"I have seen my father, Good bye" written on top of Miss Erma L. Travenion's card.
Crushing the fragile pasteboard in his hand, his moustache twitches with pain, and he mutters bitterly: "Oliver Livingston was right! My darling has seen her father; he wishes her to still wed that washed-out aristocrat!"
A minute after he thinks: "She wished to bid me good-bye, also! Did she do it easily?" and inspects the card he has almost thrown away, to see if the handwriting shows emotion in its lines. Doing this, a little hope comes to him, for he sees a splash such as a tear-drop might make upon the delicate tint of the cardboard.
Putting the missive away reverently in his pocketbook, he meditates, and reason tells him he has lost her. It says to him, She is not of your class and people. Her father wishes her to wed in her station, among the exclusives of Fifth Avenue and Murray Hill, and she obeys him. What are you that you should hope for her? If your mine was sold and you had nearly five hundred thousand dollars in your pocket, you might make an effort to win this butterfly, who has come into your mannish frontier life to make it brilliant for a day or two. You were happy before you saw her; be so without her!
To this he cries, resolution fighting against conviction and common sense: "No more joy for me without her! I'll win her yet!" and goes on his way to see his lawyers about getting the injunction on his mine removed.
But his attorneys, Messrs. Parshall & Garter, do not give him very much hope of immediate success, and common sense is a very hard party to down in argument; consequently Harry Lawrence makes a very sombre day of it, and a more sombre night.
Two days after, however, cometh joy. He is in his lawyers' offices, trying to think if any one in this wide world will go on his bond to raise the injunction that paralyzes him financially, when Garter comes excitedly in, and slapping him on the back, cries enthusiastically: "Here's luck for Harry Lawrence. I've just received a stipulation from Judge Smith, Zion's Co-operative Mining Co.'s attorney, agreeing to raise your injunction!"
"Impossible!"
"Fact!"
"What reason did Smith give for this curious concession?"
"Nothing; only that Tranyon telegraphed instructions to that effect last night, and he thought there must be a mistake and had wired asking reasons; that Tranyon had replied, his only reason was that he wished it, and was going to have it done. Smith thinks the Mormon bishop has gone crazy. However, I've got the stipulation and you can go to work to-morrow," answers Garter, showing to Harry Lawrence's wondering eyes the document.
That day he begins arrangements for his return to Tintic, but he has a great deal to do and many mining supplies to order and ship, and this delays him. The Sunday intervenes. But Monday, hurrying his preparations, he is ready to start so as to make half the drive that day, and is even in his buckboard, ready to leave, when Garter himself comes, out of breath, to stop him, crying: "I've got more good news for you. My boy, you're rich!" and slaps Lawrence heartily on the back.
"Rich!" echoes Harry. Then he goes on more slowly, a lump coming suddenly into his throat, "What do you mean?"
"What I say! You're rich. I have within the hour received from Tranyon a quit-claim deed to you of the Mineral Hill locations from the Zion's Co-operative Mining Co. of Tintic. Look!" cries Garter, and displays the document.
"It can't be so!" gasps Lawrence.
"It is—and what's more, the deed's in proper form. It arrived by special messenger from Eureka, with a note from Bishop Tranyon, saying that on careful examination of the matter, he had concluded that the location was properly yours."
"How do you explain it?" asks Harry, who can't believe.
"Well," replies Garter, "Tranyon writes that he is moved by love of Zion to discontinue the suit—but I think it was fear of Parshall & Garter," goes on the modest Western lawyer. "The bishop heard you had engaged us. Anyway, your title to your Mineral Hill Mine is without contest. It's as clear as mine to my caput."
"Then the Mineral Hill's as good as sold to the English company. The deed's in escrow in Wells, Fargo & Co.'s. Telegraph Southmead in New York, and get the cash as soon as you can for me, Garter," answers Lawrence. "I leave town this afternoon. I've other business to attend to!" his face lighting up with something that it has not had in it since he read Erma Travenion's card.
"You go to Tintic, I suppose," asks the lawyer, as he gives Lawrence a farewell grip of congratulation.
"No! to San Francisco," is the answer, and leaving the astounded Garter gazing at him, Harry drives straight to his bank, cashes a check, and just catches the afternoon train for Ogden.
Arriving at this place, and walking over from the Utah Central to the junction depot, Lawrence is greeted suddenly and heartily by, "How are you, Cap?" and looking up, sees Buck Powers.
"How are you, Buck? Doing pretty well?" he remarks heartily to this youth.
"First rate! The news company made a kick about dat collection Miss Beauty took up for me. Dey wanted half of it, but I stood them off," returns Buck in explanation. Then he continues suddenly, "Say, boss, she was here four days ago."
"Ah! you saw her?" asks Harry eagerly.
"No—I was on de road—but that cripple Mormon who sells newspapers told me dat de whole swell Livingston outfit went West on the Central, Thursday."
This information is what Lawrence has expected; he goes into the office and gets his sleeping berth, Buck Powers greeting this transaction with a sly wink and asotto voceremark: "I guessed you wouldn't be long after her. You knows the purtiest girl as ever come over the road, you do, Cap."
So at six in the evening, Harry Lawrence, his pulse bounding with revivified hope, his eyes sparkling with eagerness, his heart filled with a great love, is speeding towards the Pacific in pursuit of the girl he has sworn shall be his and no other's: while every throb of the locomotive that he fondly thinks brings him nearer to her, bears him away from Erma Travenion.
And she upon whom his thoughts are, is sitting by the side of the mine cabin, looking over the sage brush plain of the West Tintic Valley, and listening to the low murmur of her father's and Kruger's voices coming to her through the open doorway, and thinking: "Harry has the news now.—To-morrow he will be here to work his mine.—To-morrow he will learn what I have done for him.—To-morrow he will know I am Tranyon's daughter.—Will he be generous enough to forget my father's shame?" Then she sighs: "These are curious thoughts for me, whom they called a belle at Newport six weeks ago—'Miss Dividends,' whose bonds have made her the bond-maiden of the Mormon Church!" And mocking herself with these jeering words, Erma Travenion goes in to meet Bishop Kruger and treat him with respect, if not cordiality—for now she fears him, not altogether for her father's sake but for her own, for in the last four days she has grown to feel that Kruger, Mormon fanatic and bishop, has an interest in her that is not all for Mother Church.
This idea has entered the young lady's mind, not from one but from several incidents.
Immediately after hearing Lot's voice on the morning of his arrival, her father had come to her and hurriedly whispered, "Not a word to Kruger of our leaving. Flight would now be useless if they mean to stop us."
"But where shall we go?" asks the girl anxiously.
"Nowhere! We are safest here for the present," replies Travenion. Then, seeing astonishment in Erma's mobile face, he continues, "This and the other mining camps are chiefly Gentile. Here we would be protected by the hardy men who have come in from California, Nevada and Colorado. It is in travelling through the farming settlements that our trouble will come to us. I have told him," he indicates by a gesture Mr. Kruger, who is looking to the comfort of his team outside, "that you will remain with me here for some weeks. As you love me and yourself, do not arouse his suspicions."
"You may trust me," whispers his daughter earnestly, for her father's manner is very impressive.
A few minutes after they are all at breakfast together, Kruger greeting Miss Travenion in a more familiar and off-hand manner than he has so far assumed to her, saying, "Wall, Sissy, did your dad look natural as a miner? Stoggie boots aren't quite as nice as patent-leathers, and flannel shirts ain't quite so high-falutin' as b'iled ones, but he's daddy all the same, ain't he?" Then, chuckling at his own remark, he prevents reply by turning to Travenion and saying, "Bishop, she's too likely a gal to let go out agin to the ranks of the unrighteous. You ought to persuade her to take her endowments."
"Pooh!" answers Ralph lightly. "Erma is too devout an Episcopalian for me to hope to convert her." But Miss Travenion notes her father suffers at the mere suggestion that she, whom he loves and honors, should be even mentioned in connection with this sect of which he is bishop and apostle.
The next second Travenion has changed the subject, saying, "I'm glad you've come down, Lot; otherwise I should have had to write to you about our mine."
"Indeed! What's new since we fixed them Gentiles with an injunction?" asks Kruger, easily.
"Come up to the shaft and see," replies Ralph. Then he says to his daughter: "You won't mind a little walk?"
"No," answers the young lady. "In this Tintic air I feel as if I could climb mountains."
"Wall, ye can find plenty of mountains round here to climb!" laughs Lot.
So they all come out of the hotel into the main and only street of this mining camp—where many of the men look with by no means kindly eyes on the two Mormon bishops, for Tranyon's injunction has closed Lawrence's mine, which promised to develop into a great property which would furnish lots of work for the "boys." But on seeing the young lady who accompanies the two apostles, the hats and caps of the delvers after gold and silver come off with that respect for all women, young or old, beautiful or plain-faced, that the miners of the Pacific have since "Forty-nine," when in California they learned to value sweethearts and wives, because they had none. A chivalry they have not yet—thank God—forgotten.
But aside from her womanhood, Erma's beauty is so overpowering to these gentlemen of the pick and drill that they would follow her, were it polite, and one Patsey Bolivar remarks: "Good Lord, if she's a Mormon, she must be the angel that brings Brigham his revelations from Heaven." To this another, Pioche George, answers: "She ain't no Mormon girl—she's a lady and wears high-heeled boots and has a back-action panier that comes from Parie."
After a little they are out of the town, and leaving the road, make up the hill for the mining shaft; and Kruger, walking behind, notices the tender care with which Travenion assists his daughter over the rough places in the trail, and is rather surprised at it, for Mormons, as a rule, have but little consideration and less respect for their womankind, the very doctrines of their polygamous church preventing that—though he remembers Tranyon has been considered a light hand with his wives, leaving them a good deal to themselves, and not exacting any great account of their outgoings and incomings.
While pondering upon this, and noticing the light grace of the girl as she steps from rock to rock in the trail, and the beauty of every movement and poise of her figure, he suddenly thinks: "It's right lucky Ermie ain't been seen up at the Lion House! The prophet would have been having 'revealing from Heaven' that she was to be sealed to him."
A moment after, as Miss Travenion ethereally springs over a small tree that has fallen across the path, this Mormon gentleman suddenly exclaims to himself: "Great Enoch! They would have cost in our co-op. up in Heber nigh onto five dollars a pair in farm produce. I'll see if Miss Highfalutin' will wear silk stockings when——"
He doesn't complete this sentence, though it produces a very definite idea—though a wild one—in his mind: for what was to him an "If," as he looked upon the rare loveliness of Miss Travenion, the Newport butterfly, on the Union Pacific train, has become to this Mormon fanatic a "When," now she is in the valley of Tintic, the daughter of a Mormon bishop—cut off from Gentile friends and surroundings.
This "When" seems to please him so much that Lot Kruger quickens his steps, and comes alongside of this attractive young lady, and for some unknown reason begins to be "reel cute," and cavorts about, showing his agility, skipping over boulders, remarking during his acrobatic performances: "Yes, I feel reel boyish. I allus do when gals are about! You ask Bishop Tranyon there, Miss Ermie."
On this frivolity, Ralph, for some occult reason, looks with an evil eye. It seems to make him gloomy, but Erma rather laughs at the antics of this Mormon ecclesiastic, who seems to wish to make her forget that he is fifty years of age, and by no means lovely or engaging.
After a little, however, he chances, during some of his prattle, to call her "Miss Tranyon," and this puts the girl into such a rage, that did he but know it, she would like to annihilate him. She draws herself up very haughtily, and says: "Excuse me! I am always addressed as MissTravenion, and have never been christened 'Sissy' or MissTranyon!"
"Oh, no offence, Sissy—I mean Miss Travenion!" answers Kruger. "But I didn't suppose you would be ashamed of the name your daddy answers to, and which is respected in this community."
To this, Ralph says in explanation, perhaps apology: "When I came here, every one seemed to mistake my name, and call me Tranyon. I did not take the trouble to alter their pronunciation."
But his daughter, in whom anger now overcomes prudence, says sneeringly: "Pshaw! You were ashamed! You were afraid your Eastern friends would learn you had become a Mormon!" Then quickening her steps, she reaches the works and dump of the Co-operative Company ahead of her escorts, and seating herself on a pile of timber, looks about upon the operations of the miners, which being novel, create some interest even in her present state of agitation.
This changes into almost a sneer of indifference as her father and Kruger arrive on the dump pile, and she sees Ralph very shortly thereafter euchre his brother apostle out of his share in the Zion Co-operative Mining Company, which is quite small in comparison to Tranyon's; all the rest of his fellow Saints having already fallen victims to his imported Wall Street methods.
Kruger looking about the place, suddenly says: "Why, bishop! we've hardly any one to work!"
"Of course not!" replies Travenion easily. "We'll be enjoined Monday. This is Saturday—so I'm laying the men off, and putting things in shape to stop operations."
"Enjined! How's that?"
"Well, I suppose if we can get an injunction on the Mineral Hill, they can do the same to us."
"I reckon you're right," returns Lot, wiping his forehead, and looking glum. "But I thought we claimed their mine—not that they claimed ourn."
"Besides," adds Ralph, "it is about as well for us. We have got no pay ore. It is the Mineral Hill we want, I imagine." Here he gives Kruger a significant wink, and continues: "You'd better walk down our incline, and see how our prospects are, and then come up and tell me if you think there is any chance of our finding anything where we're working now. I'd like your opinion on that. It won't take you half an hour, bishop."
"Wall, there's nuthin' like seein'," replies Kruger, and descends the shaft, which is not difficult, it being an inclined one, and can be walked down if necessary, as it pitches into the hill at an angle of not over forty-five degrees.
There are two ore-cars running on tracks in this shaft, to the lower level of the mine, which is about one hundred feet from the surface. These are hauled up and let down by a horse whim, that at present, in contradiction to its name, is moved by a long-eared, strong-kicking mule, that Erma notices is called Marcho.
Kruger, instead of using his feet, prefers mule locomotion, and goes down on one of these cars; the other shortly thereafter making its appearance at the surface, is unloaded of some waste rock and a few dulled drills and other débris of the mine.
Another surface employee is engaged in turning a circular hand fan, which through a large tin pipe forces fresh air to the miners working in the lower level.
These facts are easily and accurately explained by Ralph to his daughter, as they watch Mr. Kruger's descent.
A few moments after Lot has disappeared, he suggests: "Wouldn't you like to see the interior of the mine, Erma?"
"Is it safe?" asks the young lady.
"Certainly. Do you suppose I would knowingly take you into danger?"
"Oh, I referred to my costume, not myself," says Miss Travenion lightly, who is apparently determined to throw off care as much as possible this day.
"Dust will not hurt linen," replies her father. "There is no seepage at this season, and we are way above the water level. So you have only a little dust to fear, and the descent is not long nor dangerous."
Some expression in his face makes his daughter say "Yes" to his proposal.
A few moments after, the two are alone together in the car descending the dark incline, and Ralph Travenion whispers: "Watch me! The stock is below the set of timbers on which I shall place my hand."
To which Erma murmurs: "I understand!" knowing now that it is for this reason her father wishes her to go down the Zion Co-operative mine.
At the foot of the incline they find a level running from it in two directions: one towards the Mineral Hill, the other directly away from it. This last has been only continued about forty feet, and is apparently deserted. The first, which seems to be of much greater extent, is in operation, sounds of sledge on drill being heard coming from it, and the lights of the miners being seen as they work on its face far away from the incline.
Assisted by her father, Erma is led into the working portion of the mine, where she finds Mr. Kruger making his inspection of the same with the aid of a tallow candle, and, apparently, not exceedingly pleased with what he sees.
"You don't find very much mineral, do you, bishop?" remarks Travenion. "No," replies Lot, surlily. "There ain't enough in this vein to silver a tea-pot." Then he says suddenly: "But we have only got one hundred feet more to run to the Mineral Hill——"
"Which we won't travel in a hurry, when we're enjoined," jeers Ralph.
With this, he explains to his daughter the methods of mining that are employed, showing her the air as it rushes out of the tin air-pipe, to give life and vitality to the miners employed below.
This inspection doesn't take long, and, a few minutes after, they return to the station, followed by Lot.
Just here, however, Travenion says: "I haven't had a look at this other drift for a good while. I think I'll make a little examination of it now," and goes into the unused level.
When he reaches the fourth set of timbers from the shaft, by the light of his candle, Erma sees him put his hands on them, and lean against them, as he examines the face of the drift.
"Would you like to come in, Kruger?" he asks. "I find nothing."
"Seein's believin'!" cries Kruger, and makes an examination also. Then the two men come back to the station.
Erma notices that Lot has left his genial spirits in the bottom of the mine, for when they are hoisted to the surface he turns round and says: "Tranyon, unless we get the Mineral Hill, we don't get anything."
"And for that we have got to fight them," answers Ralph. Then he continues: "By the bye, you know Captain Lawrence has engaged Parshall & Garter. We have got a big fight on our hands, and I suspect I'll have to assess you."
"How much?" gasps Kruger.
"Well, I guess about twenty-five hundred dollars will do for your share, as a starter."
"As a starter!" screams Lot, who, though comfortably off for a Mormon, is not rich like Travenion.
"Yes, for just a little bit of a starter. It's going to cost me one hundred thousand dollars, perhaps more, to fight this case, and you don't suppose I'm going to spendallthe money, do you, bishop?"
"Great Zion! You talk of money as if it was water!" groans Kruger. Then he mutters to himself: "I wish I could get out of this thing!"
Leaving him to digest this unpleasant communication, Travenion takes his daughter's arm, and they walk to the end of the dump pile. Here he points out to her various mining locations and things of interest on the scene.
Up to the right, about a mile, is the big ledge of the Eureka Mining Company, then in litigation also. Across the West Tintic Valley, over thirty miles of sage brush, is the Scotia Mine. To the left, Silver City and Diamond.
"But where is Captain Lawrence's mine, the Mineral Hill?" asks the young lady eagerly.
"Just up a little and further to our right—about three hundred feet;" and Travenion pointing out the spot, Erma places such anxious eyes upon it that her father whispers: "No hope of seeing your young man now! He doesn't know yet his injunction is discontinued. He'll be down in a day or two!" and pats her cheek, and laughs as if he had hopes himself from this enterprising young Gentile Philistine.
Just here they are interrupted by Kruger, who comes up suddenly and mumbles: "Bishop, I'd like to sell out!"
"Who to?" jeers Ralph. "Law-suits are too plenty around here for most people to want to buy them."
"To you!" says Lot. "You're the only man can handle this thing properly. Then you'll have the whole of it."
"I think I have enough now, considering I've rather an expensive family," returns Travenion, and his eyes regard his daughter laughingly but lovingly.
"You won't buy my stock?" appeals Kruger again.
"Not unless you name averylow figure, bishop."
"So I will," cries Lot. "I ain't no good at mining, nohow. If 'twas cattle, or farmin', I'd stand any man off!"
Then he names so low a sum that Travenion says: "All right! We'll draw up a deed this afternoon," and with that gives the foreman the necessary orders for closing the mine.
They all start down the hill together, though before leaving, Ralph gets a very grateful glance from his daughter, who, coming close to him, whispers: "You bought Kruger's stock so as to make the deed to Captain Lawrence. God bless you, father, for doing him justice!"
So they come down the trail, towards the main road, all apparently happy—Erma because she thinks Travenion's justice may make Harry Lawrence forget she is Tranyon's daughter; Kruger because he has got out of what he thinks a bad speculation with some little money; Ralph because his daughter's eyes are brighter and her step is lighter than at any time since she has known he was a Mormon.
As they are passing a pile of rocks that borders the trail, a sudden sound, like that of a dozen locusts, comes to them. Erma, with a little cry, gathers her skirts about her, and springs upon a near-by boulder. Travenion looks hurriedly about for a stick.
The next instant, Lot, who has lived all his life in wild places, has guessed the matter, and coming up, cries: "Why, it's a pesky rattler!" and with a handy rock smashes the head of a serpent that has coiled itself upon the trail, a little ahead of them.
"A rattlesnake! Oh, mercy!" screams Miss Travenion, scrambling higher up on her boulder of safety.
"You can come down, now, Erma," says her father. But she stands poised on her eyrie, and discusses the matter, making a picture that causes Lot's sturdy heart to beat harder than it did when climbing the mountain.
"Not yet—I have read of them. They travel in pairs!" she gasps.
"Wall, this critter is dead, any way," suggests Kruger. "He has bitten himself twice since I 'rocked' him. It's all-fired queer how these varmints commit suicide when wounded."
"There's no danger," says Travenion.
"I'll toss him out of the path; then you'll come down, Sissy!" remarks the gallant Lot. For somehow the beauty of this young lady—so different from the other women this man has met—makes him wish to soothe fears he would be indifferent to, perhaps condemn, even in one of the many wives of his bosom.
"Oh, please do. I'll thank you so much, Mr. Kruger," answers Erma.
Then she ejaculates: "Do itquick! I don't like to look at it!" For the Mormon bishop seems to be awkward over his work, perchance because Miss Travenion, in her agitated pose, displays an ankle that might daze any lover of the beautiful.
A moment after, he has flung the reptile away, and Erma descends, a little nervous yet, as she falters: "Are there many of them about?" and manifests a disposition to run down the hill.
"This is the first I have seen this year," says Ralph, reassuringly.
"Yes, these critters are scarce round here," adds Lot; "but over thar in Provo Cañon, fifty miles away"—he points northeast—"ye can't go one hundred yards without hearing 'em. And up at the head of it, there war thousands of 'em, but we all turned out, couple o' years ago, and burnt 'em up in a cave they 'denned' in. It's a marvellous place, the top of Provo Cañon," he continues. "There's springs of writing-ink up there, and green and red colored water, and ice-cold fountains and b'iling hot fountains, all coming out of pot-shaped domes."
"It must be very curious, Mr. Kruger," returns Erma, who thinks she must appear grateful to him for killing the snake.
"Perhaps ye'll see it some time, yerself, Sissy," remarks Lot. "I have got as pretty a ranch as is seen in Utah, up the Kammas Prairie on the head-waters of Provo River. I have got as fine cattle and sheep, and four as likely——"
He checks himself suddenly here, but Ralph sarcastically adds: "Wives—why don't you say it at once, bishop? Four as likelywivesas there is in Utah, as well as a fifth at Provo, and a sixth in Cache Valley." Then he chuckles: "You're too bashful, Kruger!"
For that gentleman has suddenly grown red, and guffaws: "Git out! Bishop Tranyon! Yer givin' me away to your darter!"
"Pish!" cries Ralph. "You were never diffident about it before. I have heard you brag about your women folks and big family to a dozen girls, at a dance in Provo."
"Stop, bishop!" interjects Kruger, interrupting him. "You have scared Ermie plump off!"
Which is true, for Miss Travenion has suddenly displayed a desire for rapid movement that has carried her well ahead of the gentlemen, down the trail.
Her refined mind resents her father's laughing allusions to polygamy, which make her shudder. Anxious to avoid the subject entirely, she walks on so rapidly that her escorts do not overtake her till she has reached the hotel.
As she walks, two ideas force themselves upon her. Her father wishes her to know that Kruger is a married man. Kruger does not care that she should learn the fact. Why is he confused and diffident over her knowledge of what he has boasted to a dozen Mormon girls at a time?
She can't think of any answer to this for a little while, but just as she reaches the door of the hotel, a great wave of color flies over her face, followed by an unnatural pallor, and shivering as if struck by the ague, she sinks on to an empty box that stands near the door.
A moment after her father is by her side, whispering: "You are faint!"
And Kruger coming up cries: "This high air up here is too much for ye!"
"I'll be better in a moment!" whispers the girl. "Could not you get me a drink of water?"
Her father going on this errand, Lot laughingly suggests: "I reckon it must have been the sight of the snake that weakened ye!"
"Yes—I think it was—the sight of the snake—" shudders Erma.
Then Ralph brings the water to her and she drinks it as if there were a fever in her veins, and her eyes seem to follow Kruger, the Mormon bishop, as if he were the rattlesnake—only they look on him with more loathing than they did on the reptile.
Then, under the plea of illness, Miss Travenion seeks her little room in the hotel, to get away from the sight of this man whom she has suddenly grown to loathe—she hardly fears him—the idea that has come to her about him seems so preposterous.
Some two hours afterwards, her father knocking on her door, asks if she is well enough to see him. Being told to enter, he does so, whispering to her: "Speak low! Sound passes easily from one room to another."
Then he informs her he has received his deed from Kruger, and has forwarded the deed of Zion's Co-operative Mining Company to Captain Lawrence, remarking: "This will bring your young springald down here very suddenly, I imagine," playfully chuckling Erma under the chin with a father's pride.
"Do not deceive yourself!" answers the girl. "Captain Lawrence is not engaged to me. He has never said one word of love to me. He will now probably never say one of love to me.You are my father!" This last with a sigh is a fearful reproach to this Mormon bishop, who in the misery of his child is repenting of his sins.
A moment after he whispers: "Be careful of what you say before Kruger. Though we have travelled together for many a day and many a night, I fear in case of apostasy that to Lot Kruger's hand is given my cutting off."
With this caution he leaves her.
In this case, Travenion's subtle mind has guessed the truth. For the heads of the Mormon Church have thought it wise to place this matter entirely in Kruger's hands. They fear the apostasy of R. H. Tranyon. They fearmore, the loss of the vote of his stock in the Utah Central Railway—that will lose them the control in that road. They have determined to prevent it.
But with the Jesuitism that has always governed the policy of the Mormon theocracy, they have told Kruger—whom they have had on such business before, together with his old chum Danites, Porter Rockwell and Bill Hickman—to take the affair in his hands, and if he finds beyond peradventure and doubt that R. H. Tranyon, capitalist and bishop, is going to apostatize, to do "what the Lord tells him to do," which they know means Tranyon's destruction, because Kruger is an old-time Mormon fanatic, and will do the work of the Lord, by the old methods of the days of the so-called Reformation, when "blood atonement" was preached openly from their pulpits, and death followed all who doubted or apostatized. They have also made up their minds, if trouble comes to them through what Kruger does, to sacrifice him to Gentile justice, and, if necessary, secure Mormon witnesses that will bear evidence against him, and a Mormon jury who will convict him, as they are making ready to do with Kruger's old friend and associate, Bishop John D. Lee, of the Mountain Meadow massacre.
This commission delights Lot very much. He doesn't think his friend Tranyon an apostate, but he does think Tranyon's daughter, this Eastern butterfly, as beautiful as the angels of paradise, and he has accepted his mission gleefully.
All the way driving down to Tintic, he has been rubbing his hands and muttering to himself: "It's lucky they didn't see her in the Tithing Office or the Endowment House, or there would have been a rush of apostles for this beauty, who shall become a lamb of Zion, and be sealed by the Lord in plural marriage unto Lot Kruger."
It is with this idea that he has come to Tintic, and, still believing Tranyon to be Mormon zealot like himself, thinks Ralph will regard it as no more dishonor to give his daughter into polygamy to a brother bishop; than he, Lot Kruger, would think, of turning over any of his numerous progeny to make an additional help-mate to any of his co-apostles.
Being confident of this, Lot imagines he can wait patiently till "Ermie sees the good that is in him."
Therefore, they all sit down to a waiting game; for Tranyon believes himself safer in this mining camp than anywhere else in Utah, and dare not leave so long as Kruger is by his side.
This delay is not utterly unbearable to Miss Travenion, because every day she thinks the incoming stage, or some private buckboard, or light wagon, will bear into town the man she is looking for—Captain Harry Lawrence—who, at least, should come filled with gratitude to Ralph Travenion, though he may despise Bishop Tranyon.
So she passes her time, driving to Silver City, Diamond and Homansville with her father, who, under the pretence of settling various demands of business, lingers in Tintic Mining District; now and then reading a novel, for Ralph has thoughtfully sent to Salt Lake and provided her with some books. Altogether, she is not uncomfortable, as she has brought a sufficiency of clothing with her, though most of her trunks have been left at the Townsend House. Her father, who has never forgotten his old sybaritic life, sees that their table is supplied with every luxury which can be obtained in the place, sending Mormon boys to Utah Lake for trout, and to Payson for late fruits, and securing from Salt Lake City wines of the best vintages of France.
The air is fresh, and growing colder, and the young lady's cheeks are very rosy, though they have been browned by the sun. There is some little excitement in the place, also. The litigation between the Big Eureka and the King David has come to trial by battle, and these companies have each imported armed fighters from Pioche, Nevada, the most ferocious mining camp in the West.
Thus time runs into November, but the girl's heart is getting heavier and heavier, for the man she is looking for, and who has occupied most of her thoughts for the last six weeks, has not yet arrived.
Then one day, quite late in the month, she gets a shock, for she hears he has left the Territory, having sold his mine to an English company for a large sum of money, and that they have even now come to take possession of it.
Travenion, having also got the same news, says to her, shortly: "Generosity did not do much good with young Mr. Harry Ingrate—did it?"
And she, being stung with misery, jeers her father, and herself also, for that matter, "Yes, the daughter of Tranyon, the Mormon bishop, has no longer a hold upon the Gentile's heart! Perchance he thinks I should wed in my own faith?"
Then she falters out of the house, and, alone by herself, among some piñon-pines that grow on the hillside, tears come into her lovely eyes, for she feels herself cut off forever from the bright world in which she once lived, and mutters: "Is this rough mining camp a dream; or were Newport yachting parties and Delmonico balls hallucinations?"
But this brings the matter first to climax and then to catastrophe. The girl treats with greathauteurand angry scorn Kruger, who would be devoted to her, if she would but let him, for, curiously enough, this old polygamist, for the first time in his life, is in love, as much as a Mormon can be, with this elusive butterfly who dodges his net and mocks his pursuit. Under the plea of business he suddenly goes away.
Then Ralph, coming to Erma, says: "Now is our time. We leave in a day or two!"
But before they have completed their preparations, Kruger, who has driven rapidly to Salt Lake City, and as rapidly returned, comes suddenly into Travenion's mining office, where he and his daughter have been discussing their preparations for departure.
Perhaps some evidences of their intentions are about the room, for Lot jovially remarks: "Packing up, Ralph! That's right; they will be wanting ye in Salt Lake soon. I've brought a communication from the head of the Church."
"Oh!" says Travenion, feigning a lightness that he does not feel. "What does the Lord say, through Brigham Young, his prophet? Erma, just wait for me outside. I'll go down with you to the hotel in a moment."
Acting on the hint, Miss Travenion leaves the house, and stands waiting for her father; and waits, and waits until darkness comes upon the scene, and voices in excitement come out of the thinly boarded building. Actuated by an anxious curiosity she cannot control, the young lady draws nearer to the house, and through its thin walls come to her these words: "It's no good discussin' the matter further, Bishop Tranyon. The Church orders you two things. One is to pay the one hundred thousand dollars tithing you owe to it——"
"Haven't I told you that I have no ready money?" cries Ralph. "Isn't this lawsuit taking every cent I can spare?"
"Yer duty to yer Church is fust, my friend!" answers Lot. "Besides, what yer tellin' me ain't true. Up at the city they know you've discontinued the lawsuit, and have given that d—mned Captain Lawrence"—he grinds the words out between his clenched teeth—"a quit-claim deed to his mine. Perhaps you thought you'd give him yer darter also; but he's gone away to Europe, I reckon, and busted that plan."
Ralph does not answer him, and he goes on: "The Church says it will take yer one hundred thousand dollars tithing in stock of the Utah Central at fifty."
"At fifty!" screams Travenion, forgetting himself in rage. "Why, it's worth one hundred and fifty. I've been offered that for it by the—" But he remembers, and says no more.
"By the Union Pacific Railway!" ejaculates Kruger sternly. "Ye've been dickering with them for that stock! Ye want to sell the Church out of control of that road!"
"As God is above me, that is not true!"
"Swear it, R. H. Tranyon! Swear it by Joseph Smith, the prophet of the Lord!" cries Kruger, in his fanaticism prescribing an oath that is very easy for Travenion to take.
"I do," he answers, "by Joseph Smith, the prophet of the Lord!"
"Then I believe ye. No one could take that affidavit and lie!" says Lot, devoutly.
A second after, he goes on suddenly and suspiciously: "But it is reported, among the Saints in the city, you're getting lukewarm in the faith, R. H."
"And you, Lot—what did you say?" asks Travenion anxiously.
"I said it was a confounded lie! That there wa'n't a truer Mormon than R. H. Tranyon on the 'arth! Tell me so yerself;" and the voice of the man becomes pleading as he continues: "We have been pards so long I wouldn't like to cut ye off."
"I swear it!" gasps Ralph. "I'm a true Mormon!" For now he is sure that the man appointed to be his destroying angel stands before him.
"You can prove it!"
"How?"
"You've a little lamb down here——"
"My God!"
"Make a sacrifice of her to the Lord! Let Ermie take her endowments, and the Church and I will believe ye're true to the faith of Joseph Smith, the prophet, and Hyrum, his brother."
To this Tranyon makes no reply for one second. Then he mutters suddenly and brokenly: "Tell them I'll pay my tithing with the Utah Central stock."
"At fifty?"
"Yes, at any figure they like; only, for God's sake, leave my daughter out of this business. I'll bring it with me!"
"Ah, that 'ere stock's down here!" says Kruger suddenly. "Now you're coming round, bishop, to the demands of the Church, I'll tell you some good news I have for you. They're goin' to make you a missionary to England!"
"Aha! before the election in the Utah Central?"
"Yes; the Church will vote the rest of yer stock for ye."
"But my daughter!" falters Travenion. "I can't leave her!"
"Don't have no fear for her, bishop! I'll look after her as if she was my own." And Kruger's orbs light with sudden passion. "I've been keepin' my eyes on her. She's a——"
But he says no more, for Erma Travenion sweeps in between the men, with such a look in her blazing eyes that they both fall back from her.
She cries, "Father, you paynotithing to the Mormon Church. Your daughter takesnoneof its vile mysteries of endowment!"
"Quit yer blasphemy of the Church of Zion!" yells Kruger to the girl. Then he turns on Travenion and rebukes him sternly, "Bishop, your darter's been brought up wrong! She's too high-spir'ted and wayward! I never 'low no woman in my household—wife or darter—to lift up her voice ag'in me and my doin's. If Miss Upity were my gal I'd take the blaspheming out of her with a heavy hand."
But here astonishment comes on Erma. Her father says: "Kruger, you're right! My daughter has been brought up wrong! I now see my error in not bringing her into the true faith. She shall take her endowments!"
"First kill me!" cries the girl, who cannot believe what she hears.
"Kill ye!" answers Lot. "Why, it will be the making of ye. Saving yer soul from perdition, is yer daddy's duty, my child."
"Saving my soul?" screams Erma. "Saving my soul?—by making me one of your horrible sect that degrades both women and men also by its bestial creed!" And indignation makes her beauty greater than it was before—so great that fanatic Lot's eyes grow as bright as hers, though with a different gleam.
But her father stops more, by saying hastily: "Kruger, go up to Salt Lake. Tell them I'll pay my tithing in the Central stock at their figure. Tell them I'll vote the balance as they please, and my daughtershalltake her endowments!"
"Swear 't as you hope for Heaven!" cries Lot.
"As I hope for the Mormon paradise!" answers Travenion.
At this the girl gives two awful gasps; one—"Deserted by the man I once thought loved me!"—the other—"Betrayed by my father."
And the two men leaving her, she sinks down, dumb with despair. After a moment their footsteps pass down the trail.
In a few minutes, thought and movement coming to their victim, she rises, and staggering to the door to make some wild effort to fly, is met by her father, who whispers to her: "Forgive me!"
"Promising me to the degradation of the Mormon Church. How can I forgive that?" Then she sighs, "How could my father do this?"
"For both our lives!" he whispers. "Kruger has gone to Salt Lake. I have a certain plan for our escape;" and would put his arms about her and soothe her.
But the girl bursts from him, sobbing wildly. And he bends over her, trying to comfort her, and sobbing also: "It was for both our lives! Erma, darling, could you not see it? Don't you know that I would die for you!" Then he mutters, "It would have been a pity if, for a few words, we had lost our opportunity to—defeat this Mormon rustic—we, whose intellects have been sharpened in the outside world. What is pride against success? Be a woman of sense as well as of emotions. Pardon me using diplomacy in my extremity. Aid me to carry out my plan!"
And she remembering that this man is her father and has, up to the present time, treated her as the daughter of his pride and love, queries, "How? What plan?" then mutters despairingly: "What matter; you have given him your oath."
"Pish! By my hope of the Mormon Heaven," he jeers; then whispers in a voice whose earnestness compels attention: "Kruger has gone to Salt Lake to tell them of my submission. To-morrow morning you leave,without me, for Salt Lake City; with you shall go my stock in the Utah Central Railroad. When there, express that stock to my order at San Francisco, by Wells, Fargo & Co., taking their receipt for the same by certificate numbers and valuing it at five hundred thousand dollars. I'll risk W. F. & Co. standing the Mormon Church off for half a million, for I'll pay no more tithing to Brigham Young." And he grinds his teeth, thinking of what he has already paid.
"But I may be cut off on the road!" falters Erma.
"No, there is no chance of that," he answers; next cries: "Good God! you don't think I would put peril on you! Listen how I have guarded you." Then he hastily explains that she is to travelviaTooele, which will prevent any chance of Kruger's meeting her as he returns from his errand—for Lot always comes to Tintic by the shorter Lake road; that two Gentile miners, whom Ralph can trust, will guard her to Salt Lake City; that Kruger, on his return to Eureka, will find them both gone, and will try to follow his, Travenion's, track, for he will, of course, imagine they have fledtogether; that he will be sure to follow him, for Bishop R. H. Tranyon can be easily tracked, being well known all over the Territory, having time and again preached at Conference to Mormons who have come to the Tabernacle from the south and the north, the east and the west. "In finding me he will think to find you—so you at least will be safe," chuckles Ralph. Then he says earnestly: "As soon as you are in Salt Lake, take the train to Ogden, and then the U. P. Railroad, and get to New York as quickly as you can. There I will meet you!"
"But you—what of you? While I seek safety, you sacrifice yourself?" dissents the young lady, noting her father's idea tends to her escape, not his.
"That is the craftiness of my plan!" grins Travenion. "When Lot returns to Tintic I shall have also disappeared!"
"Where?"
"Into the bottom of my deserted mine!" chuckles her father. "No one will think of looking for me there. I have already stored the place with all the luxuries and comforts of life. While Kruger is seeking for me all over the Territory, arousing his Mormon fanatics to inflict upon me 'the vengeance of the Lord,' I shall be having a very comfortable time of it," sneers Ralph. "After he has gone, perhaps to the far southern settlements, to cut me off there, I shall come out and drive very quietly to the railroad, and take train for California or Omaha, whichever seems most safe."
"But they may recognize you in Salt Lake City!" suggests Erma.
"Hardly. I shall travel at night the entire way to Ogden, not even entering Salt Lake. Besides, the Church has put this matter into Kruger's hands, and will not interfere in his business, and Kruger will be away. I know the peculiar methods my saintly associates have in these affairs—they want to punish only at second hand. No suspicion must fall upon apostles' heads; that might mean punishment from the government of the United States. Now," he says shortly, "will you do what I have explained to you for my sake—for your own safety?"
And the girl cries eagerly: "Yes! Anything to escape from this accursed land."
That night Ralph makes his preparations, and before daylight next morning he says to his daughter, who has already breakfasted, "Come with me. The wagon is at the foot of the hill."
Getting into the street, which is dark and deserted at this early hour and has quite a little fall of snow on it, November having far advanced, and Thanksgiving day being already celebrated, they move along the road towards Silver City; the only noise coming to them being occasional firing from Eureka Hill, where the fighting men of that company are exchanging playful shots with the guards of the King David, just to remind their employers that a raise in their salaries will be agreeable.
After fifteen minutes' walk they come to the hill on which the Zion's Co-operative deserted mine is located. At the foot of this is Travenion's light express wagon, drawn by a strange team of broncos, two men standing by it. Then Ralph says easily: "This is Patsey Bolivar, and this, Pioche George. Gentlemen, this is my daughter whom you have promised to take care of."
"We'll see the young lady through," remarks Patsey, taking off his hat.
And noting Erma has started back, for she has recognized her selected escorts as two of the most ferocious fighters in the camp, Pioche George, as he doffs his sombrero, remarks: "We look a leetle rough, miss, but you'll find us very tender of you, and very tough to your enemies—eh, Patsey?"
To which Bolivar cries cheerily: "No coppers on us!"
"Oh, papa's selection proves that," says Miss Travenion, who has looked into these gentlemen's eyes and feels confident of them as she gives these two fighting men her hand, so affably and trustfully that she binds them to her—even to life and death.
Then Ralph remarks: "I wish to take my daughter with me up to my mine; would one of you come with us to take her down? I shall bid her good-bye, there."
"With pleasure, bishop," replies one desperado.
But the other laughs, "Quit calling him bishop. He's repented and become a Christian like us!"
For Travenion has been compelled to take these men partially into his trust, which he has done quite confidently, knowing he has paid them well, and after having taken his money they can be bought by no one else, the code of morals of the Western mine fighter being very definite on this point.
So, followed by Pioche George, Patsey Bolivar remaining to look after the team, Ralph assists Erma up the hill.
In a few minutes father and daughter are standing in the ore house on the dump pile of the now deserted Zion's Co-operative Mine, their accompanying fighting man remaining outside, "to give 'em a chance to be confidential."
Ralph whispers, "I'll go down and get the stock."
But Erma says suddenly, "Let me go with you. I must see that you are comfortable during your retreat from the world."
"I rather think I've looked out for myself pretty thoroughly," laughs Travenion, who seems in very good spirits, the strain of waiting having passed from his mind. Then he goes on earnestly, "God bless you, Erma, for thinking of me. Come down and see what I've done for myself. I can give you the stock there just as well as here."
So, lighting a candle for her, and guiding her steps very carefully, Ralph assists his daughter down the incline, and the two shortly come to the station, and turning along the level that runs away from the Mineral Hill Mine, Ralph pauses at the fourth set of timbers and laughs, "What do you say to this for a bachelor's apartment?"
To this his daughter cries, "Oh, sybarite!—you've even got champagne and dried buffalo tongues."
As he has, a dozen pints of Veuve Clicquot, likewise Château Margaux, as well as a couple of boxes of rare Havanas, and canned provisions; a soft mattress and warm blankets; a chair to sit upon, half a dozen novels and some current literature to kill time with, lots of candles to illuminate his retreat, and plenty of water in a small barrel.
"I'll be pretty comfortable here, I imagine," he says, contemplatively.
"No, you'll be cold," answers the young lady.
"Cold?—a hundred feet under the ground? This depth is the perfection of climate. It is neither too warm in summer nor too frigid in winter. I shall be very snug down here," he remarks; then chuckles, "while my friend Kruger is hunting for me through snow-storms and blizzards on the outer earth."
"Still it seems horrible," mutters the girl with a shudder, "for you to be buried under the ground. The air——"
"Is excellent!" interrupts Ralph, tapping the tin air-pipe with his hand. "This is a natural draught—not enough for twenty or thirty men working down here unless the fan is in operation, but lots for two or three. See how brightly my candles burn!" Then he says sharply, "We've no time to lose. Pioche George will be getting impatient up-stairs. Hold a candle for me, my darling!"
With a pick-axe he has brought down with him, he exhumes from underneath the fourth set of timbers a small iron box, strongly secured by padlock, and giving it with its key to Erma, says: "Do as I have directed with this. It is the Utah Central stock."
Then, for the parting is coming, she falters: "Father, when will you join me?"
"As soon as you are surely safe and out of this accursed Territory, and Kruger has disappeared, pursuing me with his Mormon bloodhounds."
A second after, he bursts out, as if a great relief has come upon him, from throwing off the bonds that have held him so long: "Oh, how I have scoffed them in my heart, as I have preached their religious bosh at Conference and ward meeting, all these years. Won't this be a great story to tell in the Unity Club, New York, to my old chums, De Punster and Van Beekman, Travis and Larry Jerry, and the rest of the boys? How they will shriek at Ralph Travenion, the swell, having been a Mormon! Won't the champagne flow to my plural marriages? Egad! it's worth while to take these risks, to have such a royal story to tell!"
"Hush!" cries his daughter, sternly. "Remember the poor women you are deserting." A moment after she says more slowly, "They must be provided for as soon as you are safe."
"Oh, they will have plenty," answers Ralph. Then he bursts out again, "I leave too much behind. When I think of what I have paid, year by year, as tithing to the infernal Mormon Church, I curse it. But they are tricked at the last. I'll sell the control of their pet railroad out of their hands. Hang them, I could dance for joy!"
With these words, the old beau skips with a waltz step to the bottom of the incline. Then they ascend, the rope aiding their steps, and the pitch not being very steep, to the outer air, and the time has come to say farewell.
Pointing to a white-topped wagon at the bottom of the hill, Travenion says: "Quick! Give your father a kiss, and pray for his safety."
The girl answers: "One hundred!" and throws herself into his arms, and murmuring: "You are the only man who ever loved me—the only one! Mormon that you have been—polygamist that you are—you are the only one who's left to me!"
For she has been looking at the shaft of the Mineral Hill Mine, upon which the English company are now commencing to work, and her thoughts are on the man who she feels has deserted her.
Then, as Ralph embraces her, a shudder runs through her; but it is not of cold, though snow is falling, but it is the chill of her heart as she thinks: "But for this man, whose lips are now pressed to mine, Harry Lawrence would not despise me!"
But Travenion mutters in her ear: "It is late now—you must leave at once, for the days are quite short!" and beckons Pioche George to approach.
"You can trust us, bishop, to take her through," George remarks, noticing the old man's agitation as he gives the daughter of his heart his last kiss.
Then Erma hurries down the hill, and he, sitting on the deserted dump pile of his mine, watches her until Pioche George lifts her into the wagon and it drives away over the snow-white road, making across the West Tintic Valley, and so towards Ophir and Tooele, for Travenion has directed them to go by this somewhat roundabout road, to avoid any chance of meeting Kruger, perhaps even now returning from his errand to the heads of the Mormon theocracy in Salt Lake.
Looking on this he says: "She is safe!" and laughs: "I will be safe myself, shortly! Now for my bachelor quarters!" and goes slowly again into the mine.
About half way down the incline he starts, pauses, and listens, muttering: "I thought I heard a noise." Then sneers at himself, "Some stone touched by your foot—you're weak-kneed, Ralph."
Continuing his descent and holding his candle in front of him, he comes to his quarters, where he says, looking about: "This is a pretty comfortable spot to kill time by champagne, a weed, and a novel."
Which he does, lighting one or two more candles, to give him better illumination, then gently sipping the Clicquot, between puffs of a Bouquet Especial, as he turns over the leaves of a new French romance, which seems to amuse him greatly.
And all the while, from the darkness of the level, beyond the incline, two red eyes glare at this sybarite as he chuckles over the jokes of Monsieur Paul de Kock.
Turning his back to the incline, in order to get a better light upon his novel, Ralph sits chuckling over the queer conceits of the gifted Frenchman—the red eyes all the while coming nearer to him.
As Travenion laughs again, a heavy step sounds behind him, and the great red eyes are at his shoulder, looking over the volume with him, and he springs up with a shriek, for Kruger's voice is in his ears crying, "Doomed by the Church!"
Then this Mormon fanatic is upon him, seizing his arms, and bruising his more tender flesh, chuckling: "What's champagne muscle to grass-fed muscle, you dainty cur of New York!"
And though Travenion fights as men only fight who are fighting for their lives, he pinions him and makes him helpless, and dashes him brutally down.
Looking at him, the old club man, who was once a Mormon bishop, tries his last diplomacy. He gasps between white lips and chattering teeth: "This—to a man who has been your chum—your companion—who is your brother in the Church."
"Whowasmy brother in the Church!" cries Lot. "But we'll discuss the affair a leetle. With ye're permission, I'll liquor."
Knocking the head off a bottle of Clicquot, he quaffs it greedily; the one Ralph was drinking from having been thrown down in the struggle.
Throwing the bottle away; as it crashes to the other end of the level, he remarks with a hideous leer: "Now we'll come to biz once more!"
But Ralph answers him nothing.
Then Lot laughs: "You walked into yer own trap. You thought I'd gone to Salt Lake, but I reckoned from yer break-out of last night that yer Utah Central stock, which the Mormon Church needs and will have, was here in yer possession, an' made up my mind to locate it. I knew it wa'n't in yer safe, 'cause I'd seen that open too often lately. I reckoned it was right in this mine, and I'd been hunting over this place all night without success. But in the mornin' I heard a noise on the trail, and I seed ye and yer darter comin' up, an' I knowed what yer'd come for! An' when yer come down in the mine, I come down aleetleahead of yer, and spied on yer from that drift, an' seed yer give that stock to Ermie to take away. But I'll 'tend to her afterwards."
To this Travenion sighs: "My daughter!"
But Kruger goes on savagely: "I would have shot yer while yer were profanin', if it hadn't been I didn't want to shock her by her seein' yer die. But now, I love yer so well, R. H. Tranyon, I'm goin' to fix ye!"
With this, he takes the case of wine and hurls it to the other end of the incline. There's a crash, and Margaux and Clicquot trickle over the stones of the mine.
Then he cries: "Yer won't need this!" and throwing over the keg of water, it runs to waste upon the earth.
"Neither will ye want pervisions!" and he tosses the old club man's dainties into the sink of the mine at the bottom of the incline, keeping a big buffalo tongue, which he bites and eats, talking after this, with his mouth full, which makes him more hideous and awful, as he jeers: "I ain't had no breakfast—I'm foragin' on the enemy of the Lord."
"My God! What do you mean to do?" gasps Travenion, who has looked on with eyes that are growing bloodshot.
"Cut ye off behind the ears—make a blood atonement of ye! You've been so crafty about this, no one will ever know you're down here to hunt ye up."
Then running up the incline, Lot loads the two cars standing at the surface, with great masses of rock and boulders, fanaticism giving him increased strength. Letting them run down, he unloads them, and once more does the same, unheeding the cries of the man helpless in the level below.
When he has done enough of this, he cuts the cars loose at the surface, and they come crashing down, and block up the incline. Then he comes down again himself and piles the boulders he has already let down, on top of the wrecked cars, blocking Travenion from the outer world.
Noting his purpose, Ralph staggers up, bound as he is, and prays: "Not that! Shoot me—kill me another way! For God's sake,not that!"
But Kruger cries: "Powder and lead cost money! The Church is too poor to give ye an easy atonement." And he piles the rocks up to the pleading wretch's shoulders.
A moment after, he blows out every candle, save one, to light him in the finishing touches of his awful work; when, desperately struggling, Travenion drags himself to the barrier, and screams: "My God! You are mad—you don't know what you do! I'm your old friend and chum!"
"I'm sacrificin' you here on the altar, where I heerd ye blaspheme your religion an' your prophets! That's what I'm doin'!"
"Mercy! Not this death!" gasp the white lips, and bloodshot eyes beseech the executioner, looking over the barrier rising steadily between them.
"Ye've been given into my hands by Jehovah and Brigham, both of whom ye've blasphemed!" cries Kruger, piling the barrier up to the shuddering man's neck.
Then he goes on in savage mockery. "Ye'll tell no funny anecdotes and sacrilegious jokes about our president, Brigham Young, and our prophet, Joseph Smith! Champagne won't flow over yer infamous apostasy, in the Unity Club. It will be a rare tale to tell yer chums Von Punster and De Beekman, and Travis, an' Larry Jerry, of how yer made a mockery of our sainted religion, an' jeered us, even when ye preached from our altars! But ye'll never tell it! 'Dead men tell no tales!'"
Then the barrier is up to Ralph Travenion's face, which is now pale as the flickering candle that lights its agonies. Over this face comes one pang more cruel than the others, and the white lips sigh, "My daughter!"
"Yer darter—that's the p'int! I'll look after her salvation. She shall be a lamb of Zion. I'll take her right into my sheepfold."
"Powers of Heaven! What do you mean?" And the wall now rises above his mouth.
"I sha'n't be hard on her," mocks Kruger. "I'll spare her herding and cattle work. She shall do chores round the house. I'll be light on her, I will, bishop, for I mean—" He whispers three words into the fainting wretch's ear, who reels back from him and shrieks: "MY GOD! NOT THAT!"
To his scream, the crashing sounds of rocks and a big boulder make answer, and the light of this outer world leaves Ralph Travenion, and footsteps are heard passing away along the echoing level, and up the incline, and the old club exquisite, bound and helpless, is left alone in darkness—not to the torture of hunger, for of that he thinks not—not to the torment of thirst, for of that he cares not—not to the despair of certain death, though that has come upon him—but to the agony of fearing that the daughter of his heart may by some art or trick taste the awful degradation of plural marriage, such as he as Mormon bishop has preached and sanctified and has meted out to the daughters of other men.