All the powers of the young Danite were strung by excitement into the
fiercest vitality, and he thought that physical fatigue was the best
medicine for Susannah's mind. Why he had accepted the work of saving her
as part of his mission of Mormon defence he did not ask himself. In him,
as in many athletes, thought and action seemed one. He acted because he
acted; he knew no other reason.
In the middle of the night Susannah woke up. The stars glimmered above
the trees; she was lying on a heap of autumn leaves wrapped in the
blanket. Sitting up, she remembered slowly the events of the preceding
day.
Her movement had caused another movement at some distance. The Danite,
sleeping on the alert like soldier or huntsman, was roused by the first
sound she made, and when she continued to sit up he came near in the
glimmering light. She saw his dark form where he tarried a few paces
away.
"You're all safe, ma'am. Can't you go on sleeping?"
A watch of the night often brings to recollection some duty forgotten
during the day. "Do you know where Elvira Halsey is?"
"The young lady with the brown eyes that I have sometimes seen you with,
ma'am?"
"Yes." Then Susannah added with the weak detail of a wretched mind, "She
isn't very young."
"Was she any relation to you, ma'am? Were you very affectionate with
her?"
Susannah explained the relationship.
The Danite thought, "If I tell her she's there she'll think it her duty
to trapse back all the way to find her; she's that sort." Therefore,
judging that a minor grief could not make much difference, he gave it as
his opinion that Elvira was dead. At this Susannah shed tears for the
first time, which eased his anxiety not a little.
Susannah did not know the Danite's name; it never occurred to her to ask
him any question about himself.
At dawn they started again upon their tramp. The man knew the country,
and when the sun was up he brought Susannah out of the forest to a
settler's farm. She was faint now for want of food, walking again, as
she had walked last night, with vacant eyes and dull mechanical tread.
The Danite made her sit down upon a stone near the house, and brought a
woman to her who carried bread and milk. Susannah ate and drank without
speaking.
"My! but she's tired," said the farmer's wife. "It's a cruel shame to
make her walk so far; you're not a good husband to her, I'm thinking."
Having satisfied her need, Susannah turned away dully without a word.
The settler's wife offered the remainder of the bread and milk to the
Danite, who regarded it with famished eyes.
"Where's your husband?" he asked.
"We've enough men about the place."
"Where is your husband?"
"He's away with the militia under Lucas."
"Then I'll not touch his food," said the Danite. With an oath he flung
the cup and plate upon the ground. "Do you see that woman there?" He
pointed to Susannah. "I took the food for her, for she had died without
it. Yesterday devils like your husband shot her child in her arms and
her husband before her eyes, and to Almighty God I pray that when I've
got her to some safe place I may have strength yet to shoot your husband
and your children, shoot them down like dogs, and laugh at you because
you don't like it." The restrained passion of all the long preceding
hours broke out. His face was ashen, his eyes burning; there was foam
about his lips as, with thick utterance, he hurled the words at her.
The woman stepped back in dismay, but she, too, was enraged now, and
courage was the habit of the free life she led. "You are a bloody
Mormon," she cried, "and if I'd known it I'd have let your woman die
before I'd have fed her." She walked backwards, her voice rising higher
with passion. Unable to think connectedly, she shrieked the phrases she
had in mind. "Coming here to spread idolatry in a Christian country!
Teaching superstition in a free Christian land!" She was still shrieking
some jargon about the United States being founded on the Word of God,
and the divine right to exterminate all Mormons, when he, walking fast,
joined Susannah.
They had not gone much further before a large dog which the settler's
wife had evidently let loose, came after them with fierce intent. The
Danite turned, and as the dog sprang, slew it with one stab of his
knife, and, leaving it bleeding upon the road, hurried Susannah into the
forest.
It was a tradition upon that farm for years afterwards that these two
Mormons, after receiving charity, had made an open display of that
wanton wickedness which was habitual to them.
Susannah and the Danite travelled on for many hours. The way was not
easy. Sometimes where the trees were thin their legs were tangled
knee-deep in a plant covered with minute white feathery blossoms,
looking like white swan's-down shot through with green light, that
carpeted miles of the ground; sometimes the trees had fallen so thickly
that they had to clamber from log to log rather than walk; sometimes
their way was a bog, and they were in danger of sinking deeper than was
safe.
Susannah asked no questions. She had heard and understood all the words
that had passed in the incident of the morning. She felt cowed now,
afraid to think what might come next; it was enough that the Danite had
evidently some point in view.
About four in the afternoon they left the forest and came to another and
much larger house. The Danite advanced here with more confidence and
spoke with some men who gathered at their approach. Afterwards three
men, a father and sons, came and one after the other shook hands
respectfully with Susannah. Within the house she found a motherly woman,
the wife of the elder son. When Susannah's misfortunes were related to
her in undertones she cast her apron over her head and groaned as with
pain.
Susannah thought that the concern of this household must arise from fear
on their own account. "Are you Latter-Day Saints?" she asked
mechanically.
The eldest man, with the air of a patriarch, replied, "No, madam, we are
not Saints; the fact is we don't hold by religion of one sort or
another; we just believe in being kind to our neighbours and living,
good lives; so whatsoever your belief may be it is no affair of ours,
and you shall rest here for the sake of our common humanity. We'll look
after you, madam." He made a bow that was a queer mixture of
uncouthness in keeping with his surroundings and a recollection of some
more formal society.
The woman of the house, taking her apron from her head, suddenly
bethought her of the best things that she had to offer. Gently forcing
Susannah into an elbow chair, she ran, and lifting an infant a few weeks
old from its cradle, put it in Susannah's arms.
The next night the young Danite went away.