Then, under the plea of illness, Miss Travenion seeks her little room in the hotel, to get away from the sight of this man whom she has suddenly grown to loathe—she hardly fears him—the idea that has come to her about him seems so preposterous.

Some two hours afterwards, her father knocking on her door, asks if she is well enough to see him. Being told to enter, he does so, whispering to her: "Speak low! Sound passes easily from one room to another."

Then he informs her he has received his deed from Kruger, and has forwarded the deed of Zion's Co-operative Mining Company to Captain Lawrence, remarking: "This will bring your young springald down here very suddenly, I imagine," playfully chuckling Erma under the chin with a father's pride.

"Do not deceive yourself!" answers the girl. "Captain Lawrence is not engaged to me. He has never said one word of love to me. He will now probably never say one of love to me. You are my father!" This last with a sigh is a fearful reproach to this Mormon bishop, who in the misery of his child is repenting of his sins.

A moment after he whispers: "Be careful of what you say before Kruger. Though we have travelled together for many a day and many a night, I fear in case of apostasy that to Lot Kruger's hand is given my cutting off."

With this caution he leaves her.

In this case, Travenion's subtle mind has guessed the truth. For the heads of the Mormon Church have thought it wise to place this matter entirely in Kruger's hands. They fear the apostasy of R. H. Tranyon. They fear more, the loss of the vote of his stock in the Utah Central Railway—that will lose them the control in that road. They have determined to prevent it.

But with the Jesuitism that has always governed the policy of the Mormon theocracy, they have told Kruger—whom they have had on such business before, together with his old chum Danites, Porter Rockwell and Bill Hickman—to take the affair in his hands, and if he finds beyond peradventure and doubt that R. H. Tranyon, capitalist and bishop, is going to apostatize, to do "what the Lord tells him to do," which they know means Tranyon's destruction, because Kruger is an old-time Mormon fanatic, and will do the work of the Lord, by the old methods of the days of the so-called Reformation, when "blood atonement" was preached openly from their pulpits, and death followed all who doubted or apostatized. They have also made up their minds, if trouble comes to them through what Kruger does, to sacrifice him to Gentile justice, and, if necessary, secure Mormon witnesses that will bear evidence against him, and a Mormon jury who will convict him, as they are making ready to do with Kruger's old friend and associate, Bishop John D. Lee, of the Mountain Meadow massacre.

This commission delights Lot very much. He doesn't think his friend Tranyon an apostate, but he does think Tranyon's daughter, this Eastern butterfly, as beautiful as the angels of paradise, and he has accepted his mission gleefully.

All the way driving down to Tintic, he has been rubbing his hands and muttering to himself: "It's lucky they didn't see her in the Tithing Office or the Endowment House, or there would have been a rush of apostles for this beauty, who shall become a lamb of Zion, and be sealed by the Lord in plural marriage unto Lot Kruger."

It is with this idea that he has come to Tintic, and, still believing Tranyon to be Mormon zealot like himself, thinks Ralph will regard it as no more dishonor to give his daughter into polygamy to a brother bishop; than he, Lot Kruger, would think, of turning over any of his numerous progeny to make an additional help-mate to any of his co-apostles.

Being confident of this, Lot imagines he can wait patiently till "Ermie sees the good that is in him."

Therefore, they all sit down to a waiting game; for Tranyon believes himself safer in this mining camp than anywhere else in Utah, and dare not leave so long as Kruger is by his side.

This delay is not utterly unbearable to Miss Travenion, because every day she thinks the incoming stage, or some private buckboard, or light wagon, will bear into town the man she is looking for—Captain Harry Lawrence—who, at least, should come filled with gratitude to Ralph Travenion, though he may despise Bishop Tranyon.

So she passes her time, driving to Silver City, Diamond and Homansville with her father, who, under the pretence of settling various demands of business, lingers in Tintic Mining District; now and then reading a novel, for Ralph has thoughtfully sent to Salt Lake and provided her with some books. Altogether, she is not uncomfortable, as she has brought a sufficiency of clothing with her, though most of her trunks have been left at the Townsend House. Her father, who has never forgotten his old sybaritic life, sees that their table is supplied with every luxury which can be obtained in the place, sending Mormon boys to Utah Lake for trout, and to Payson for late fruits, and securing from Salt Lake City wines of the best vintages of France.

The air is fresh, and growing colder, and the young lady's cheeks are very rosy, though they have been browned by the sun. There is some little excitement in the place, also. The litigation between the Big Eureka and the King David has come to trial by battle, and these companies have each imported armed fighters from Pioche, Nevada, the most ferocious mining camp in the West.

Thus time runs into November, but the girl's heart is getting heavier and heavier, for the man she is looking for, and who has occupied most of her thoughts for the last six weeks, has not yet arrived.

Then one day, quite late in the month, she gets a shock, for she hears he has left the Territory, having sold his mine to an English company for a large sum of money, and that they have even now come to take possession of it.

Travenion, having also got the same news, says to her, shortly: "Generosity did not do much good with young Mr. Harry Ingrate—did it?"

And she, being stung with misery, jeers her father, and herself also, for that matter, "Yes, the daughter of Tranyon, the Mormon bishop, has no longer a hold upon the Gentile's heart! Perchance he thinks I should wed in my own faith?"

Then she falters out of the house, and, alone by herself, among some piÑon-pines that grow on the hillside, tears come into her lovely eyes, for she feels herself cut off forever from the bright world in which she once lived, and mutters: "Is this rough mining camp a dream; or were Newport yachting parties and Delmonico balls hallucinations?"

But this brings the matter first to climax and then to catastrophe. The girl treats with great hauteur and angry scorn Kruger, who would be devoted to her, if she would but let him, for, curiously enough, this old polygamist, for the first time in his life, is in love, as much as a Mormon can be, with this elusive butterfly who dodges his net and mocks his pursuit. Under the plea of business he suddenly goes away.

Then Ralph, coming to Erma, says: "Now is our time. We leave in a day or two!"

But before they have completed their preparations, Kruger, who has driven rapidly to Salt Lake City, and as rapidly returned, comes suddenly into Travenion's mining office, where he and his daughter have been discussing their preparations for departure.

Perhaps some evidences of their intentions are about the room, for Lot jovially remarks: "Packing up, Ralph! That's right; they will be wanting ye in Salt Lake soon. I've brought a communication from the head of the Church."

"Oh!" says Travenion, feigning a lightness that he does not feel. "What does the Lord say, through Brigham Young, his prophet? Erma, just wait for me outside. I'll go down with you to the hotel in a moment."

Acting on the hint, Miss Travenion leaves the house, and stands waiting for her father; and waits, and waits until darkness comes upon the scene, and voices in excitement come out of the thinly boarded building. Actuated by an anxious curiosity she cannot control, the young lady draws nearer to the house, and through its thin walls come to her these words: "It's no good discussin' the matter further, Bishop Tranyon. The Church orders you two things. One is to pay the one hundred thousand dollars tithing you owe to it——"

"Haven't I told you that I have no ready money?" cries Ralph. "Isn't this lawsuit taking every cent I can spare?"

"Yer duty to yer Church is fust, my friend!" answers Lot. "Besides, what yer tellin' me ain't true. Up at the city they know you've discontinued the lawsuit, and have given that d—mned Captain Lawrence"—he grinds the words out between his clenched teeth—"a quit-claim deed to his mine. Perhaps you thought you'd give him yer darter also; but he's gone away to Europe, I reckon, and busted that plan."

Ralph does not answer him, and he goes on: "The Church says it will take yer one hundred thousand dollars tithing in stock of the Utah Central at fifty."

"At fifty!" screams Travenion, forgetting himself in rage. "Why, it's worth one hundred and fifty. I've been offered that for it by the—" But he remembers, and says no more.

"By the Union Pacific Railway!" ejaculates Kruger sternly. "Ye've been dickering with them for that stock! Ye want to sell the Church out of control of that road!"

"As God is above me, that is not true!"

"Swear it, R. H. Tranyon! Swear it by Joseph Smith, the prophet of the Lord!" cries Kruger, in his fanaticism prescribing an oath that is very easy for Travenion to take.

"I do," he answers, "by Joseph Smith, the prophet of the Lord!"

"Then I believe ye. No one could take that affidavit and lie!" says Lot, devoutly.

A second after, he goes on suddenly and suspiciously: "But it is reported, among the Saints in the city, you're getting lukewarm in the faith, R. H."

"And you, Lot—what did you say?" asks Travenion anxiously.

"I said it was a confounded lie! That there wa'n't a truer Mormon than R. H. Tranyon on the 'arth! Tell me so yerself;" and the voice of the man becomes pleading as he continues: "We have been pards so long I wouldn't like to cut ye off."

"I swear it!" gasps Ralph. "I'm a true Mormon!" For now he is sure that the man appointed to be his destroying angel stands before him.

"You can prove it!"

"How?"

"You've a little lamb down here——"

"My God!"

"Make a sacrifice of her to the Lord! Let Ermie take her endowments, and the Church and I will believe ye're true to the faith of Joseph Smith, the prophet, and Hyrum, his brother."

To this Tranyon makes no reply for one second. Then he mutters suddenly and brokenly: "Tell them I'll pay my tithing with the Utah Central stock."

"At fifty?"

"Yes, at any figure they like; only, for God's sake, leave my daughter out of this business. I'll bring it with me!"

"Ah, that 'ere stock's down here!" says Kruger suddenly. "Now you're coming round, bishop, to the demands of the Church, I'll tell you some good news I have for you. They're goin' to make you a missionary to England!"

"Aha! before the election in the Utah Central?"

"Yes; the Church will vote the rest of yer stock for ye."

"But my daughter!" falters Travenion. "I can't leave her!"

"Don't have no fear for her, bishop! I'll look after her as if she was my own." And Kruger's orbs light with sudden passion. "I've been keepin' my eyes on her. She's a——"

But he says no more, for Erma Travenion sweeps in between the men, with such a look in her blazing eyes that they both fall back from her.

She cries, "Father, you pay no tithing to the Mormon Church. Your daughter takes none of its vile mysteries of endowment!"

"Quit yer blasphemy of the Church of Zion!" yells Kruger to the girl. Then he turns on Travenion and rebukes him sternly, "Bishop, your darter's been brought up wrong! She's too high-spir'ted and wayward! I never 'low no woman in my household—wife or darter—to lift up her voice ag'in me and my doin's. If Miss Upity were my gal I'd take the blaspheming out of her with a heavy hand."

But here astonishment comes on Erma. Her father says: "Kruger, you're right! My daughter has been brought up wrong! I now see my error in not bringing her into the true faith. She shall take her endowments!"

"First kill me!" cries the girl, who cannot believe what she hears.

"Kill ye!" answers Lot. "Why, it will be the making of ye. Saving yer soul from perdition, is yer daddy's duty, my child."

"Saving my soul?" screams Erma. "Saving my soul?—by making me one of your horrible sect that degrades both women and men also by its bestial creed!" And indignation makes her beauty greater than it was before—so great that fanatic Lot's eyes grow as bright as hers, though with a different gleam.

But her father stops more, by saying hastily: "Kruger, go up to Salt Lake. Tell them I'll pay my tithing in the Central stock at their figure. Tell them I'll vote the balance as they please, and my daughter shall take her endowments!"

"Swear 't as you hope for Heaven!" cries Lot.

"As I hope for the Mormon paradise!" answers Travenion.

At this the girl gives two awful gasps; one—"Deserted by the man I once thought loved me!"—the other—"Betrayed by my father."

And the two men leaving her, she sinks down, dumb with despair. After a moment their footsteps pass down the trail.

In a few minutes, thought and movement coming to their victim, she rises, and staggering to the door to make some wild effort to fly, is met by her father, who whispers to her: "Forgive me!"

"Promising me to the degradation of the Mormon Church. How can I forgive that?" Then she sighs, "How could my father do this?"

"For both our lives!" he whispers. "Kruger has gone to Salt Lake. I have a certain plan for our escape;" and would put his arms about her and soothe her.

But the girl bursts from him, sobbing wildly. And he bends over her, trying to comfort her, and sobbing also: "It was for both our lives! Erma, darling, could you not see it? Don't you know that I would die for you!" Then he mutters, "It would have been a pity if, for a few words, we had lost our opportunity to—defeat this Mormon rustic—we, whose intellects have been sharpened in the outside world. What is pride against success? Be a woman of sense as well as of emotions. Pardon me using diplomacy in my extremity. Aid me to carry out my plan!"

And she remembering that this man is her father and has, up to the present time, treated her as the daughter of his pride and love, queries, "How? What plan?" then mutters despairingly: "What matter; you have given him your oath."

"Pish! By my hope of the Mormon Heaven," he jeers; then whispers in a voice whose earnestness compels attention: "Kruger has gone to Salt Lake to tell them of my submission. To-morrow morning you leave, without me, for Salt Lake City; with you shall go my stock in the Utah Central Railroad. When there, express that stock to my order at San Francisco, by Wells, Fargo & Co., taking their receipt for the same by certificate numbers and valuing it at five hundred thousand dollars. I'll risk W. F. & Co. standing the Mormon Church off for half a million, for I'll pay no more tithing to Brigham Young." And he grinds his teeth, thinking of what he has already paid.

"But I may be cut off on the road!" falters Erma.

"No, there is no chance of that," he answers; next cries: "Good God! you don't think I would put peril on you! Listen how I have guarded you." Then he hastily explains that she is to travel via Tooele, which will prevent any chance of Kruger's meeting her as he returns from his errand—for Lot always comes to Tintic by the shorter Lake road; that two Gentile miners, whom Ralph can trust, will guard her to Salt Lake City; that Kruger, on his return to Eureka, will find them both gone, and will try to follow his, Travenion's, track, for he will, of course, imagine they have fled together; that he will be sure to follow him, for Bishop R. H. Tranyon can be easily tracked, being well known all over the Territory, having time and again preached at Conference to Mormons who have come to the Tabernacle from the south and the north, the east and the west. "In finding me he will think to find you—so you at least will be safe," chuckles Ralph. Then he says earnestly: "As soon as you are in Salt Lake, take the train to Ogden, and then the U. P. Railroad, and get to New York as quickly as you can. There I will meet you!"

"But you—what of you? While I seek safety, you sacrifice yourself?" dissents the young lady, noting her father's idea tends to her escape, not his.

"That is the craftiness of my plan!" grins Travenion. "When Lot returns to Tintic I shall have also disappeared!"

"Where?"

"Into the bottom of my deserted mine!" chuckles her father. "No one will think of looking for me there. I have already stored the place with all the luxuries and comforts of life. While Kruger is seeking for me all over the Territory, arousing his Mormon fanatics to inflict upon me 'the vengeance of the Lord,' I shall be having a very comfortable time of it," sneers Ralph. "After he has gone, perhaps to the far southern settlements, to cut me off there, I shall come out and drive very quietly to the railroad, and take train for California or Omaha, whichever seems most safe."

"But they may recognize you in Salt Lake City!" suggests Erma.

"Hardly. I shall travel at night the entire way to Ogden, not even entering Salt Lake. Besides, the Church has put this matter into Kruger's hands, and will not interfere in his business, and Kruger will be away. I know the peculiar methods my saintly associates have in these affairs—they want to punish only at second hand. No suspicion must fall upon apostles' heads; that might mean punishment from the government of the United States. Now," he says shortly, "will you do what I have explained to you for my sake—for your own safety?"

And the girl cries eagerly: "Yes! Anything to escape from this accursed land."

That night Ralph makes his preparations, and before daylight next morning he says to his daughter, who has already breakfasted, "Come with me. The wagon is at the foot of the hill."

Getting into the street, which is dark and deserted at this early hour and has quite a little fall of snow on it, November having far advanced, and Thanksgiving day being already celebrated, they move along the road towards Silver City; the only noise coming to them being occasional firing from Eureka Hill, where the fighting men of that company are exchanging playful shots with the guards of the King David, just to remind their employers that a raise in their salaries will be agreeable.

After fifteen minutes' walk they come to the hill on which the Zion's Co-operative deserted mine is located. At the foot of this is Travenion's light express wagon, drawn by a strange team of broncos, two men standing by it. Then Ralph says easily: "This is Patsey Bolivar, and this, Pioche George. Gentlemen, this is my daughter whom you have promised to take care of."

"We'll see the young lady through," remarks Patsey, taking off his hat.

And noting Erma has started back, for she has recognized her selected escorts as two of the most ferocious fighters in the camp, Pioche George, as he doffs his sombrero, remarks: "We look a leetle rough, miss, but you'll find us very tender of you, and very tough to your enemies—eh, Patsey?"

To which Bolivar cries cheerily: "No coppers on us!"

"Oh, papa's selection proves that," says Miss Travenion, who has looked into these gentlemen's eyes and feels confident of them as she gives these two fighting men her hand, so affably and trustfully that she binds them to her—even to life and death.

Then Ralph remarks: "I wish to take my daughter with me up to my mine; would one of you come with us to take her down? I shall bid her good-bye, there."

"With pleasure, bishop," replies one desperado.

But the other laughs, "Quit calling him bishop. He's repented and become a Christian like us!"

For Travenion has been compelled to take these men partially into his trust, which he has done quite confidently, knowing he has paid them well, and after having taken his money they can be bought by no one else, the code of morals of the Western mine fighter being very definite on this point.

So, followed by Pioche George, Patsey Bolivar remaining to look after the team, Ralph assists Erma up the hill.

In a few minutes father and daughter are standing in the ore house on the dump pile of the now deserted Zion's Co-operative Mine, their accompanying fighting man remaining outside, "to give 'em a chance to be confidential."

Ralph whispers, "I'll go down and get the stock."

But Erma says suddenly, "Let me go with you. I must see that you are comfortable during your retreat from the world."

"I rather think I've looked out for myself pretty thoroughly," laughs Travenion, who seems in very good spirits, the strain of waiting having passed from his mind. Then he goes on earnestly, "God bless you, Erma, for thinking of me. Come down and see what I've done for myself. I can give you the stock there just as well as here."

So, lighting a candle for her, and guiding her steps very carefully, Ralph assists his daughter down the incline, and the two shortly come to the station, and turning along the level that runs away from the Mineral Hill Mine, Ralph pauses at the fourth set of timbers and laughs, "What do you say to this for a bachelor's apartment?"

To this his daughter cries, "Oh, sybarite!—you've even got champagne and dried buffalo tongues."

As he has, a dozen pints of Veuve Clicquot, likewise ChÂteau Margaux, as well as a couple of boxes of rare Havanas, and canned provisions; a soft mattress and warm blankets; a chair to sit upon, half a dozen novels and some current literature to kill time with, lots of candles to illuminate his retreat, and plenty of water in a small barrel.

"I'll be pretty comfortable here, I imagine," he says, contemplatively.

"No, you'll be cold," answers the young lady.

"Cold?—a hundred feet under the ground? This depth is the perfection of climate. It is neither too warm in summer nor too frigid in winter. I shall be very snug down here," he remarks; then chuckles, "while my friend Kruger is hunting for me through snow-storms and blizzards on the outer earth."

"Still it seems horrible," mutters the girl with a shudder, "for you to be buried under the ground. The air——"

"Is excellent!" interrupts Ralph, tapping the tin air-pipe with his hand. "This is a natural draught—not enough for twenty or thirty men working down here unless the fan is in operation, but lots for two or three. See how brightly my candles burn!" Then he says sharply, "We've no time to lose. Pioche George will be getting impatient up-stairs. Hold a candle for me, my darling!"

With a pick-axe he has brought down with him, he exhumes from underneath the fourth set of timbers a small iron box, strongly secured by padlock, and giving it with its key to Erma, says: "Do as I have directed with this. It is the Utah Central stock."

Then, for the parting is coming, she falters: "Father, when will you join me?"

"As soon as you are surely safe and out of this accursed Territory, and Kruger has disappeared, pursuing me with his Mormon bloodhounds."

A second after, he bursts out, as if a great relief has come upon him, from throwing off the bonds that have held him so long: "Oh, how I have scoffed them in my heart, as I have preached their religious bosh at Conference and ward meeting, all these years. Won't this be a great story to tell in the Unity Club, New York, to my old chums, De Punster and Van Beekman, Travis and Larry Jerry, and the rest of the boys? How they will shriek at Ralph Travenion, the swell, having been a Mormon! Won't the champagne flow to my plural marriages? Egad! it's worth while to take these risks, to have such a royal story to tell!"

"Hush!" cries his daughter, sternly. "Remember the poor women you are deserting." A moment after she says more slowly, "They must be provided for as soon as you are safe."

"Oh, they will have plenty," answers Ralph. Then he bursts out again, "I leave too much behind. When I think of what I have paid, year by year, as tithing to the infernal Mormon Church, I curse it. But they are tricked at the last. I'll sell the control of their pet railroad out of their hands. Hang them, I could dance for joy!"

With these words, the old beau skips with a waltz step to the bottom of the incline. Then they ascend, the rope aiding their steps, and the pitch not being very steep, to the outer air, and the time has come to say farewell.

Pointing to a white-topped wagon at the bottom of the hill, Travenion says: "Quick! Give your father a kiss, and pray for his safety."

The girl answers: "One hundred!" and throws herself into his arms, and murmuring: "You are the only man who ever loved me—the only one! Mormon that you have been—polygamist that you are—you are the only one who's left to me!"

For she has been looking at the shaft of the Mineral Hill Mine, upon which the English company are now commencing to work, and her thoughts are on the man who she feels has deserted her.

Then, as Ralph embraces her, a shudder runs through her; but it is not of cold, though snow is falling, but it is the chill of her heart as she thinks: "But for this man, whose lips are now pressed to mine, Harry Lawrence would not despise me!"

But Travenion mutters in her ear: "It is late now—you must leave at once, for the days are quite short!" and beckons Pioche George to approach.

"You can trust us, bishop, to take her through," George remarks, noticing the old man's agitation as he gives the daughter of his heart his last kiss.

Then Erma hurries down the hill, and he, sitting on the deserted dump pile of his mine, watches her until Pioche George lifts her into the wagon and it drives away over the snow-white road, making across the West Tintic Valley, and so towards Ophir and Tooele, for Travenion has directed them to go by this somewhat roundabout road, to avoid any chance of meeting Kruger, perhaps even now returning from his errand to the heads of the Mormon theocracy in Salt Lake.

Looking on this he says: "She is safe!" and laughs: "I will be safe myself, shortly! Now for my bachelor quarters!" and goes slowly again into the mine.

About half way down the incline he starts, pauses, and listens, muttering: "I thought I heard a noise." Then sneers at himself, "Some stone touched by your foot—you're weak-kneed, Ralph."

Continuing his descent and holding his candle in front of him, he comes to his quarters, where he says, looking about: "This is a pretty comfortable spot to kill time by champagne, a weed, and a novel."

Which he does, lighting one or two more candles, to give him better illumination, then gently sipping the Clicquot, between puffs of a Bouquet Especial, as he turns over the leaves of a new French romance, which seems to amuse him greatly.

And all the while, from the darkness of the level, beyond the incline, two red eyes glare at this sybarite as he chuckles over the jokes of Monsieur Paul de Kock.

Turning his back to the incline, in order to get a better light upon his novel, Ralph sits chuckling over the queer conceits of the gifted Frenchman—the red eyes all the while coming nearer to him.

As Travenion laughs again, a heavy step sounds behind him, and the great red eyes are at his shoulder, looking over the volume with him, and he springs up with a shriek, for Kruger's voice is in his ears crying, "Doomed by the Church!"

Then this Mormon fanatic is upon him, seizing his arms, and bruising his more tender flesh, chuckling: "What's champagne muscle to grass-fed muscle, you dainty cur of New York!"

And though Travenion fights as men only fight who are fighting for their lives, he pinions him and makes him helpless, and dashes him brutally down.

Looking at him, the old club man, who was once a Mormon bishop, tries his last diplomacy. He gasps between white lips and chattering teeth: "This—to a man who has been your chum—your companion—who is your brother in the Church."

"Who was my brother in the Church!" cries Lot. "But we'll discuss the affair a leetle. With ye're permission, I'll liquor."

Knocking the head off a bottle of Clicquot, he quaffs it greedily; the one Ralph was drinking from having been thrown down in the struggle.

Throwing the bottle away; as it crashes to the other end of the level, he remarks with a hideous leer: "Now we'll come to biz once more!"

But Ralph answers him nothing.

Then Lot laughs: "You walked into yer own trap. You thought I'd gone to Salt Lake, but I reckoned from yer break-out of last night that yer Utah Central stock, which the Mormon Church needs and will have, was here in yer possession, an' made up my mind to locate it. I knew it wa'n't in yer safe, 'cause I'd seen that open too often lately. I reckoned it was right in this mine, and I'd been hunting over this place all night without success. But in the mornin' I heard a noise on the trail, and I seed ye and yer darter comin' up, an' I knowed what yer'd come for! An' when yer come down in the mine, I come down a leetle ahead of yer, and spied on yer from that drift, an' seed yer give that stock to Ermie to take away. But I'll 'tend to her afterwards."

To this Travenion sighs: "My daughter!"

But Kruger goes on savagely: "I would have shot yer while yer were profanin', if it hadn't been I didn't want to shock her by her seein' yer die. But now, I love yer so well, R. H. Tranyon, I'm goin' to fix ye!"

With this, he takes the case of wine and hurls it to the other end of the incline. There's a crash, and Margaux and Clicquot trickle over the stones of the mine.

Then he cries: "Yer won't need this!" and throwing over the keg of water, it runs to waste upon the earth.

"Neither will ye want pervisions!" and he tosses the old club man's dainties into the sink of the mine at the bottom of the incline, keeping a big buffalo tongue, which he bites and eats, talking after this, with his mouth full, which makes him more hideous and awful, as he jeers: "I ain't had no breakfast—I'm foragin' on the enemy of the Lord."

"My God! What do you mean to do?" gasps Travenion, who has looked on with eyes that are growing bloodshot.

"Cut ye off behind the ears—make a blood atonement of ye! You've been so crafty about this, no one will ever know you're down here to hunt ye up."

Then running up the incline, Lot loads the two cars standing at the surface, with great masses of rock and boulders, fanaticism giving him increased strength. Letting them run down, he unloads them, and once more does the same, unheeding the cries of the man helpless in the level below.

When he has done enough of this, he cuts the cars loose at the surface, and they come crashing down, and block up the incline. Then he comes down again himself and piles the boulders he has already let down, on top of the wrecked cars, blocking Travenion from the outer world.

Noting his purpose, Ralph staggers up, bound as he is, and prays: "Not that! Shoot me—kill me another way! For God's sake, not that!"

But Kruger cries: "Powder and lead cost money! The Church is too poor to give ye an easy atonement." And he piles the rocks up to the pleading wretch's shoulders.

A moment after, he blows out every candle, save one, to light him in the finishing touches of his awful work; when, desperately struggling, Travenion drags himself to the barrier, and screams: "My God! You are mad—you don't know what you do! I'm your old friend and chum!"

"I'm sacrificin' you here on the altar, where I heerd ye blaspheme your religion an' your prophets! That's what I'm doin'!"

"Mercy! Not this death!" gasp the white lips, and bloodshot eyes beseech the executioner, looking over the barrier rising steadily between them.

"Ye've been given into my hands by Jehovah and Brigham, both of whom ye've blasphemed!" cries Kruger, piling the barrier up to the shuddering man's neck.

Then he goes on in savage mockery. "Ye'll tell no funny anecdotes and sacrilegious jokes about our president, Brigham Young, and our prophet, Joseph Smith! Champagne won't flow over yer infamous apostasy, in the Unity Club. It will be a rare tale to tell yer chums Von Punster and De Beekman, and Travis, an' Larry Jerry, of how yer made a mockery of our sainted religion, an' jeered us, even when ye preached from our altars! But ye'll never tell it! 'Dead men tell no tales!'"

Then the barrier is up to Ralph Travenion's face, which is now pale as the flickering candle that lights its agonies. Over this face comes one pang more cruel than the others, and the white lips sigh, "My daughter!"

"Yer darter—that's the p'int! I'll look after her salvation. She shall be a lamb of Zion. I'll take her right into my sheepfold."

"Powers of Heaven! What do you mean?" And the wall now rises above his mouth.

"I sha'n't be hard on her," mocks Kruger. "I'll spare her herding and cattle work. She shall do chores round the house. I'll be light on her, I will, bishop, for I mean—" He whispers three words into the fainting wretch's ear, who reels back from him and shrieks: "MY GOD! NOT THAT!"

To his scream, the crashing sounds of rocks and a big boulder make answer, and the light of this outer world leaves Ralph Travenion, and footsteps are heard passing away along the echoing level, and up the incline, and the old club exquisite, bound and helpless, is left alone in darkness—not to the torture of hunger, for of that he thinks not—not to the torment of thirst, for of that he cares not—not to the despair of certain death, though that has come upon him—but to the agony of fearing that the daughter of his heart may by some art or trick taste the awful degradation of plural marriage, such as he as Mormon bishop has preached and sanctified and has meted out to the daughters of other men.