Then, in a moment, he began stroking the shimmering glory of her
hair, caressing the silken curls between his fingers until the blood
seemed as if it must burst, like hot sweat from Nathaniel's face.
Suddenly Winnsome drew back from him, the pallor gone from her face, her
eyes blazing like angry stars. She had retreated but a step when the
prophet sprang to her and caught her in his arms, straining her to him
until the scream on her lips was choked to a gasping cry. In answer to
that cry a yell of rage hurled itself from Nathaniel's throat.
"Stop, you hell-hound!" he cried threateningly. "Stop!"
He shrieked the words again and again, maddened beyond control, and the
Mormon king, whose self-possession was more that of devil than man,
still held the struggling girl in his arms as he turned his head toward
the voice and saw Nathaniel's long arm and knotted fist threatening him
through the hole in the wall. Then Neil's name in a piercing scream
resounded through the dungeon corridor and in response to it the man
under Nathaniel straightened himself so quickly that his companion fell
back to the floor.
"Great God! what is the matter, Nat? Quick! let me up!"
Nathaniel staggered to his feet, the breath half gone out of his body,
and in another instant Neil was at the opening. The great room into
which he looked was empty.
"What was it?" he cried, leaping down. "What were they doing with
Winnsome?"
"It was the king," said Nathaniel, struggling to master himself.
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