The Bishop's eldest son stood revealed.
"Good God!" cried Hare, recoiling from that convulsed face.
"Brother! Oh! I feared this," groaned John Caldwell.
The rustlers broke out into curses and harsh laughter.
"--- --- you Mormons! See him! Paul Caldwell! Son of a Bishop! Thought he
was shepherdin' sheep?"
"D--n you, Hare!" shouted the guilty Mormon, in passionate fury and shame.
"Why didn't you hang me? Why didn't you bury me unknown?"
"Caldwell! I can't believe it," cried Hare, slowly coming to himself.
"But you don't hang. Here, come out of the crowd. Make way, men!"
The silent crowd of Mormons with lowered and averted eyes made passage
for Hare and Caldwell. Then cold, stern voices in sharp questions and
orders went on with the grim trial. Leading the bowed and stricken
Mormon, Hare drew off to the side of the town-hall and turned his back
upon the crowd. The constant trampling of many feet, the harsh medley of
many voices swelled into one dreadful sound. It passed away, and a long
hush followed. But this in turn was suddenly broken by an outcry:
"The Navajos! The Navajos!"
Hare thrilled at that cry and his glance turned to the eastern end of the
village road where a column of mounted Indians, four abreast, was riding
toward the square.
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