“Maybe you don’t know us,” he said. This here is the son of Elder Drebber, and I’m Joseph Stangerson, who travelled with you in the desert when the Lord stretched out His hand and gathered you into the true fold.”
“As He will all the nations in His own good time,” said the other in a nasal voice; “He grindeth slowly but exceeding small.”
John Ferrier bowed coldly. He had guessed who his visitors were.
“We have come,” continued Stangerson, at the advice of our fathers to solicit the hand of your daughter for whichever of us may seem good to you and to her. As I have but four wives and Brother Drebber here has seven, it appears to me that my claim is the stronger one.”
“Nay, nay, Brother Stangerson,” cried the other; “the question is not how many wives we have, but how many we can keep. My father has now given over his mills to me, and I am the richer man.”
“But my prospects are better,” said the other, warmly. “When the Lord removes my father, I shall have his tanning yard and his leather factory. Then I am your elder, and am higher in the Church.”
“It will be for the maiden to decide,” rejoined young Drebber, smirking at his own reflection in the glass. “We will leave it all to her decision.”
During this dialogue John Ferrier had stood fuming in the doorway, hardly able to keep his riding-whip from the backs of his two visitors.
“Look here,” he said at last, striding up to them, “when my daughter summons you, you can come, but until then I don’t want to see your faces again.”
The two young Mormons stared at him in amazement. In their eyes this competition between them for the maiden’s hand was the highest of honours both to her and her father.
“There are two ways out of the room,” cried Ferrier; “there is the door, and there is the window. Which do you care to use?”
His brown face looked so savage, and his gaunt hands so threatening, that his visitors sprang to their feet and beat a hurried retreat. The old farmer followed them to the door.
“Let me know when you have settled which it is to be,” he said, sardonically.
“You shall smart for this!” Stangerson cried, white with rage. “You have defied the Prophet and the Council of Four. You shall rue it to the end of your days.”
“The hand of the Lord shall be heavy upon you,” cried young Drebber; “He will arise and smite you!”
“Then I’ll start the smiting,” exclaimed Ferrier, furiously, and would have rushed upstairs for his gun had not Lucy seized him by the arm and restrained him. Before he could escape from her, the clatter of horses’ hoofs told him that they were beyond his reach.
“The young canting rascals!” he exclaimed, wiping the perspiration from his forehead; “I would sooner see you in your grave, my girl, than the wife of either of them.”
“And so should I, father.” she answered, with spirit; “but Jefferson will soon be here.”
“Yes. It will not be long before he comes. The sooner the better, for we do not know what their next move may be.”
It was, indeed, high time that someone capable of giving advice and help should come to the aid of the sturdy old farmer and his adopted daughter. In the whole history of the settlement there had never been such a case of rank disobedience to the authority of the Elders. If minor errors were punished so sternly, what would be the fate of this arch rebel? Ferrier knew that his wealth and position would be of no avail to him. Others as well known and as rich as himself had been spirited away before now, and their goods given over to the Church. He was a brave man, but he trembled at the vague, shadowy terrors which hung over him. Any known danger he could face with a firm lip, but this suspense was unnerving. He concealed his fears from his daughter, however, and affected to make light of the whole matter, though she, with the keen eye of love, saw plainly that he was ill at ease.