"Men,
listen," he said. "Of all of us Mormons I have lost most, suffered most.
Then hear me. Bishop Caldwell must never know of his son's guilt. He
would sink under it. Keep the secret. Paul will be a man again. I
know. I see. For, Mormons, August Naab has the gift of revelation!"
XXI
MESCAL
SUMMER gleams of golden sunshine swam under the glistening red walls of
the oasis. Shadows from white clouds, like sails on a deep-blue sea,
darkened the broad fields of alfalfa. Circling columns of smoke were
wafted far above the cottonwoods and floated in the still air. The
desert-red color of Navajo blankets brightened the grove.
Half-naked bronze Indians lolled in the shade, lounged on the cabin
porches and stood about the sunny glade in idle groups. They wore the
dress of peace. A single black-tipped white eagle feather waved above
the band binding each black head. They watched the merry children tumble
round the playground. Silvermane browsed where he listed under the shady
trees, and many a sinewy red hand caressed his flowing mane. Black Bolly
neighed her jealous displeasure from the corral, and the other mustangs
trampled and kicked and whistled defiance across the bars.
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