"Hush!"
"I would like to see--"
Even in these last hours of failure and defeat the fire of adventure
flamed up in Nathaniel's blood. He felt his nerves leaping again to
action, his arms grew tense with new ambition--almost he forgot that
death had him cornered and was already preparing to strike him down.
Another thought replaced all fear of this. A few feet beyond that log
wall were gathered the men whose bloodthirsty deeds had written for them
one of the reddest pages in history--men who had burned their souls out
in the destruction of human lives, whose passions and loves and hatreds
carried with them life and death; men who had bathed themselves in blood
and lived in blood until the people of the mainland called them "the
leeches."
"The Mormon jury!" Nathaniel spoke the words scarcely above his breath.
"I'd like to take a look through that hole, Neil," he added.
"Easy enough--if you keep quiet. Here!" He doubled himself against the
wall. "Climb up on my shoulders."
No sooner had Nathaniel's face come to a level with the hole than a soft
cry of astonishment escaped him. Neil whispered hoarsely but he did not
reply. He was looking into a room twice as large as the dungeon cell and
lighted by narrow windows whose lower panes were on a level with the
ground outside. At the farther end of the room, in full view, was a
platform raised several feet from the main floor. On this platform were
seated ten men, immovable as statues, every face gazing straight ahead.
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