The Wild Huntress Part 3

"I have," gravely responded Stebbins.

"Hooraw! ha, ha, ha! Wal--what sort o' thing is't anyhow?"

"My religion is of the right sort, Brother Holt."

"Methody?"

"Nothing of the kind."

"What then? I thort they wur all Methodies in Swampville?"

"They're all _Gentiles_ in Swampville--worse than infidels themselves."

"Wal--I know they brag mightily on thur genteelity. I reckon you're about right thur--them, storekeepers air stuck-up enough for anythin'."

"No, no; it's not that I mean. My religion has nothing to do with Swampville. Thank the Lord for his mercy, I've been led into a surer way of salvation. I suppose, Brother Holt, you've heard of the new Revelation?"

"Heern o' the new rev'lation. Wal, I don't know as I hev. What's the name o't?"

"The book of _Mormon_?"

"Oh! Mormons! I've hearn o' them. Hain't they been a fightin' a spell up thur in Ma.s.souray or Illinoy, whar they built 'em a grandiferous temple? I've hearn some talk o't."

"At Nauvoo. It is even so, Brother Holt the wicked Gentiles have been persecuting the Saints: just as their fathers were persecuted by the Egyptian Pharaohs."

"An' hain't they killed their head man--Smith he wur called, if I recollex right."

"Alas, true! Joseph Smith has been made a martyr, and is by this time an angel in heaven. No doubt he is now in glory, at the head of the angelic host."

"Wal--if the angels are weemen, he'll hev a good wheen o' 'em about him, I reck'n. I've hearn he wur at the head of a putty consid'able host o'

'em up thur in Ma.s.soury--fifty wives they said he hed! Wur that ere true, Josh?"

"Scandal, Brother Holt--all scandal of the wicked enemies of our faith.

They were but wives _in the spirit_. That the Gentiles can't comprehend; since their eyes have not been opened by the Revelation."

"Wal, it 'pears to be a tol'able free sort o' rileegun anyhow. Kind o'

Turk, aint it?"

"Nothing of the kind. It has nothing in common with the doctrines of Mohammedanism."

"But whar did _you_ get it, Josh Stebbins? Who gin it to you?"

"You remember the man I brought over here last fall?"

"Sartint I do. Young he wur--Brig Young, I think, you called him."

"The same."

"In coorse, I remember him well enough; but I reckon our Marian do a leetle better. He tried to spark the gurl, an' made fine speeches to her; but she couldn't bar the sight o' him for all that. Ha! ha! ha.

Don't ye recollex the trick that ar minx played on him? She unbuckled the girt o' his saddle, jest as he wur a-goin' to mount, and down he kim--saddle, bags, and all--cawollup to the airth! ha! ha! Arter he wur gone, I larfed till I wur like to bust."

"You did wrong, Hickman Holt, to encourage your daughter in her sauciness. Had you known the man--_that man, sir, was a prophet_!"

"A prophet!"

"Yes--the greatest perhaps the world ever saw--a man in direct communication with the Almighty himself."

"Lord! 'Twan't Joe Smith, wur it?"

"No; but one as great as he--one who has inherited his spirit; and who is now the head of all the Saints."

"That feller at thur head? You 'stonish me, Josh Stebbins."

"Ah! well you may be astonished. That man has astonished me, Hickman Holt. He has turned me from evil ways, and led me to fear the Lord."

The squatter looked incredulous, but remained silent. "Yes--that same man who was here with me in your humble cabin, is now Chief Priest of the Mormon Church! He has laid his hands on this poor head, and const.i.tuted me one of his humble Apostles. Yes, one of the _Twelve_, intrusted with spreading the true faith of the Saints over all the world."

"Hooraw for you, Josh Stebbins! You'll be jest the man for that sort o'

thing; ye've got the larnin' for it, hain't you?"

"No doubt, Brother Holt, with the help of the Lord, my humble acquirements will be useful; for though _He_ only can open for us poor sinners the kingdom of grace, he suffers such weak instruments, as myself, to point out the narrow path that leads to it. Just as with the Philistines of old, the hearts of the Gentiles are hardened like flint-stones, and refuse to receive the true faith. Unlike the followers of Mohammed, _we_ propagate not by the sword, but by the influence of ratiocination."

"What?"

"Ratiocination."

"What mout that be?"

"Reason--reason."

"Oh! common sense you mean, I s'pose?"

"Exactly so--reasoning that produces conviction; and, I flatter myself, that, being gifted with some little sense and skill, my efforts may be crowned with success."

"Wal, Josh, 'ithout talkin' o' common sense, ye've good grist o'

lawyers' sense--that I know; an' so, I suppose, ye've tuk it into your head to make beginnin' on me. Aint that why ye've come over this mornin'?"

"What?"

"To make a Mormon o' me."

Up to this time the conversation had been carried on in a somewhat stiff and irrelevant manner; this more especially on the side of the squatter, who--notwithstanding his endeavours to a.s.sume an air of easy nonchalance--was evidently labouring under suspicion and constraint.

From the fact of Stebbins having sent a message to forewarn him, of this visit, he knew that the schoolmaster had some business with him of more than usual importance; and it was a view to ascertain the nature of this business, and relieve himself from suspense, that the interrogatory was put. He would have been right glad to have received an answer in the affirmative--since it would have cost him little concern to turn Mormon, or profess to do so, notwithstanding his pretended opposition to the faith. He was half indulging himself in the hope that this might be the errand on which Stebbins had come: as was evinced by a more cheerful expression, on his countenance; but, as the Saint lingered long before making a reply, the shadows of suspicion again darkened over the brow of the squatter; and with a nervous uneasiness, he awaited the answer.

"It'll be a tough job, Josh," said he, with an effort to appear unconcerned--"a tough job, mind ye."

"Well, so I should expect," answered the apostle drily; "and, just for that reason, I don't intend to undertake it: though I should like, Brother Holt, to see you gathered into the fold. I know our great High Priest would make much of a man like _you_. The Saints have many enemies; and need strong arms and stout hearts such as yours, Hickman Holt. The Lord has given to his Prophet the right to defend the true faith--even with carnal weapons, if others fail; and woe be to them who make war on us! Let them dread the _Destroying Angels_!"

"The Destroying Angels! What sort o' critters be they?"