“No.”
“From Hyrum?”
“Not yet.”
“From that Daniel, then. Well, I will come to Captain Adams’ camp as often as I like, if with the Captain’s permission. And I shall come to see you, whether with his permission or not.”
“I don’t know,” she faltered. “I—you would 204 have helped me once, you say? And once you refused me. Would you help me next time?”
“As far as I could,” said I—another of those damned hedging responses that for the life of me I could not manipulate properly.
“Oh!” she cried. “Of course! The queen deceived you; now you are wise. You are afraid. But so am I. Horribly afraid. I have misplayed again.” She laughed bitterly. “I am with Daniel—it is to be Daniel and I in the Lion’s den. You know they call Brigham Young the Lion of the Lord. I doubt if even Rachael is angel enough.” She paused. “They’re going to make nooning, aren’t they? I mustn’t stay. Good-bye.”
I sprang to lift her, but with gay shake of head she slipped off of herself and landed securely.
“I can stand alone. I have to. Men are always ready to do what I don’t ask them to do, as long as I can serve as a tool or a toy. You will be very, very careful. Good-day, sir.”
She flashed just the trace of a smile; gathering her skirt she ran on, undeterred by the teamsters applauding her spryness.