Nathaniel’s heart beat excitedly as they came to where the scrub of the forest met the plain.  They were taking the path that led to Marion’s!  Again he looked at Neil.  There was no change in the fearless attitude of Marion’s brother, no lowering of his head, no faltering in his step.  They passed the graves and entered the opening in the forest where lay Marion’s home, and as once more the sweet odor of lilac came to him, awakening within his soul all those things that he had tried to stifle that he might meet death like a man, he felt himself weakening, until only the cloth about his mouth restrained the moaning cry that forced itself to his lips.  If he had possessed a life to give he would have sacrificed it gladly then for a word with the Mormon king, a last prayer that death might be meted to him here, where eternity would come to him with his glazing eyes fixed to the end upon the home of his beloved, and where the sweetness of the flower that had become a part of Marion herself might soothe the pain of his final moment on earth.

His heart leaped with hope as a sharp voice from the rear commanded a halt.  It was Jeekum.  He came up out of the darkness from behind the rear guard, his face still unmasked, and for a few moments was in whispered consultation with the guards ahead.  Had Strang, in the virulence of that hatred which he concealed so well, conceived of this spot to give added torment to death?  It was the poetry of vengeance!  For the first time Neil turned toward his companion.  Each read what the other had guessed.  Neil, who was nearest to the whispering four, turned suddenly toward them and listened.  When he looked at Nathaniel again it was with a slow negative shake of his head.

Jeekum returned quickly and placed himself between them, seizing each by an arm, and the forward guards, pivoting to the left, set off at their steady pace across the clearing.  As they entered the denser gloom of the forest on the farther side Nathaniel felt the jailer’s fingers tighten about his arm, then relax—­and tighten again.  A gentle pressure held him back and the guards in front gained half a dozen feet.  In a low voice Jeekum called for those behind to fall a few paces to the rear.

Then came again the mysterious working of the man’s fingers on Nathaniel’s arm.

Was Jeekum signaling to him?

He could see Neil’s white face still turned stoically to the front.  Evidently nothing had occurred to arouse his suspicions.  If the maneuvering of Jeekum’s fingers meant anything it was intended for him alone.  Action had been the manna of his life.  The possibility of new adventure, even in the face of death, thrilled him.  He waited, breathless—­and the strange pressure came again, so hard that it hurt his flesh.

There was no longer a doubt in his mind.  The king’s sheriff wanted to speak to him.

And he was afraid of the eyes and ears behind.

The fingers were cautioning him to be ready—­when the opportunity came.