THE CAPITULATION OF THE LAMANITES.

Moroni leaned back in his chair under the canopy of his tent. Another man, under the strain that the young general had passed through, would have looked wan and haggard. He possessed that inexhaustible vitality characteristic of great leaders, that can be drained heavily and still meet all emergencies.

"A messenger to see you, sir," announced a young lieutenant, pulling back the flap of the tent.

Moroni looked up to behold an Indian of powerful build. As he entered the fur mantle fell from his shoulders leaving them bare. As their eyes rested on the superb figure whose skin glittered like polished mahogany, the captains in the room ejaculated in admiration. The new comer's bold eyes scanned every face and finally rested on that of the youngest man in the room.

"I address the commander-in-chief of the Nephite forces?" he presumed.

Moroni eyed him keenly, as he inclined his head.

"Zerahemnah, leader of the Lamanites, sends greetings, and asks when he can meet you to make terms."

"Let him come at high noon to yonder eminence," replied Moroni.

The messenger bowed and silently withdrew. As his magnificent form disappeared, the captains whose composure had been perfect during the interview, threw back their heads and raised a shout of triumph. To them it meant the end of the war at practically their own terms. Hostilities had ceased since the night before. The Nephite forces, though outnumbered two to one, had triumphed over their ancient enemies. The battle had been long and stubbornly fought until night closed down to stop the conflict. The captains, picturesque in their bandages, had fresh sword cuts as proof of their valor, but even they did not know that the battle would go down in history as the greatest that the Lamanites had ever fought. The Indians were ably generaled, for Zerahemnah, himself a Zoramite, a descendent of the servant of Laban, had placed the bloodthirsty Amalekites as officers among them. Little wonder that they fought like dragons.

That the Nephites had vanquished them against such odds was due to three things: they were fighting for their liberty as the Lamanites had tried to take them into bondage; they had superior arms and were protected by armor while their dusky antagonists fought almost naked: Moroni by strategy had surrounded the Lamanites by the Nephites, had penned in Zerahemnah's forces between two wings of his own, and crushed them.

With spies he had determined the line of the Lamanite march. Then he placed one of his generals, Lehi, with his command in ambush behind the hill Riplah. When Zerahemnah advanced to the banks of the river Sidon, Lehi attacked him and finally drove him across the river.

When the Lamanites emerged dripping on the other side, they were swooped down upon by the phalanxes of Moroni. Like rats in a trap, surrounded on all sides, they struggled with ferocious courage, clanging their cimeters on the Nephite armor and in return being frightfully mangled. Sickened with the sight of gore, Moroni finally called off his troops.

Moroni's position was unique. Chosen as commander-in-chief of the Nephite army at the age of twenty-five, he yet towered so far above the other characters of his age, that older men did not dispute his place. Even the lean Amalickiah, eaten up with ambition, hid his envy.

Educated in the school of the priests, Moroni combined wisdom with the fire of youth. Disliking warfare and bloodshed, he had been forced into it in defense of his people when their freedom was threatened. To the spotless purity of his life was attributed much of his power.

As men often owe successful periods of their lives to the influence of some woman, so Moroni had known two, Hirza, clear-eyed and spiritual minded, he had met at school. Keenly intellectual she had dazzled him with her brilliancy. To her he owed much of his erudition and his wide knowledge of human nature. He was genuinely attached to this gay comrade when the handsome Zorabel came into his life. She reminded him of a full blown rose, whose fragrance gradually steals over the senses until they are steeped in delirium. He was yet to find out that she had her thorn below the soft petals. Zorabel was a sister of Amalickiah, and, like him, was ambitious.

Moroni sallied out of his tent into the brilliant sunlight to go and meet Zerahemnah at the appointed place. Behind him filed his body-guard, led by Amalickiah who walked by the side of his chief. Doubly dear to the general was this brother of Zorabel, yet he dared not give him a higher place in the army because he could not trust him. Amalickiah had done things—and yet under the genial influence of his presence, soothed by his flattering words, Moroni was inclinded to laugh at his fears.

Moroni reached the little hillock, ascended it, and let his gaze rest on the emerald expanse of the river that writhed like a green snake between the burnished gold of its banks. Below him swarmed the hordes of the Lamanites, perturbed by a spirit of unrest, as they expectantly awaited the result of the parley.

There was a commotion in the ranks and Zerahemnah moved out from among them and advanced toward Moroni. A shaggy homely man, he seemed, yet not without a suggestion of power. A gruff leader of men, of violent temper, he had gained his position by force. When he stopped a pace from Moroni, the latter addressed him.

"Behold, Zerahemnah, we do not want to be men of blood. You know that you are in our hands, yet we do not desire to slay you." He reminded him that the Nephites had not gone to war for power, but to defend their loved ones against the yoke of bondage. He added that they had tried to destroy his religion whereas the Lord had delivered them into his hands. He finished by demanding their weapons of war and the promise that they would go their way and come not again to battle against his people.

Zerahemnah unbuckled his sword, threw down his cimeter and handed his bow to Moroni, saying, "Here are our weapons of war. We will not suffer ourselves to take an oath unto you, which we know that we shall break, and also our children. Take our arms and suffer that we may depart into the wilderness. Otherwise we will perish or conquer. We are not of your faith, we do not believe that it is God that has delivered us into your hands; it is your cunning that has preserved you from our swords."

Moroni handed him back his arms. "We will end the conflict," he said.

When Zarahemnah grasped the import of his words his face purpled with rage. Paying no heed to his weapons that clattered to the ground, he brandished his sword and rushed at Moroni. It would have pierced him had not the alert Amalickiah on Moroni's right smote it to the earth with a blow of such force that it shattered it at the hilt. Before the dazed Zerahemnah could realize what had happened, a second blow descended with such swiftness that it shaved off his scalp. With blood streaming in his face and a snarl like a wounded beast, Zerahemnah sprang back to his own cohorts that had surged forward at the vivid spectacle.

Amalickiah stooped and picked up the scalp by the tuft of hair. Fastening it on the point of his sword he stretched it toward them crying in a loud voice, "Even as this scalp of your chief has fallen to the earth, so shall you fall to the earth unless you deliver up your weapons of war and depart with a covenant of peace."

Visibly impressed, and quaking with fear, many of the Indians came forward, took the oath, stacked their weapons at the feet of Moroni, and departed in little bands into the wilderness. But Zerahemnah, hoarse with wrath, mingling with the remaining soldiers urged them on to recommence the assault.

Angered with their stubborn resistance the Nephite leader turned his legions loose. In the frightful massacre that ensued the dark warriors were swept down.

When Zerahemnah saw that they were going to be all wiped out, he cried mightily to Moroni, promising, if he spared the remainder of their lives, never to come against him again.

The latter ordered the battle to cease and allowed the shivering remnants of the Lamanites to leave.

Night descended on the field of horrors and obliterated many of its sights, and Moroni, weary and sick at heart, made his way back to his tent. Outside a lashing rainstorm had arisen, increasing the agony of the wounded. The soldiers were clearing the field and throwing the bodies of the unnumbered dead into the river. Dreariness enveloped the general as he threw himself disconsolately down.

"A lady to see you, sir," announced the sentry at the door. Moroni started up. Doubtless some heartbroken mother come in search of her son. Was there no end?

"Admit her," he ordered curtly.

A woman clad in a rough brown cloak entered. She threw back her hood from which her head emerged like a gorgeous poppy.

Moroni started toward her. "Zorabel," he exclaimed.

"Thank God you are safe!" she withdrew her hand from his compeling grasp to feel the massive armor on his shoulders, to assure herself that he was not hurt.

"This is no place for you. How did you come here?" he gently chided.

"Since you left I have been in torment. When I heard of a clash of arms on the other side of the river, I jumped on my swiftest steed. See how fast I rode. It shook down all my hair." She showed him her black hair streaming almost to her knees. "When I reached the lines they said you barely escaped death today," her voice broke.

"I suppose I should have been killed if it hadn't been for Amalickiah! Your brother saved my life."

"Dear Amalickiah! You must tell me."

As he recited the incidents of the day she drank in his words with her soul in her eyes.

Strange spectacle that, of Zorabel, the charmer. She had recognized Moroni as the coming man and had deliberately set out to fascinate him. But as she entrapped him with her hundred coquetries, she found herself in the toils. The fresh young general had stirred her as no other man ever had and the proud Zorabel was now avowedly the abject slave of love.

In her sweet presence the exigencies of the camp were forgotten, the turmoil of the day faded away, and Moroni felt a calm descend on his spirit.

II.

MORONI RAISES THE STANDARD OF LIBERTY.

Moroni sat in his study bent over a message which read, "Amalickiah has stirred up an insurrection to gain the kingdom," when a young lawyer entered and accosted him. The newcomer had formerly been the general's secretary and an affectionate familiarity existed between them.

"What is it now?" asked Moroni pushing his papers aside, for something in the other's air suggested matters of import.

MORONI RAISES THE STANDARD OF LIBERTY.

"Only this, sir. I found out by accident that there was a meeting of the judges of the lower court called to which I was not bid. I took means to investigate and found that they have all pledged themselves to support Amalickiah as king on the strength of his empty promises to increase their power."

"I was afraid of this," sighed Moroni. His eye traveled to the door whence a young captain entered with angry stride.

The stern young blade was vibrant with vehemence as he saluted and announced, "There is a defection in the army, sir. The soldiers have been stirred up with tales of civil war. The men, spoiling with inaction, hail the idea of a clash with delight. Already they are taking sides. Amalickiah has won over the rougher element with promises of loot."

"What have you done?"

"Put the rebels in irons. But the insurrection is spreading, and I can't imprison the whole army."

"You have done well. Let us hear what Sherum has to say." A servant with disheveled hair, his garments almost torn from his back, and his eyes rolling wildly in his head, had rushed in and thrown himself at the feet of the general.

It was a moment before the panting wretch could get his breath. Between gasps he managed to ejaculate, "The city has gone mad. Howling mobs are blocking the streets. As I returned from the charcoal vender's I ventured to enquire what it was all about. They jeered at me and when I refused to cry, 'Long live King Amalickiah, cuffed me from hand to hand."

Moroni knew enough about the management of men to realize that turbulent conditions require desperate remedies. Unless the revolution was stopped Amalickiah would be swept into office on the flood tide of a riot.

His face darkened. "Was it for this that my people fought the bloody wars with the Lamanites? Resisted the yoke of bondage to become thralls of a Nephite king, because perchance, Amalickiah would have it so?" he muttered bitterly.

"Teancum, go back to the barracks. Order the soldiers to prepare to march and the first one who tries to desert make an example of. Let fly an arrow and shoot him in the back."

Filled with the valor of his emprize, Teancum saluted his chief in silence and strode out.

"Sherum, arise, and bid Horeb bring here my full armor. You," he continued, turning to the lawyer, "go tell the town criers to summon the people to a mass meeting at the palace of justice. Say that Moroni would speak with them."

Tearing off the white cotton mantle that hung from his shoulders he took it over to the longest spear that rested against the wall. Quickly he lashed the white flag to the pole with thongs of buckskin. Then hastily thrusting his brush into the ink pot that stood near, he wrote on the white banner in bold letters, "In memory of our God, our religion and freedom, our peace, our wives, and our children."

Before he had finished his body servant entered bowed under the weight of his harness. With firm, deft touch he encased his master in the glittering metal. First he adjusted the breast plate, and then fastened the heavy armor that shielded the vital organs. He handed his chief his shield dented with the fray of many battles and lastly crowned him with the great helmet which bore on its crest the winged serpent.

He knew that one man could not quell the insurrection. He felt that he was but a weak instrument. Before he ventured out Moroni bowed himself down and prayed mightily that the Lord would pour down on the people the blessing of liberty.

Filled with the new strength that earnest prayer always imparts, he seized the title of liberty, and walked boldly out into the howling mob in the street.

When the people saw Moroni clad in martial array and read what was on his torn flag, the clamor died on their lips. Many quickly separated themselves from the crowd and followed the general.

When he reached the palace of justice and ascended the stairs to the portico, he found the square below filled with a surging multitude and from all directions others were hurrying. Men who had fought in the wars with Moroni were fastening on their armor as they ran, and women pulled children by the hand.

Moroni stepped forward and grasped the standard of liberty as he cried in a loud voice, "Behold whosoever will maintain this title upon the land, let them come forth in the strength of the Lord, and enter into a covenant that they will maintain their rights, and their religion, that the Lord God may bless them."

At this many of the people rent their garments and trampled them under foot as they cried, "So may our enemies trample us under foot if we fall into transgression."

Moroni reminded them that was what would probably happen. Then he launched into speech while the populace hung spell-bound on every word. The vast concourse stood silent while his utterance rang out. Never had such a eulogy been paid to liberty, never such a tribute to their God. In glowing words he pictured what they had endured for their religion, what they had suffered in the recent wars for their freedom. Scarcely one in that vast multitude but what had sacrificed for both. As the orator ended with the appeal, "Will you who have so bitterly resented the Lamanitsh yoke bend the knee to a Nephite king?" an ominous shout arose and he knew that the populace was with him. General Moroni was still the idol of the people and Amalickiah stood impugned.

As the speaker, sucked of his strength, turned to descend, someone plucked at his arm. He recognized the big servant of Zorabel who delivered the message.

"My mistress would speak with you. She begs that you will come to her."

"Tell your mistress Zorabel that I shall come, but not yet."

With that he dismissed the messenger and made his way to the barracks where there was much that demanded the attention of the commander-in-chief for the rest of the afternoon.

It was evening when he at last made his way toward the house of Zorabel. In her apartment the oil already flamed in its brazen cruet. So vast was the room that the light did not penetrate to its further corners, but it served to illumine its magnificence. The walls were carved in grotesque designs brilliantly colored. Prominent among the engravings was the winged serpent of Moroni, and by its side the leopard of Amalickiah. On the floor, over the couches, at the door, were displayed richest blankets of heaviest woof and rainbow hue. Nor were there lacking evidences of the personality of Moroni, for his gifts were placed with loving care. On an alabaster stand lay a book of papyrus filled with picture writing in colored inks, depicting the scenes of the conflicts Moroni had taken part in. Against the wall stood a buckskin shield won from a famous Lamanite chief. Her own divan was graced by the skin of an ocelot that Moroni had brought from one of his foraying expeditions.

Another woman would have paled in such gorgeous surroundings, but Zorabel dominated the whole. In crimson robes, the wealth of her raven hair bound in fillets of gold, she was the throbbing heart of the scene. Her own heart beat unevenly beneath the white bosom which was circled with a necklace of jade. She had placed the bangles there wondering if his man's brain would remember under what circumstances he had given them to her. She had neglected no detail that night that would help in the desperate enterprise on which she was bound.

There was a tread in the corridor and Moroni stood in the doorway. As she looked at him all her reproaches for his tardiness died on her lips and her woman's tenderness gushed forth.

"You are ill."

After the exertions of the day Moroni's features were drawn, his face pallid, and the life had gone out of him. Quickly she went to him and he enveloped her in his arms.

"Come," she said at last, "you are shaking as if you had the ague. I will give you some wine." She poured an amber liquid into a goblet and held it to his lips as he sat down weakly.

"It has been a terrible day," she moaned.

"Yes," he agreed. "Was that what you wanted to see me about?"

"I always want to see you, but I wished to talk to you, about—" she hesitated, "Amalickiah."

"I had to oppose him," said Moroni wearily.

"Yes, and defeated him. You won the people over to your side."

"He would be king."

"He is ambitious but he cannot help it."

"But he should learn that he cannot jeopardize the liberty of a nation to gratify his vaulting ambition."

"He was dissatisfied with his position."

"He saved my life, but I could not pay my debts with the offices of the people. The trust I gave him he has betrayed."

Zorabel winced, "The first victory came to you. Promise me you will oppose my brother no longer."

"He is a menace to our freedom."

"You will cease the conflict for my sake?"

"I cannot."

"Moroni, I would give up my life for you."

"Ask me for my life, Zorabel, and it is yours. As military leader, I must defend the country against any encroachment."

"Then you will let him go his way and not molest him further."

"He is seducing the people and they will have to come back."

"At least, you will let Amalickiah go?"

"Not even that, my Zorabel. As long as he is free the Nephite republic is threatened."

"Then you will do nothing?'' And her face was terrible.

"I cannot."

"Oh, God, have I come to this? What is this insensate thing that I have poured out the lavishness of my soul on? I thought it was a man," she flung up her arms despairingly.

"As I am a man I cannot do this thing you ask me. Forgive me, Zorabel," he choked.

"I have wasted my wealth of love; there is none left. What has it brought me? I have torn my heart out and it has been devoured by the God of War, but unlike the miserable victim that is sacrificed, my body shall live on and on, after the heart has gone from it."

"Zorabel, you are killing me."

"I am already dead. No man shall again thrill me with his touch nor will he put me on the rack. Henceforth, I have no master. As for you," she had worked herself into a paroxysm of fury, "never let me see your face again." In her tempestuous rage she seized the lamp and dashed it on the floor.

Darkness closed in, and out of the blackness Moroni heard a voice that ordered him to "Go." He groped blindly around but instinct told him that if he touched her he would be lost, nor would he be the first man that betrayed his country for a woman. Staggering, he turned and stumbled out. Like a drunken man he descended to the street. Even then had he known that Zorabel lay on the floor shaken with convulsive sobs he might have turned back. But destiny guided him on.

When he reached home he found a message from Hirza, congratulating him on the splendid achievement of the day. With a wan smile he thought, "At what a cost!"

AZTEC GOD OF WAR.

III.

AMALICKIAH.

Zorabel carried out her threat; having cast love out of her life she was ruled by ambition. After renouncing Moroni she proceeded to marry the aged, decrepid Lachoneus. He was the richest man in all Zarahemla, but her beauty bought him. She lived for wealth and power and outwardly was as handsome as ever. Moroni used to see her rolling resplendently in her carriage, but he never met her without a twinge of the old pain.

Amalickiah, when he saw his forces were far outnumbered by the legions of Moroni, beat a hasty retreat into the wilderness. Moroni marched against him, cut him off, and drove the insurgent soldiers back to Zarahemla. During the melee, however, Amalickiah with the chief conspirators, managed to escape. According to time honored custom they sought refuge in the city of Nephi, with the Nephite's arch enemy, the king of the Lamanites.

That august personage received the renegade Nephite with wide open arms, and when he found what a good fellow he was, heaped honors upon him. Amalickiah, with the charm of his words, won all hearts at court.

He conceived a gigantic scheme. That was to rule the Nephites through their ancient enemies, the Lamanites. To this end he began by his subtle flattery to stir up the king's anger against the white people.

"Why should you not rule over the whole continent, for you are stronger than they?" he intimated.

The idea tickled the king's fancy, for though he reigned over mighty hosts, he had a vast respect for the Nephite laws and craftsmanship.

"Seize them now, while their power is divided, and they are yours. They have no head," urged the deserter.

The king remembered a certain General Moroni, but wisely held his counsel. "They have those liberty flags floating from the towers of every city," he suggested.

"Yes, and you will trample every one of them in the dust beneath your chariot wheels," prophesied Amalickiah with rising vindictiveness.

The king, dazzled by the glories pictured by this astute adviser, issued the mandate for war. Throughout the length and breadth of the land went the word that summoned the hosts.

Then a remarkable thing occurred. Many of the warriors had fought on the banks of the river Sidon and had taken an oath not to again take up arms against the Nephites, nor would they. These men fled to a place called Onidah, appointed a general and declared, "We will have peace, if we have to fight for it."

The king suggested to Amalickiah, since he was so much interested in the campaign, that he whip the insurgents into line. The latter gladly accepted the command of the troops that were still loyal, for he had already planned to dethrone the king and he counted that one step toward the accomplishment of his design.

The rebels who refused to fight for the king, under the command of Lehonti, occupied the hill Antipus. Amalickiah pitched his camp at its base.

At night, muffled in a zerape, Amalickiah passed the guard, and with sinister stride, made his way around the side of the mountain. When he was out of sight of the sentry, he stopped abruptly. The night was fitted for deeds of darkness, as it was so black one could not see the next step in advance. To the west the clouds were banked up and the wind was beginning to rise. The gaze of the man who stood amid the desolation was fastened on a moving object up the side of the mountain. A stone, becoming dislodged, rattled down and instinctively his hand sought his sword.

The next moment the figure accosted him.

"It is you, Tish? What does Lehonti say?"

"He returns the same answer that he has sent the past two nights. He will not come down to parley with you."

"Did you tell him it was of vital importance?"

"He said that if that was the case, that you could send the message up to him."

"You told him I would assure his safe conduct."

"He answered that a man who had betrayed two masters might do no better by an enemy."

Amalickiah showed sudden magnanimity.

"Go tell the coward dog that I come alone to confer with him. Bid him bring his guards and meet me at his own gate."

Swiftly the messenger sped off and Amalickiah picked his more deliberate way up the side of the mountain. When he reached the place appointed, he found that Lehonti already awaited him and that he had taken the precaution to bring his full body guard.

"What I have to say is for your ears alone," explained Amalickiah in a low tone.

Not to be outdone in generosity, Lehonti motioned for his men to fall back.

With the bluntness his crafty soul knew so well how to assume, Amalickiah came straight to the point.

"My policy is to unite the two divisions of the Lamanite army. If we fall on each other and shed blood my very purpose will be defeated. We need all the men for the common enemy."

"I too, am opposed to bloodshed," answered Lehonti, slowly. "It is not good for brother to fight against brother."

"I wish to put the whole Lamanite army under one head. If you bring your troops tonight and surround our camp, I will deliver it to you at daylight."

"The price? What do you want?" asked Lehonti looking the traitor straight in the eyes.

"That you make me second in command of all the forces of the Lamanites."

The Indian mistrusted how he might get along with such a lieutenant, but the proposition seemed fair enough on its face, and he agreed.

At dawn, when the soldiers began to stir, they found that they were completely surrounded by the army of Lehonti. Then they pleaded with Amalickiah that he would let them fall in with their brethren and not be destroyed. That was what he wanted. In direct disobedience to the commands of the king, he delivered his men to Lehonti. That noble but trusting general had taken a viper to his bosom, though he had to die to prove it.

From second in command to the office of commander-in-chief, was but one step. It mattered little to the unscrupulous Amalickiah that Lehonti stood in the way. He had slow poison administered in his food. When the latter sickened the Nephite took over his duties.

As the two sat at the table at dinner, one day, Lehonti collapsed and fell on the floor. Amalickiah shrugged his shoulders and indifferently remarked that he had taken a fit. When the physicians examined the prostrate figure and pronounced him dead, Amalickiah affected surprise. He ordered that Lehonti be buried with military honors, and that same day appointed himself to the dead man's place.

Slowly the great army began to make its way back to the capitol. Runners brought word to the king that the hosts covered the plains. Thinking that Amalickiah had gathered together so great an army to go to battle against the Nephites, he, with great pomp, accompanied by his guards, sallied out to meet the victorious general. He did not know that Amalickiah would fain advance another step and that the king himself this time stood in the way.

The advance scouts, the employed hirelings of the general, went ahead of the army and bowed themselves down before the king to do him reverence. Among them was Tish, noted for his dog-like devotion to his master. It was he, it was suspected, who had administered the poison to Lehonti. Whatever his faults, he was unswerving in his loyalty to his chief. It chanced that he knelt directly in front of the monarch. When the sovereign put forth his hand to raise him in token of peace, he leaned forward and buried his dagger to the hilt in the king's heart. So quickly had it happened as the two men stood together, so sure was the stroke, that not until the king went down on his back and the red spot on his robe slowly widened, did the dazed onlookers realize what had happened. The attendants, in abject terror that they would share a like fate, swiftly fled.

An accomplice, taking his cue from the fleeing servants came up and addressed the assassin.

"So his own guards have killed the king and are running away."

Tish, smiling sardonically down on his own blade drinking the life blood of the dying monarch, murmured, "It must be so."

The eye lids of the victim quivered accusingly an instant and then closed forever. Tish turned away his head.

The others closed in and raised a great shout, "Behold the servants of the king have stabbed him to the heart, and he has fallen and they have fled. Come and see."

They did not bethink themselves to pursue the refugees until Amalickiah, with the main division of the army came up.

When that doughty general had looked in silence on the king, lying in his gore, he worked himself up to a mighty wrath and ordered, "Whosoever loved the king, let him go forth and pursue his servants that they may be slain."

At this, those who loved the king, and they were many, started in hot pursuit of the renegades, but the latter, when they saw an army coming after them, fortified with the strength born of desperation, made good their escape.

Amalickiah, having won the hearts of the people with his valorous attempt to apprehend the supposed slayers of the king, marched into the city in triumph at the head of his troops. He had already sent messages to the queen, accompanied by the corpse of her husband. In her vigil over the bier she listened to the tramp of the numberless battalions, and replied by craving mercy for the inhabitants of the city. She asked the general to wait upon her and bring witnesses to testify concerning the death of the king.

Amalickiah, looking very handsome in full armor, went to the palace and presented himself before the queen as she sat in state upon the throne. He was accompanied by Tish and the other conspirators, who had killed her husband. They all solemnly swore that the king had been slain by his own servants. They added, "They have fled. Does not this testify against them?" While she received the report, Amalickiah kept his dominating gaze on the queen's face. When she felt him looking at her, she dropped her eyes. After the others withdrew, Amalickiah remained to adjust affairs of state with the queen.

For three days the widow shut herself up in her chamber to mourn. During that time Amalickiah surfeited her with embankments of flowers and baskets of fruit. His multiple gifts were accompanied by a glib-tongued messenger, who lost no opportunity to sound his master's praises.

AMALIKAIH SENT THE CORPSE OF HER HUSBAND TO THE LAMANITE QUEEN.

The lady, overburdened with the affairs of state, came to rely more and more on the big, strong, councillor. They were thrown much together and people began to wonder if there had been another reason for the king's sending Amalickiah away to the wars. He was a Nephite with the charm and manners of his race, and the queen was but a pawn. Only, since he was to marry her to gain the throne, he gloried in the fact that she was so beautiful.

So the two were wed, and Amalickiah, seated on the throne by the queen's side, was crowned king. She salved her conscience for her undue haste by ordering a splendid tomb for the remains of her former husband. She had the funeral chamber decorated with leopards, the coat of arms of Amalickiah.

He gave himself over to the pleasures of the court, but still unsatisfied, desired to rule the earth. Slowly he began to plan the vast campaign which would again mark the clash of the two greatest generals of the age, Moroni, commander-in-chief of the Nephites, and Amalickiah, king of the Lamanites, only now the latter had the barbarian hordes behind him.

IV.

Nemesis Overtakes Amalickiah.

Moroni again sat at his study table, while Teancum walked the floor like a caged hyena. The former was haggard-gray like a blasted tree; the latter vowed vengeance, in harsh, inarticulate sounds. Thus the two men took their sorrow differently. Word had come that day that the city of Moroni on the Atlantic coast had been sacked by Amalickiah. For certain reverses that his troops had met with at first, that worthy had sworn to drink Moroni's blood. City after city had fallen under his attack, and ruin and destruction followed in his wake. Finally Moroni's home town was captured. When Amalickiah found that he was cheated of his revenge, as Moroni had gone to Zarahemla, he had without mercy had the aged parents of Teancum and Moroni's young wife, Hirza, put to the sword. Her woman's wit had saved her boy, Moronihah, and sent him in safety to his father, but it could not save herself.

"The vampire has drunk your blood through Hirza's veins." Teancum stopped in his mad pace. "Poor Hirza, whose only fault was being loved by you."

Moroni groaned.

"It was a coward's trick," continued the other. "They are dead, my aged father and my poor old mother—Look you, Moroni, Amalickiah belongs to me. Before heaven I swear to kill him with these two hands!" He flung his powerful arms with clenched fists above his head.

AMALICKIAH SACKED THE COAST CITIES AND PUT HIRZA TO THE SWORD.

"Nay, do not swear," cautioned Moroni. "Teancum, you have been given the command of the division that moves against the Lamanites tomorrow. Fight with the genius and tenacity you displayed on the narrow neck of land. For the rest I trust you implicitly. Now I would be alone."

* * * * * * * *

Amalickiah marched toward the land Bountiful driving the Nephites before him. On the last day he had been much harassed by the archers of Teancum that skirted the woods. When they reached the seashore they met the forces of Teancum drawn up in martial array. A pitched battle ensued in which the Nephites had the advantage over the footsore Lamanites who had been marching and fighting for many days, while their opponents were fresh. With nightfall hostilities ceased. "If Amalickiah were dead, there would be no more war; the snake cannot strike without its head," cogitated the Nephite.

Teancum sat in his tent and by the sputtering flame of a pine torch, was engaged in coloring his skin brown by rubbing it with the juice of a wood berry. His servant, who had already gone through the same performance, and was a Lamanite to all appearances, was sorting over rather gingerly, a pile of women's apparel.

"You are hard to please. Does nothing there suit you?" asked Teancum, with mocking irony.

"Nay, there are so many, I know not which to choose," replied the other in the same spirit.

"It need not be overly becoming in the dark. Let me warn you to make your skirts short, for you may have to run." So daring hearts make light of the gravest dangers.

The man servant replied with a vicious wrench as he got into the woman's garb.

Teancum surveyed him and laughed. "My word, you make a charming wench. Half the men in the Lamanite camp will try to flirt with you, and so defeat our adventure. Pull your scarf down more over your face, so."

The other grinned, displaying a mouth unfeminine in width. But he looked sober when Teancum handed him a battle axe with the remark, "If I fail, you may have an opportunity to finish it," Teancum himself tucked a double-edged dagger into his belt and took down his javelin. He then enveloped himself in a blanket.

As the two passed out, the servant in the yellow striped skirt of a drab, the other with the shuffling gait of a camp straggler, they attracted little attention. When they entered the camp of the Lamanites they elicited less, for the men slept with the abandonment of exhaustion. "A fellow and his girl out late," was all they thought, if they saw them at all.

As the couple picked their way among the tired soldiers one would occasionally open his eyes, see who it was, only grunt and turn over wearily. So without mishap they reached the tent of Amalickiah. Fortune was with them, for his servants were sleeping heavily. Although delay was fraught with danger, Teancum reconnoitered a moment to ascertain just where Amalickiah lay. He was asleep on a camp couch with his arms by his side. A streak of moonlight straggled in and illumined his pale face.

For a moment Teancum poised his javelin in the air. Then he struck. So powerful was the arm that drove the weapon that it went through the sleeper's body, speared the heart, and he died without a groan.

Teancum joined his cowering companion at the entrance, and the two picked their way out of the hostile camp.

Not until morning did the Lamanite hordes raise a wail for their dead king. They had just found his corpse, stark and cold, stuck through with a javelin.

BAS-RELIEF OF ANCIENT WARRIOR.

ALLA DERIDING THE IDOLS.