“Ho! Scared, are you? Well, I’ll do it myself. You don’t need to help.”
“Better let well enough alone, Brother Warren!” interposed Wright.
“But it ain’t well enough! Think of that girl going to a low cuss of a Gentile when Brigham wants her. Why, think of letting such a critter get away, even if Brigham didn’t want her!”
“You know they got Brother Brigham under indictment for murder now, account of that Aiken party.”
“What of it? He’ll get off.”
“That he will, but it’s because he’s Brigham. You ain’t. You’re just a south country Bishop. Don’t you know he’d throw you to the Gentile courts as a sop quicker’n a wink if he got a chance,—just like he’ll do with old John D. Lee the minute George A. peters out so the chain will be broke between Lee and Brigham?”
“And maybe this cuss has got friends,” suggested Glines.
“Who’d know but the girl?” Snow insisted. “And Brother Brigham would fix her all right. Is the household of faith to be spoiled?”
“Well, they got a railroad running through it now,” said Wright, “and a telegraph, and a lot of soldiers. So don’t you count on me, Brother Snow, at any stage of it now or afterwards. I got a pretty sizable family that would hate to lose me. Look out! Here he comes.”
Follett now came up, speaking in a cheerful manner that nevertheless chilled even the enthusiasm of the good Bishop Snow.