It was almost night. The horsemen made direct for their camp with their "prisoner of war," whom they had taken, not in arms, for he was aged, yet was he a soldier of the cross, ready to die for his faith.
Already had the veteran disciple been doomed by his captors. He was to be shot; one escape only had they reserved for him.
Before the mob tribunal stood the old man, calm and upright in his integrity, and resolved in his faith. No one was near to succor him. He stood alone, face to face with death, with those stern, cruel men, whose class had shown so little mercy in Missouri, massacring men, women and children, at Haun's Mill, and elsewhere about the same time.
Then the captain and his band demanded of the old man that he should swear there and then to renounce Jo. Smith and his d—d religion, or they would shoot him on the spot.
Drawing himself up with a lofty mien, and the invincible courage that the Mormons have always shown in their persecutions, the veteran answered: "I have not long to live. At the worst you cannot deprive me of many days. I will never betray or deny my faith which I know to be of God. Here is my breast, shoot away, I am ready to die for my religion!"
At this he bared his bosom and calmly waited for the mob to fire.
But the band was abashed at his fearless bearing and answer. For a time the captain and his men consulted, and then they told their prisoner that they had decided to give him till the morning to reconsider whether he would retract his faith or die.
Morning came. Again the old man was before the tribunal, fearless in the cause of his religion as he had been the previous night. Again came from him a similar answer, and then he looked for death, indeed, the next moment.
But he had conquered his captors, and the leader declared, with an oath: "Any man who can be so d—d true to any d—d religion, deserves to live!"
Thereupon the mob released the heroic disciple of Mormonism, and he returned to his home in safety.