He sank back, ashen white and still, and with a cry Nathaniel turned to the lieutenant. The officer ran forward with a flask in his hand.
"Give him this!"
The touch of liquor to Obadiah's lips revived him. He whispered weakly.
"The children, Nat—I tried to find them—and years after—I did—in Nauvoo. The man and woman who had killed the father in their own house had taken them and were raising them as their own. I went mad! Vengeance—vengeance—I lived for it, year after year. I wanted the children—but if I took them all would be lost. I followed them, watched them, loved them—and they loved me. I would wait—wait—until my vengeance would fall like the hand of God, and then I would free them, and tell them how beautiful their mother was. When Joseph Smith was killed and the split came the old folks followed Strang—and I—I too—"
He rested a moment, breathing heavily.
"I brought my Jean with me and buried her up there on the hill—the middle grave, Nat, the middle grave—Marion's mother."
Nathaniel pressed the liquor to the old man's lips again.
"My vengeance was at hand—I was almost ready—when Strang learned a part of the secret," he continued with an effort. "He found the old people were murderers. When Marion would not become his wife he told her what they had done. He showed her the evidence! He threatened them with death unless Marion became his wife. His sheriffs watched them night and day. He named the hour of their doom—unless Marion yielded to him. And to save them, her supposed parents—to keep the terrible knowledge of their crime from Neil—Marion—was—going—to—sacrifice—herself—when—"
Again he stopped. His breath was coming more faintly.
"I understand," whispered Nathaniel. "I understand—"