“Knew what!” interrupted the squatter. “What he intended for your daughter.”
“He air my daughter’s husband,” rejoined Holt, in a tone that betokened a mixture of bitterness and shame. “That was my fault, God forgi’ me!”
“He ain’t her husband—nothin’ o’ the kind. The marriage war a sham. He war takin’ poor Marian out thar for a diffrent purpose—an’ Lilian too.”
“For what purpose?” cried Holt, a new light seeming suddenly to break upon his mind.
“To make—” answered Wingrove hesitatingly. “I can’t say the word, Hick Holt, in presence o’ the girls—to make wives to the Mormon Prophet—that’s what he intended wi’ both o’ ’em.”
The scream that, like the neigh of an angry horse, burst from the lips of the squatter, drowned the last words of Wingrove’s speech; and simultaneously the report of a rifle pealed upon the air. A cloud of smoke for a moment enveloped Holt and his horse, from the midst of which came a repetition of that wild vengeful cry. At the same instant the steed of Stebbins was seen running riderless down the valley, while the Saint himself lay stretched, face upward, upon the sward! His body remained motionless. He was dead—a purple spot on his forehead showing where the fatal bullet had entered his brain!
The sisters had just time to shelter themselves behind the rocks when a volley from the Danites was poured upon us. Their shots fell harmlessly around; while ours, fired in return, had been better aimed; and another of these fearful men, dropping out of his saddle, yielded up his life upon the spot. The remaining five, seeing that the day had gone against them, wheeled suddenly about; and galloped back down the gorge—ten times faster than they had ridden up it. It was the last we saw of the Destroying Angels!
“O my children!” cried Holt, in a supplicating tone, as he staggered forward, and received both within his outstretched embrace, “will ye—can ye forgi’ me? O God! I’ve been a bad father to ye; but I knew not the wickedness o’ these Mormon people. No—nor half o’ his, till it war too late; an’ now—”
“And now, father!” said Marian, interrupting his contrite speech with a consoling smile, “speak not of forgiveness! There is nothing to forgive; and perhaps not much to regret: since the perils we have gone through, have proved our fidelity to one another. We shall return home all the happier, having escaped from so many dangers, dear father!”
“Ah, Marian, gurl, you don’t know all—we hev now no home to go to!”