“Sir,” replied Grenville, moved by the kindly manner of the patriarch as no threats would ever have moved him, “I appreciate your kind wishes, and God forbid I should insult the beard of a man old enough to be my grandsire, but I regard your faith and your own exalted office here with utter abhorrence and loathing. I have a most healthy contempt for your laws and your nation, and having the courage of my opinions I prefer to die for them.”
The old prophet eyed him sadly for a moment; then his face grew stem, and drawing himself up proudly, “’Tis well,” he said, “ere long, foolish headstrong youth, thou wilt regret thine impetuosity. At sundown, three days hence, you die by the rifle—farewell.” Then touching a small gong, “Guards, remove the prisoner;” and as he noted the looks of the officer directed at Warden’s corpse lying in a pool of blood, “Brother Harper, remove this body, and see that the Saints are notified of the decease of a member of the Holy Trinity, and the necessity of choosing out one of the elect to supply his place.”
The officer merely bowed, and the guard then removed Grenville; but as soon as they got outside the officer turned to his prisoner, asking eagerly, “Did you kill yonder fiend?”
“I did,” replied our hero coolly, “and I’m sure I never killed a greater scoundrel in all my life.”
In reply the officer seized Grenville’s hand and shook it heartily. “You are a plucky fellow,” he said; “if you have killed about half our people, you’ve prevented that scoundrel from making away with the other half. Tell me, did you shoot Radford Custance?”
“I did,” was the stern reply; “the coward struck a man who had his hands tied.”
“Well,” rejoined the other, “taken all through we owe you a debt of gratitude. It’s a shame to shoot you; but what must be—must be, you know.”
“Quite so,” responded Grenville, cheerfully, “don’t let us fall out over that; I see the necessity, I have done my work, and I am ready to go. But look here, my friend; your prophet—very nice old chap he is, too—told me I was to die by the rifle. Now as you’ve no powder, how will you work it? Shall I give you a line to my people asking them to let you have a flask of your own powder for the occasion?”
“See here,” replied the officer, “I owe you some information, and as you are to die I don’t mind telling you we have just twelve charges of powder left in the whole community, and as you’ve used up all the rest we’ve decided to give you the benefit of what little we have left—it’s a great compliment, let me tell you.”
Thus laughing and talking they drew near the prison; but though Grenville had engaged in conversation with the Mormon, he had nevertheless been straining every faculty to try and discover the whereabouts of his Zulu friend. Nowhere, however, could he see him or detect any sign of his presence.