Here at daybreak the morning before, Klingensmith told him, a band of Piede Indians, under Lee’s direction, had attacked the train, killing and wounding a number of the men.  It had been hoped, explained Klingensmith, that the train would be destroyed at once by the Indians, thus avoiding any call upon the militia; but the emigrants had behaved with such effectiveness that the Indians were unable to complete the task.  They had corralled their wagons, dug a rifle-pit in the center, and returned the fire, killing one Indian and wounding two of the chiefs.  The siege was being continued.

The misgiving that this tale caused Joel Rae he put down to unmanly weakness—­and to an unfamiliarity with military affairs.  A sight of the order in Brigham’s writing for the train’s extermination would have set his mind wholly at rest; but though he had not been granted this, he was assured that such an order existed, and with this he was obliged to be content.  He knew, indeed, that an order from Brigham, either oral or written, must have come; otherwise the local authorities would never have dared to proceed.  They were not the men to act without orders in a matter so grave after the years in which Brigham had preached his right to dictate, direct, and control the affairs of his people from the building of the temple “down to the ribbons a woman should wear, or the setting up of a stocking.”

Late on the following day, Wednesday, while they were anxiously waiting for news, a messenger from Lee came with a call for reinforcements.  The Indians, although there were three hundred of them, had been unable to prevail over the little entrenched band of Gentiles.  Ten minutes after the messenger’s arrival, the militia, which had been waiting under arms, set out for the scene in wagons.  From Cedar City went every able-bodied man but two.

Joel Rae was with them, wondering why he went.  He wanted not to go.  He preferred that news of the approaching victory should be brought to him; yet invisible hands had forced him, even while it seemed that frenzied voices—­voices without sound—­warned him back.

The ride was long, but not long enough for his mind to clear.  It was still clouded with doubts and questionings and fears when they at last saw the flaring of many fires with figures loitering or moving busily about them.  As they came nearer, a strange, rhythmic throbbing crept to his ears; nearer still, he resolved it into the slow, regular beatings of a flat-toned drum.  The measure, deliberate, incessant, changeless,—­the same tones, the same intervals,—­worked upon his strained nerves, at first soothingly and then as a pleasant stimulant.

The wagons now pulled up near the largest camp fire, and the arrivals were greeted by a dozen or so of the Saints, who, with Major Lee, had been directing and helping the Indians in their assaults upon the enemy.  Several of these had disguised themselves as Indians for the better deception of the besieged.