There was one venerable old man, with snowy white hair; his age must have been quite eighty years, and his countenance, though stern, had a certain appearance of benevolence upon it. The next man—his son beyond a doubt—was possessed of all his father’s bad features without any of the good; taken all through, he had a cruel face and one which was, moreover, weak and vacillating, as well as sinister and sensual. The third member of this singular triumvirate was an enormous fellow, standing at least six feet three, and broad in proportion, a repulsive countenance, with villainy, murder, and rapine written upon every line of it—a man with the face of a satyr and the manners of a bear. Such was Ishmael Warden, the latter day Saint who clearly dominated the Mormon Trinity in East Utah.
For fully a minute Grenville waited the pleasure of his captors, and then the oldest member of the Trinity addressed him.
“What is your name, prisoner?” he asked.
“Richard Grenville, a subject of her Britannic Majesty,” was the answer, given in clear and contemptuous tones.
“You are accused of the crime of wilful murder, and will be tried in three days. Guards, remove prisoner.”
“And,” bellowed the Satyr, “if he should escape, remember your life goes for his.”
Grenville was then dragged away by his captors, who threw him into a damp underground cell, apparently cut out of the rock. Here, without food, water, or light, they left him, and, fastening the door upon him, placed an armed sentry outside.
As he was led away from the Common Hall, Grenville had noticed that the night had become clear and fine again, and through the grated door he could see the rays of silvery moonlight, and thought regretfully to himself that it was now shimmering down upon the plateau in all its radiant glory, and lighting up the anxious faces of the friends waiting for one who would return to them no more.
He thoroughly realised his awful position. The Mormon prophet’s words meant that in three days’ time Richard Grenville would be but dust and ashes, and that fearless and generous spirit of his would have returned to the God who gave it.
Even so, he had played for a desperate stake and won, but the victory was to be paid for with his life; a light price, it seemed to him, in return for the practical destruction of the Mormon town and the perfect future security of his own friends.