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<SPAN name="chap89"></SPAN> <h3>Chapter Eighty Nine.</h3> <h4>Planning an Abduction.</h4> <p>Our deliberations occupied but a brief time. I had already considered the subject in all its bearings; and arrived at the conviction that there was only one course to be followed, by which Lilian’s safety could be secured—that is, by carrying her off from the Mormon train. In this opinion her sister fully agreed. She knew it would be idle to expect that the wolf would willingly yield up his victim; and the painful thought was pressing upon her that even her own father, hoodwinked by the hypocrites that surrounded him, might reject the opportunity of saving his child! He would not be the only parent, who, blinded by this abominable delusion, has similarly sacrificed upon the unhallowed altar of Mormondom. Of this melancholy fact Marian was not ignorant. Her unhappy journey across the great plains had revealed to her many a strange incident—many a wicked phase of the human heart.</p> <p>All agreed that Lilian must be taken from the Mormons, either by force or by stealth. It must be done, too, before they could reach the Salt Lake city. Once upon the banks of the Transatlantic Jordan, these pseudo-saints would be safe from the interference of their most powerful enemies. There the deed of abduction would be no longer possible; or, if still possible, <i>too late</i>. Was it practicable elsewhere—upon the route? And how was it to be effected? These were the questions that occupied us. There were but three men of us: for the Irishman, now completely <i>hors de combat</i>, must be left behind. True, the huntress-maiden, who had declared her determination to accompany us, might well be counted as a fourth; in all four guns. But what would four guns avail against more than ten times the number? Wingrove had learnt from the wretched Chicasaw that there were a hundred men with the Mormon train. It was idle, therefore, to think of carrying her off by force. That would have been sheer quixotism—only to end fatally for all of us.</p> <p>And was it not equally idle to dream of an abduction by stealth? Verily, it seemed so. How were we to approach this Mormon host? How enter their camp, guarded as it would be by the jealous vigilance of lynx-eyed villains? By day, it would be impossible; by night, hazardous, and equally impracticable would be our purpose. We could not join company with these clannish emigrants, without offering some excuse. What pretext could be put forward? Had we been strangers to them, we might have availed ourselves of some plausible story; but, unfortunately, it was not so. All of us, except Sure-shot, would be known to their leader. My presence, however unexpected, would at once proclaim my purpose to the keen-witted knave; and as for Marian Holt, hers would be a position of positive danger—even equalling that in which her sister was now placed. Stebbins could <i>claim</i> her—if not by a true husband’s right, at least by the laws of Mormon matrimony; and of course by those laws would the case be judged in a Mormon camp—the apostle himself being their interpreter!</p> <p>The hope which I had built upon the prospect of an alliance with Marian was, that by her intercession Lilian might be induced voluntarily to make her escape—even, if necessary, <i>from her father</i>! I had conceived the hope too hastily—without dwelling upon the danger to Marian herself. This was now evident to all of us. We saw that Marian could not safely enter the Mormon camp. We could not think of submitting her to a danger that might too probably conduct to a double sacrifice—two victims instead of one. Our thoughts turned upon the ex-rifleman. He was the only one of us unknown to the leader of the Mormons, and to Holt himself. To Sure-shot, then, were our hopes next transferred. He might join the train on some pretext, the rest of us remaining at a distance? By this agency, a communication might be effected with Lilian herself; the proximity of her sister made known; the perils of her own situation—of which no doubt the young creature was yet entirely ignorant. Her scruples once overcome by a knowledge of her own danger, she would herself aid in contriving a plan of escape! For such a purpose, Sure-shot was the man—adroit, crafty, courageous. Thus ran our reflections.</p> <p>It may be wondered why, in this emergency, we had not thought of Wa-ka-ra: surely he could have given us effective aid. With his mounted warriors, he could soon have overtaken the Mormon train, surrounded it, and dealt out the law to its leader? But we had already learnt the improbability of our appeal being acted upon. Marian had interpreted to us the views of the Utah chief in relation to the Mormons. These wily diplomatists had, from their first settlement in the Utah territory, courted the alliance of Wa-ka-ra and his band. They had made much of the warlike chief—had won his confidence and friendship—and at that hour the closest intimacy existed between him and the Mormon prophet. For this reason, Marian believed it would require a stronger motive than mere personal friendship to make him act as their enemy.</p> <p>In such an important enterprise, no chance should be left untried. I was determined none should be; and therefore incited Marian to make an appeal to the Utah chief. She consented. It was worth the experiment. Should the answer prove favourable, our difficulties would soon disappear, and we might hope for a speedy success. If otherwise, our prospects would still be the same—no worse: for worse they could scarcely be. Marian left us, and proceeded on her errand to the chief. We saw him withdraw from the ceremonies, and, going apart, engage with the girl in what appeared an earnest and animated conversation. With hopeful hearts we looked on. Wingrove was no longer jealous. I had cured him with a hint; and the bandaged arm of his betrothed had explained the delicate attentions, which the Indian had been seen to bestow upon her. The dialogue lasted for ten minutes, the speakers at intervals glancing towards us; but we knew the theme, and patiently awaited the issue. It was soon to be declared to us. We saw the chief wave his hand—as a signal that the conversation was ended; and the speakers parted. Wa-ka-ra walked back among his warriors, while Marian was seen returning to our council. We scrutinised her countenance as she approached, endeavouring to read in it what our wishes dictated—an affirmative to our appeal. Her step was buoyant; and her glance, if not gay, at least not one that betokened disappointment. We were unable to determine, however, until her words declared the answer of the chief. As Marian had anticipated, he could not consent to act openly against the Mormons. But the tale had enlisted his sympathy; and he had even suggested a plan by which we might carry out our design, without the necessity of his interference.</p> <p>It was this: the horseman that had just arrived, chanced to be a messenger from the Mormons. Unable to find the Coochetopa Pass, they were still encamped in the great valley of San Luis, on the banks of the Rio del Norte. The only one of them who had been across the plains before was their leader—Stebbins, of course—and he, having gone by the Cherokee trail and Bridger’s Pass, was entirely unacquainted with the route they were now following. They were in need of a guide; and having encountered the Indian at this crisis, and learnt that he belonged to the band of Wa-ka-ra—not far off, as the man informed them—they had despatched him to the Utah chief, with a request that the latter would furnish them with a guide, and two or three of his best hunters. Before Marian had ended her explanation, I had divined the scheme. We were <i>to personate the guide and hunters</i>. That was the suggestion of the Utah chief!</p> <p>It was perfectly feasible. Nothing can be easier than to counterfeit the semblance of the American Indian. The colour of the skin is of no consequence. Ochre, charcoal, and vermilion made red man and white man as like as need be; and for the hair, the black tail of a horse, half-covered and confined by the great plumed bonnet, with its crest dropping backward, is a disguise not to be detected. The proud savage doffs his eagle plumes to no living man; and even the most intrusive Mormon would not dare to scrutinise too closely the <i>coiffure</i> of an Indian warrior. The plan was rendered further practicable, by a new and able ally enlisting himself into our ranks. This was the trapper, Archilete, who, from a hint given him by the Utah chief, at once volunteered to act as the guide. The Mexican had already conceived an instinctive antipathy towards the Mormon “hereticos;” and we might rely upon his fidelity to our cause. The scheme exactly suited the eccentric character of this singular man; and he entered upon his duties <i>con amore</i>, and at once. By his assistance we soon procured the required costumes and pigments; but neither were to be “put on” in the presence of the Utahs. It was necessary that Wa-ka-ra should not be compromised by a too conspicuous “intervention.”</p> <p>The friendly chief had hinted a further promise to Marian—even an open interference in our favour—should that become necessary. He would follow close after the Mormon train; and, should our design prove a failure, might <i>then use his influence</i> on our behalf. This would have been the best news of all. With such a prospect, we should have had little to fear for the result; but alas! before leaving the ground, an incident occurred that threatened to prevent our generous ally from fulfilling that promise, however formally he might have made it.</p> <hr /></div> <div class="bodytext"> <div style="break-after:column;"></div><br />

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