"Here!" he yelled, "is your passport out of the country and direct to
hell!" and levelling a pistol at Grenville's head, he fired. The bullet
missed our hero by a hair's breadth--indeed, it grazed the side of his
face--but the very next second Brother Ishmael Warden, the most
universally-hated member of the Mormon Trinity, fell to the ground with
a bullet through his heart, and Grenville coolly threw his pistol down,
saying as he did so--
"The fellow was a dog, and like a dog he died;" then he quietly looked
his remaining judges in the face, and waited their action.
Father and son had sprung to their feet in fear upon seeing Grenville in
possession of a weapon, but they now quietly sat down again, and his
keen eye noted that upon the face of the old man there sat an expression
of indifference, whilst the younger man obviously eyed the corpse of his
late colleague with unconcealed relief, and looked at our hero with
absolute approbation. Another circumstance, however, was significant to
Grenville, and he had not failed to notice it; this was the fact that
the guards could be heard pacing up and down outside the room, never
seeming the least disturbed by the pistol-shots. It was, therefore,
clear that murder in the presence of the Holy Three was far from being
uncommon; indeed, when some minutes later the men entered, by order, to
take him away, even before they observed the body of their late tyrant,
Grenville saw looks of astonishment cast upon him.
And now an honour as unexpected as it was unsought was offered to the
young Englishman, for father and son, having held a private conference,
the elder man turned to Grenville, and in brief but distinct language
offered him the seat of the man he had just killed, together with all
its emoluments.
"Nay, my son," said he, as our friend was about to speak, "take time to
think before you give your answer. I much wish to save you alive, but
our laws are as the laws of the Medes and Persians, and by them the Holy
Three, who have power of life and death, are obliged to condemn you, and
you are too young to die. In the one way indicated we can save you.
Live, then, and become the prop of our Holy State."
"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.
On seeing the prisoner into his cell, the officer again shook hands, and
Grenville, with the intention of giving information to his friend if he
were lying hidden close by, called out, "You'll come and see me
to-morrow, won't you? I'm to be shot at sundown on Friday, you know; so
you'll have to entertain me until then."
"With pleasure," was the laughing rejoinder. "Good-night!"
Grenville's precaution was well taken, for it so happened that Amaxosa
had at that instant arrived within earshot of his friend's words, which
he heard with a grunt of satisfaction, as he had feared that after
causing the death of Warden--of which act he had been an unseen and
exultant witness--his chief would have been executed at daybreak.
The audacity and self-abandonment of the Zulu on this night had been
simply magnificent. He had fearlessly climbed to the window of the room
in which he believed Grenville to be, and had watched every movement of
friend and enemy with eyes like coals of fire; and ill would it have
fared with the two remaining members of the Mormon Trinity had they
attempted any further violence against their prisoner.
As it was, Amaxosa had watched the movements of the patriarch, and
having seen him, after the departure of his colleague, open a strong box
and take out a lot of papers similar to that which his friend, the Rose
of Sharon, had recognised as her own, he had quietly slipped in, brained
the venerable "witch-finder," and walked off with his possessions,
coolly setting the house on fire before he departed, as silently as he
had come. And now his fingers itched to slay the man who held the key
to his friend's prison, but knowing that in a few minutes the whole
place would be agog with the fire, and the death of the prophet, he
decided to postpone his operations until the following night. "His
father" knew he had been at his side, and Amaxosa was content.
Hardly had Grenville laid himself down to sleep than his prison door was
torn open, and he found himself the centre of a raging mob of human
beings, all clamouring for his life; and had his friend the officer not
been at his side, our hero would have been lynched forthwith. Finding
out at last that he was in some way accused of causing the death of the
Mormon Patriarch, Grenville asked to be permitted to speak; and when
silence had been obtained he briefly and succinctly related the night's
events to the crowd--omitting of course the presence of the Zulu--and
added meaningly, "You say your prophet has been murdered and the
treasures of the Holy Three stolen. Believe me, I would never lift my
hand against an old man who could not defend himself--I murder not, nor
do I rob. With whomsoever you find the treasure, let him die; but do
not attempt to sully my good name, which is all that is left to me now."
Finally, after the officer had harangued the crowd, he succeeded in
getting rid of them; and congratulating Grenville on his escape, he
again took his leave, when our friend once more laid himself down--not,
however, to sleep at once, but to reflect on the events of the night.
Truth to tell, he was inclined to ascribe the murder and robbery of the
Patriarch to one of the Mormon's own people, for though he knew Amaxosa
hated the triumvirate with a bitter hatred, yet he, strange to say, was
not given to "looting" in any shape or form; and Grenville was wholly at
a loss to understand, moreover, how the Zulu could possibly have
obtained access to the treasure chamber of the Mormon leader. In any
case, he felt that whether Amaxosa was or was not responsible for the
affair, he personally had lost a friend at Court, but that the Mormon
community had at the same time been deprived of their best and wisest
head.
Clearly there was nothing for the prisoner to do but to watch and wait.
He had made up his mind to die, but with sublime confidence in his
friends he felt certain that some effort would be made to save him, and
he was fully determined that when the attempt came off, it should at
least not fail from lack of readiness on his part.