"Nat--a thousand armed men are off the coast! The Lamanites of the
mainland are descending upon the Mormon kingdom as the hosts of Israel
upon Canaan! Strang is doomed--doomed--doomed--and to-morrow I shall be
king!" His voice rose in a wailing shriek. He darted to the door and his
cackling laugh rang with the old madness as he pointed into the north
where a lurid glow had mounted high into the sky.
"The signal fire--the bell!" he gurgled chokingly. "They are calling the
Mormons to arms--but it is too late--too late! Ho, ho, it is too late,
Nat--too late!" He staggered back, gripping his throat, and fell upon
the floor. "Too late--too late," he moaned, groveling weakly, as if
struggling for breath. "Too late--Nat--Marion--"
A shiver passed through his body and he lay quite still.
CHAPTER VIII
THE SIX CASTLE CHAMBERS
In an instant Nathaniel was upon his knees beside the prostrate form of
the old councilor.
Obadiah's eyes were open, but unseeing; his face was blanched to the
whiteness of paper; an almost imperceptible movement of his chest showed
that he still breathed. Nathaniel lifted one of the limp hands and its
clammy chill struck horror to his heart. Tenderly he lifted the old man
and carried him to the cot at the end of the room. He loosened his
clothes, tore off the low collar about his throat, and felt with his
hand to measure the faint beating of life in the councilor's breast. For
a few moments it seemed to grow fainter and fainter, and a choking lump
rose in his throat as he watched the pallor of death fixing itself on
the councilor's shriveled face.
Pages:
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119