fondling the loop, his fingers caressing the knot gently. Finally he turned to the boy. “Get me a horse, Willie Boy.”

  “Pa, I—”

  “Did you not hear me, boy?” he asked, the menace like that of a coiled prairie rattlesnake.

  Willie jumped, nearly tripping over himself as he raced to obey.

  The man called Webster was looking at the ground. “Pulse, I want no part of a lynching.” A couple of the other men were shaking their heads too.

  Scadlock never turned his head in Webster’s direction. “You better watch yourself, John. We start lynching us some Mormons here tonight and we just might think that you’re still one of them.”

  “I came with you to drive these two out,” Webster said. “I’m quit of the Church. You know that. So is your wife and my wife. That’s done and over. But I didn’t come out to start killing people, no matter who they are.”

  “Yeah, come on, Scadlock,” the man directly behind Webster said uneasily, “we can have some fun with them. Give them a good whipping, but . . .”

  Scadlock ignored the man and stepped up to Matthew. He sized him up for a moment, calmly adjusted the size of the loop a bit, then slipped it over Matthew’s head. His boy came walking up with one of the horses, saddle still on.

  “Get him up there, Willie. Caleb, give him a hand.”

  They lifted Matthew bodily off the ground and pushed him up into the saddle. Scadlock took the horse’s bridle and led him to the tree that he had previously picked out. With one flip of his arm, the rope sailed up and over the branch above Matthew’s head. Scadlock caught the end of it easily and took in the slack.

  “Now, Mr. Steed, you listen real good and you just might go on back home to Illinois with your neck size still the same. You understand me?”

  Matthew, against his will, had lifted his eyes to the tree above him to see the sturdiness of the branch. Now he forced himself to look down at his tormentor. In spite of the cold air and the faint mist of rain, he was perspiring heavily.

  “I said, do you understand me?” Scadlock shouted, jerking on the rope enough that it pulled at Matthew’s neck, the rough hemp scraping the skin.

  “I do.”

  “Good. Now, tell me, what church do you belong to?”

  “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”

  That brought a puzzled look from the men around Scadlock. “You said they was Mormons,” one of them called to Scadlock.

  The big man’s mouth twisted. “What does that mean?” he said to Matthew. “Are you a Mormon or ain’t you?”

  Matthew, his mouth dry, his heart thudding, nodded. “Yes, I am a Mormon.”

  There was a short laugh. “That’s too bad. How would you like to change your religion?”

  His eyes widened, for now he understood where this was going. “At the end of a rope or of my own free will and choice?”

  That brought a guffaw from Scadlock. “End of a rope is quicker than listening to some preacher. What do you say?”

  Matthew thought of this morning after the boy had warned them and then left so abruptly. He thought of finding the woman’s house and barn the night before in the middle of a dark, cold night. He remembered how many times the Lord had answered their prayers since they left Nauvoo. And most of all, he remembered Joseph and Hyrum Smith lying dead in Carthage, Illinois. And suddenly he was at peace. “What do I say? I say what the Apostle Paul said. I say that I am not ashamed of the gospel of Jesus Christ, for it is the power of God unto salvation. Yes, sir. I am a Mormon and plan to stay a Mormon until the day I die.”

  Scadlock’s hand pulled on the rope, tightening it again around Matthew’s neck, making him stand in the stirrups to stop from choking. “Am I to take that as a turndown of my invitation?” he hissed.

  “Come on, Pulse,” Webster called in a low voice. “This has gone far enough.”

  Scadlock’s head snapped around, and his voice crackled with anger. “Shut up, John, or you’re next!” He wrapped the rope around his left hand, once, twice, and then gripped the end of it firmly in his right hand as well. It was a way to be sure it didn’t slip through his hands when the weight hit it. “I’ll be asking you only once more,” Scadlock said to Matthew, his voice barely a whisper now. “You tell me you’re not a Mormon anymore, and you can climb down off that horse. We’ll have a few snorts of whiskey together, then you and your friend here are on your way. But as the good Lord is my witness, if you don’t, you’re going to be swinging by your Adam’s apple in about ten seconds. What do you say, Mr. Matthew Steed?”

  Matthew closed his eyes. The men thought it was in fear. In reality, he was searching his mind to see if he could remember the scripture from the Second Epistle to Timothy he had first memorized in England. After a moment his eyes opened and he looked straight into the eyes of Pulsipher Scadlock and began once again to quote the words of Paul. “‘I am now ready to be offered, and the time of my departure is at hand. I have fought a good fight. I have finished my course. I have kept the faith. Henceforth there is laid up for me a crown of righteousness, which the Lord shall give me at the last day.’” He took a breath and squared his shoulders. “I won’t deny what I know to be true, Mr. Scadlock. You’re going to have to kill me.” He let his eyes sweep from man to man. “And may God have mercy on all of your souls.”

  For what seemed like a full minute, there was not a sound in the small grove of trees. Finally, Scadlock shook his head with sadness. “This pains me, boy, believe it or not. I’ve got to hand it to ya, ya got grit.” He looked around. The men couldn’t meet his glaring challenge. One by one their eyes dropped or they turned their heads. There was a snort of disgust and Scadlock turned back to the horse. He took a step forward, preparing to strike the animal across the rump.

  Several things happened all at once then. “Giddyap!” Matthew shouted. At the same instant, he drove his heels into the horse’s flanks. The horse, which seemed to sense that something was up and was standing fully alert, leaped forward like a startled antelope. Caught completely off guard, Scadlock barely had time to raise his hands. The bearded Mormon-hater screamed as the full weight of Matthew’s body hit the rope and
snapped it taut across the tree limb. Scadlock’s arms were jerked violently forward, nearly yanking him off his feet. For one instant, Matthew swung wildly back and forth, gasping and croaking. Then Scadlock couldn’t hold it. The rope pulled free of his hands, whipping across the bare flesh of his palms. He screamed again. The rope flew free and Matthew crashed to the ground.

  At the same moment, Derek, who had been completely forgotten in the final tense moments, scrambled up into a half crouch. Then he launched himself in a hobbling sprint for Scadlock. His hands were tied too, but he lowered his right shoulder and drove with all his power straight into Scadlock’s abdomen. It didn’t have quite the same effect as being hit by a fist, but Scadlock was staring at the palms of his hands, now bloody from the rope’s burning power, and he didn’t see Derek coming. He went down hard, gasping and retching.

  John Webster and the other men were stupefied, and it took them a moment to react before they dove for their rifles. But Webster was the quickest. He came up with his first and leveled it at the bellies of the other men. “Leave ’em, boys. Leave ’em there.” They straightened slowly, raising their hands. Behind him, Scadlock was grunting and gasping, getting back up to his knees. Webster half turned to watch. The big man looked momentarily bewildered; then he saw Derek, head down and panting heavily, and Matthew squirming on the ground, the rope coiled around him. Then he saw Webster with his rifle, and something inside him snapped. With a cry like that of a mother grizzly bear cut off from her cubs, he was up on his feet and lumbering toward his neighbor, cursing and swearing in an incomprehensible stream.

  Webster didn’t move. He didn’t swing the muzzle of the rifle around to face Scadlock or raise it to defend himself. “Watch out!” Derek cried as Scadlock hurtled forward.

  But Webster knew exactly what he was doing. As Scadlock launched himself, Webster moved back one step, swung the butt of the rifle, and caught Scadlock directly behind the ear with it. There was a great thud as Matthew’s would-be executioner hit the ground and slid a few inches facedown in the mud.