little councilor was his old self again, chuckling and grimacing and rubbing his hands, and his eyes danced as he spoke of the girl.
"Casey is not a cautious man," he gurgled with a sudden upward leer. "Casey is a fool!"
"Casey!" almost shouted Captain Plum. "What the devil do you mean?"
"Ho, ho, ho—haven't you guessed the truth yet, Nat? While you and I were getting acquainted last night a couple of fishermen from the mainland dropped alongside your sloop. They had been robbed by the Mormon pirates! They cursed Strang. They swore vengeance. And your cautious Casey cursed with 'em, and fed 'em, and drank with 'em—and he would have had them stay until morning only they were anxious to hurry with their report to Strang. Understand, Nat? Eh? Do you understand?"
"What did Casey tell them?" gasped Nathaniel.
Obadiah hunched his shoulders.
"Enough to warrant a bullet through your head, Nat. Cheerful, isn't it? But we'll fool them, Nat, we'll fool them! You shall board your ship and hurry away with the package, and then you shall make love to Strang's wife—for she will go with you!"
He stopped to enjoy the amazement that was written in every lineament of the other's face. The red blood surged into Nathaniel's neck and deepened on his bronze cheeks. Slowly the reaction came. When he spoke there was an uneasy gleam in his eyes and his voice was as hard as steel.
"She will go with me, Councilor! And why?"
Obadiah had laughed softly as he watched the change. Suddenly he jerked himself erect.
"Sh-h-h!" he whispered. "Keep cool, Nat! Don't show any excitement or fear. Here comes the man who is to kill you!"
He made no move save with his eyes.
"He is coming to speak with me and to get a good look at you," he added in excited haste. "Appear friendly. Agree with what I say. He is the chief of sheriffs, the king's murderer—Arbor Croche!"
He turned as if he had just seen the approaching figure. And he whispered softly, "Winnsome's father!"
Arbor Croche! Nathaniel gave an involuntary shudder as he turned with Obadiah. Croche, chief of sheriffs, scourge of the mainland—the Attila of the Mormon kingdom, whose very name caused the women of the shores to turn white and on whose head the men had secretly set a price in gold! Without knowing it his hand went under his coat. Obadiah saw the movement and as he advanced to meet the officer of the king he jerked the arm back fiercely. Half a dozen paces away the chief of sheriffs paused and bowed low. But the councilor stood erect, as he had stood before the king, smiling and nodding his head.
"Ah, Croche," he greeted, "good morning!"
"Good morning, Councilor!"
"Sheriff, I would have you meet Captain Nathaniel Plum, master of the sloop Typhoon. Captain Plum this is His Majesty's officer, Arbor Croche!"
The two men advanced and shook hands. Nathaniel stood half a head above the sheriff, who, like his master, the king, was short and of massive build, though a much younger man. He was a dark lowering hulk of a creature, with black eyes, black hair, and a hand-clasp that showed him possessed of great strength.
"You are a stranger, Captain Plum?"
The councilor replied quickly.
"He has never been at St. James before, sheriff. I have invited him to stay over to see the whipping. By the way—" he shot a suggestive look at the Officer. "By the way, Croche, I want you to see him safely aboard his sloop to-night. His ship is at the lower end of the island, and if you will detail a couple of men just before dusk—an escort, you know—"
Nathaniel felt a curious thrill creep up his spine at the satisfaction which betrayed itself in the officer's black face.
"It will give me great pleasure, Councilor," he interrupted. "I shall escort you myself if you will allow me, Captain Plum!"
"Thank you," said Nathaniel.
"Captain Plum is to remain with me throughout the day," added Obadiah. "Come at seven—to my place. Ah, I see that people are assembling near the jail!"
"We have changed our plans somewhat, Councilor." The officer turned to Nathaniel. "You will see the whipping within half an hour, Captain Plum." He turned away with another bow to the councilor and hastened in the direction of Strang's office.
"So that is the gentleman who thinks he is going to put a bullet through me!" exclaimed Nathaniel when the officer had gone beyond hearing. He laughed, and there was a kind of wild expectant joy in his voice. "Obadiah, can you not make arrangements for him to go with me alone?"
"He will not go with you at all, Nat," gloated the old man. "Ho, ho, we are playing at his own game—treachery. When he calls at my place you will be aboard ship."
"But I should like to have a talk with him—alone, and in the woods. God—I know a man at Grand Traverse Bay whose wife and daughter—"
"Sh-h-h-h!" interrupted the councilor. "Would you kill little Winnsome's father?"
"Her father? That animal! That murderer! Is it true?"
"But you should have seen her mother, Nat, you should have seen her mother!" The old man twisted his hands, like a miser ravished by the sight of gold. "She was beautiful—as beautiful as a wild flower, and she killed herself three years ago to save the birth of another child into this hell. Little Winn is like her mother, Nat."
"And she lives with him?"
"Er, yes—and guarded, oh, so carefully guarded by Strang, Nat! Yes, I guess that some day she will be a queen."
"Great God!" cried the young man. "And you—you live in this cesspool of sin and still believe in a Heaven?"
"Yes, I believe in a Heaven. And my reward there shall be great. Ho, ho, I am taking no middle road, Nat!"
They had passed in a semicircle beyond the temple and now approached a squat building constructed of logs, which Obadiah had pointed out as the jail. A glance satisfied Nathaniel that it was so situated that an admirable view of the proceedings could be obtained from the rear of the structure in which Strang had his office. Several score of people had already assembled about the prison and stood chatting with that tense interest and anticipation with which the mob always awaits public infliction of the law's penalties. A third of them were women. As Nathaniel had previously noted, the feminine part of the Mormon population wore their hair either in braids down their backs or in thick curls flowing over their shoulders and with the exception of three or four were attired in skirts that just concealed their knees. Obadiah halted his companion close to a group of half a dozen of these women and nudged him slyly.
"Pretty sight, eh, Nat?" he chuckled. "Ah, the king has a wonderful eye for beauty, Nat—wonderful eye! He orders that no skirt shall fall below the female knee. Ho, ho, if he dared, if he quite dared, Nat!"
He nudged Nathaniel again with such enthusiasm that the latter jumped as though a knife had been thrust between his ribs.
"By George, I admire his taste!" he laughed. The women caught him staring at them, and one, who was the youngest and prettiest of the lot, smiled invitingly.
"Tush—the
