the Mormon mass.  Above the din of battle Nathaniel’s voice rose in thundering shouts to the men in the sea, and close beside him he heard Neil shrieking out a name between his blows.  Like demons they fought straight ahead, slashing with their knives.  The Mormon line was thinning.  The mainlanders had turned and were fighting their way back, gaining foot by foot what they had lost.  Suddenly there came a terrific cheer from the plain and the hope that had flamed in Nathaniel’s breast died out as he heard it.  He knew what it meant—­that the Mormons at St. James had come to reinforce their comrades.  He fought now to reach the boats, calling to Neil, whom he could no longer see.  Even in that moment he thought of Marion.  His only chance was to escape with the others, his only hope of wresting her from the kingdom lay in his own freedom.  He had waited too long.  A crushing blow fell upon him from behind and with a last cry to Neil he sank under the trampling feet.  Indistinctly there came to him the surging shock of the fresh body of Mormons.  The din about him became fainter and fainter as though he was being carried rapidly away from it; shouting voices came to him in whispers, and deadened sounds, like the quick tapping of a finger on his forehead, were all that he heard of the steady rifle fire that pursued the defeated mainlanders in their flight.

After a little he began struggling back into consciousness.  There was a splitting pain somewhere in his head and he tried to reach his hand to it.

“You won’t have to carry him,” he heard a voice say.  “Give him a little water and he’ll walk.”

He felt the dash of the water in his face and it put new life into him.  Somebody had raised him to a sitting posture and was supporting him there while a second person bound a cloth about his head.  He opened his eyes and the light of day shot into them like a stinging, burning charge of needle-points, and he closed them again with a sharp cry of pain.  That second’s glance had shown him that it was a woman who was binding his head.  He had not seen her face.  Beyond her he had caught a half formed vision of many people and the glistening edge of the sea, and as he lay with closed eyes the murmur of voices came to him.  The support at his back was taken away, slowly, as if the person who held him feared that he would fall.  Nathaniel stiffened himself to show his returning strength and opened his eyes again.  This time the pain was not so great.  A few yards away he saw a group of people and among them were women; still farther away, so far that his brain grew dizzy as he looked, there was a black moving crowd.  He was among the wounded.  The Mormon women were here.  Down there along the shore—­among the dead—­had assembled the population of St. James.

A strange sickness overpowered him and he sank back against his supporter.  A cool hand passed over his face.  It was a soothing, gentle touch—­the hand of the woman.  He felt the sweep of soft hair against his cheek—­a breath whispering in his ear.