“Well, boy? The cat got your tongue? Are you a Mormon or ain’t you?”
Peter looked straight into the bloodshot eyes. “No, sir, I am not a Mormon.”
The man’s eyes widened slightly. “Oh,” he grunted, clearly disappointed.
Before he could say anything more, Peter went on calmly. “There is no such thing as a Mormon. That’s merely a nickname people give us. But if you’re asking me if I am a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, then the answer is yes. I am that, and proud of it.”
The man stepped back. For just a flickering moment, there was admiration in his eyes; then they turned ugly. “Turner,” he snarled out of the corner of his mouth, “get some more rope. Our work here ain’t finished yet.”
* * *
“Them’s Peter’s boot tracks, sure as we’re standing here,” Matthew said excitedly.
Nathan went down into a crouch, looking at the marks in the soft earth of the roadside. “And they’re over the top of the horse’s trail. I think you’re right, Matthew. This has got to be Peter.” He stood, looking around. “It looks like they headed for the river.” He blew out his breath, trying not to be too discouraged as he let his eyes run along the endless string of trees that stretched out in both directions. “It’s a long shot, but it’s a place to start.”
“Nathan, look!”
He turned. Matthew was staring up at their horses. Both animals had turned their heads to the right, and their ears were cocked forward. They were listening intently.
Nathan grabbed for the reins. “Let’s go!”
As they approached the tree line at a steady trot, suddenly a dark shadow moved among the brush at the edge of the line. Nathan stared, not sure if it was man or animal. Then there was a flash and a puff of smoke. “Watch out!” Nathan screamed. The sound of the rifle’s explosion hit them a second later.
Nathan reacted instantly, dropping low over the saddle, knowing even as he did so that if the man hadn’t fired hastily, there would be no reaction at all now. The shadow had dropped to one knee, and Nathan realized he was going to reload. He dug his heels into the flanks of the horse. “Let’s go, Matthew! After him!”
Nathan raised his own rifle and fired, knowing there was no hope of hitting the man at this distance and from the back of a horse. But all he wanted to do was scare him off, and that he did. He saw the man leap up, spin around, and disappear into the trees.
* * *
Derek reined up sharply and stood up in the stirrups. “Did you hear that?”
Lyman Wight didn’t have to answer. “No more than a quarter mile I’d say,” he blurted. “Let’s go!”
In an instant, six horses were stretched out, hooves pounding as they raced northward across the prairie toward the trees that lined Grand River.
* * *
When they reached the brush and trees, Nathan and Matthew pulled up sharply. They swung down, weapons ready, searching the undergrowth with anxious eyes. Both they and the horses were breathing hard. Suddenly there was a noise off to their left. They swung around.
“There they go!” Matthew shouted, pointing. About fifty yards away, two horsemen burst from cover. They were both low in the saddle and whipping the reins back and forth against their horses.
Matthew lowered his rifle, feeling his shoulders sag. “I don’t think they want any more fight,” he breathed.
“I think you’re right,” Nathan said, wanting to laugh with the relief that was suddenly hitting him. And then he had a thought. “Let’s go see what those two were up to.”
They had gotten only a short distance when Matthew stopped, holding up his hand. “Listen!”
They both turned and again the sound came. It was faint but unmistakable. “Help! Help!”
* * *
The cold was biting now, and Peter’s teeth were starting to chatter. He was also shivering violently. He kept telling himself his trembling was only from the cold, but he knew better. He kept twisting around, in spite of the biting pain where the ropes dug into his wrists, trying to see what was happening. His captors had just gotten him stripped to the waist and tied to the cottonwood tree when one of them shouted something about someone coming. They had both grabbed their rifles and gone running off.
Then there had been two shots—one close, one more distant—followed by the sounds of men and horses running.
Suddenly he froze. Behind him, a twig had snapped. Instantly his pulse was pounding wildly again. His eyes were wide and frightened. He leaned forward against the tree, pretending he hadn’t heard. There was the rustling of dry leaves. Closer now. He closed his eyes, not wanting to see.
“Peter?”
His eyes flew open and his head snapped around. The ropes bit hard into his wrists, but he was barely aware of them. He was staring in dumbfounded shock. “Nathan?” His knees gave way and he sagged downward, suddenly so giddy that he thought he would faint. “Matthew?” he whispered.
In three great leaps, Nathan was to him, whipping out his pocketknife. “It’s all right, Peter. We’re here. We’re here.”
Peter was half laughing, half crying. He felt the ropes bite deeper for a second and winced, but then he was free. His knees felt like rubber as Nathan dragged him up and threw his arms around him. Matthew was to them both, trying to get his arms around Peter and Nathan all together.
“How did you two—”
Nathan swung around as there was the crashing of someone coming through the brush. He started to grab for his rifle, then saw there was no need. He stepped back as Derek hurtled through the last stand of undergrowth and picked Peter up in a crushing bear hug.
When they finally pulled apart, the smile on Peter’s face died. “Brother Sterling is right over there. He needs help.”
* * *
They stopped where the wagon track from Daviess County joined the road running east and west between Haun’s Mill and Far West. It was about half an hour before sundown, and the whole western sky was filled with the softness of muted sunlight. The heavy overcast was gone now, but there was still a high, thin layer of clouds that filtered the lowering sun.
Derek and Rebecca were on the wagon seat. Peter was sitting just behind them, next to the pitifully small pile of belongings they had taken from the sod hut. Matthew’s horse—or better, Heber C. Kimball’s horse—had been hitched to the wagon. Nathan and Matthew were riding double on Nathan’s horse. No trace of Derek’s horse had been found.
Matthew slid off, then Nathan swung his leg over the saddle and did the same. They stretched, letting the kinks from almost twenty-four straight hours in the saddle work themselves out a little. Then Nathan led the horse forward and tied the reins to the back of the wagon.
“You sure you don’t want to keep him?” Derek asked.
“No,” Nathan answered. “These horses are completely beat. It’s only a few miles to Haun’s Mill. Then we’ll have John’s team and wagon to come back.”
Rebecca looked down at her brothers. She tried to smile, but she was so filled with gratitude that she was nearer to tears. “You both look as tired as the horses. Maybe you ought to come home first, then go back tomorrow.”
Matthew shook his head. “Last night Pa said it was important that we leave immediately.” He turned and grinned at Peter. “I think we all know why now. But we’re not through until we have Jessica and John back with us too.”
“You’ll be all right now,” Nathan said, the weariness showing in the lines of his face. “It’s only an hour to Far West, and the mobbers haven’t dared come this close yet. One of us would go with you the rest of the way, but Pa said me and Matthew are to stay together no matter what.”
“We’ll be fine,” Derek said. His eyes softened, remembering the feelings that had swept over him when he saw Peter standing there, bare to the waist, with Nathan and Matthew trying to hug him. He also remembered what Brother Sterling’s back and face had looked like and knew that Peter had come within minutes, if not seconds, of sharing in that condition. He swallowed at the sudden lump in his throat. “Really, we’ll be fine.”
Nathan nodded. “Tell Pa that we won’t risk running into any Missourians tonight. We’re going to hole up somewhere once it get’s dark, then go the rest of the way in the morning. So it will be late afternoon or early tomorrow night before we’ll be back. Also, tell Mother and Lydia not to worry. Everything’s going to be fine now.”
“We will,” Rebecca said. Then suddenly the tears she had held in since the moment she had returned to find Peter gone spilled over. She stood up, turned, and quickly climbed down from the wagon. Then with her head held high, not even trying to wipe at the streaks on her face, she walked to her brothers, reaching out her hands. She clasped Nathan and Matthew tightly, and for a minute they all stood there awkwardly, in a rough circle bound together by love. “Thank you,” she finally managed. “Thank you both for coming for us.”
* * *
“Yes, sir,” Joshua said, standing at attention. “You sent for me, sir?”
“I did,” General Atchison said. “At ease, Steed. Sit down for a few minutes.”
Joshua did so, a little surprised. Atchison was usually very formal with him.
“Have you heard the news?”
Joshua’s head came up. He knew about the clash at Crooked River, but that news had come in four days previously. And Atchison knew he knew about that. From the gravity he could see in the officer’s eyes, Joshua sensed that this was not going to be good.
Softly, with obvious reluctance and open disgust, Atchison told Joshua of the news that had just reached Richmond. He did not have written confirmation, but the word was undoubtedly true: Governor Boggs had ordered the Mormons driven from the state or exterminated.
Joshua was stunned and sickened, not wanting to accept what Atchison was saying, but knowing full well it was true.
Atchison sat back and laughed in self-derision. “General Clark has also been given command of the militia.”
Joshua’s head came up at that. “But you’re senior to Clark, sir.”
Atchison laughed again, this time bitterly. “I’ve been what you could call ‘dismounted.’ I think His Excellency is afraid that I’m too sympathetic to the Mormons. Where Doniphan and I have served as legal counsel to Joseph Smith . . .” He didn’t finish. There wasn’t any need to. “Clark will have General Lucas with him. They’ll have about two thousand men.”
Lucas!
Joshua had ridden with Lucas when they drove the Mormons from Jackson County. Lucas was unbendable when it came to the Mormon problem. He and Boggs were old cronies. Exterminate them or drive them from the state. It was the kind of order Lucas would relish. It made Joshua’s stomach churn to think of what Lucas would say when he heard it.
He looked up, realizing Atchison was speaking to him.
“—understand how you feel, Steed. I’ve been willing to keep you out of the north so you wouldn’t have to face it directly. But that’s not possible anymore. The militia is headed for Far West. I won’t be going as yet. But I want you to join Lucas’s group.”
“But, sir—”
Atchison raised one hand. “You go with Lucas. If you’re going to do any good for your family, it’s not going to be down here. Besides, I need someone I can trust. We’ll do what we can to keep this thing from getting totally out of hand.”
* * *
“I don’t care what kind of agreement you’ve made with this Jennings,” Nathan exploded. “John, it is not safe out here.”
John Griffith was a short man, and quiet. Usually he was content to sit and listen at the family gatherings, speaking only rarely. But beneath that quiet exterior there was a firm-minded, unbendable will. He shook his head. “Colonel Jennings is the sheriff of Livingston County. He also commands the militia there. He and Brother Haun struck a deal. A treaty. As long as we don’t take arms against the people around here, they’ll leave us alone. He promised to do his best to prevent any hostilities.”
“And you believe that?” Nathan shouted.
Jessica reached up and touched his arm. She and John were seated at the table. Matthew had collapsed in a chair. Nathan stood near the table, towering over them. “Nathan,” she soothed, “we know your concern, but Mr. Jennings seems like an honorable man. He gave us his word.”
Nathan threw his hands up, whirling away. “I can’t believe this. I just can’t believe it.” He spun back, really angry now. “It’s one o’clock in the afternoon. Matthew and me started at dawn this morning to try and get here. Do you know why it took until now? Because the whole countryside is crawling with men. Men with guns. Men with murder on their minds.”
Matthew turned to Jessica. “We saw one group who had their faces all painted like Indians. Whooping and hollering like savages.”
Neither John nor Jessica said anything.
Nathan decided to try a different tack. “And what about Brother Joseph?”
John turned, looking surprised. “What about Brother Joseph?”
“Didn’t Brother Haun tell you?”
“Tell us what?” Jessica asked.
Nathan turned back, his mouth tight. “Day before yesterday, Joseph specifically warned Jacob Haun about your staying out here. He told him to bring you all into Far West until this is settled. Pa was there. He heard it all.”
Jessica looked at her husband, the concern pulling at the corners of her mouth. “Did you know that, John?”
He shook his head. “Brother Haun said nothing.”
Matthew jumped on that quickly. “Joseph’s the prophet. Are you going to ignore the counsel of the prophet?”
John sat back, clearly troubled now.
Nathan put his hands on the table and leaned over until he was looking right into his brother-in-law’s eyes. His voice went from anger to pleading now. “John, the whole countryside is aflame. I don’t know if we can even make it back. But we’ve got to try. Please, come home with us.”
John Griffith was staring at his hands. “Did you see those wagons and teams outside?”
“Yes.”
“Some new families arrived about noon yesterday, right after church services. Joseph Young, one of the seven Presidents of the Seventy, is the leader. They barely made it this far. A mob stopped them and turned them back. They also took their weapons.”