He was too late to save Marion! His brain reeled with the thought.
Too late--too late--too late. He panted the words. They came with every
gasp for breath. Too late! Too late! His heart pumped like an engine as
he strained to keep up his speed. He passed a man and a boy hurrying
with their rifles to St. James and made no answer to their shout; a
galloping horse forged ahead of him and he tried to keep up with it; and
then, at the top of the long hill that sloped down to the stronghold of
the Mormon kingdom something seemed to sweep his legs from under him,
and he fell panting on the ground. For a few moments he lay there
looking down upon the city. The great bell at the temple was now silent.
He saw huge fires burning for a mile along the coast, hundreds of lights
were twinkling in the harbor, there came up to him softly, subdued by
distance, the sound of commotion and excitement far below.
His eyes rested on the beacon above the prophet's home, burning like a
ball of fire over the black canopy of tree-tops. Marion was there! He
rose to his feet again and went on, reason and judgment returning to
him--telling him that he was about to play against odds; that his work
was to be one of strength and generalship and not of madness. As he
picked his way more slowly and cautiously down the slope a new hope
flashed upon him. Was it possible that the discovery of the approach of
the mainlanders had served to save Marion? In the excitement that
followed the calling of the Mormons to arms and the preparations for the
defense would Strang, the master of the kingdom, the bulwark of his
people, waste priceless time in carrying out the purpose for which he
had sent for Marion? Hardly did hope burn anew in his breast when there
came another thought to quench it.
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