Nathaniel rose to his feet and thrust his head and shoulders from his hiding-place.  He heard a loud shout near him and drew back quickly as a boy rushed madly across the opening toward the crowd, crying out at the top of his voice.  He had come out of the path that led to St. James.  No sooner had he reached the group about the burned cabin than there came a change that added to Nathaniel’s bewilderment.  He heard loud voices, the excited shouting of men and the shrill cries of boys, and the crowd suddenly began to move, thinning itself out until it was racing in a black stream toward the Mormon city.  In his excitement Nathaniel hurried toward the path.  From the concealment of a clump of bushes he watched the people as they rushed past him a dozen paces away.  Behind all the others there came a figure that drew a sharp cry from him as he leaped from his hiding-place.  It was Obadiah Price.

“Obadiah!” he called.  “Obadiah Price!”

The old man turned.  His face was livid.  He was chattering to himself, and he chattered still as he ran up to Nathaniel.  He betrayed no surprise at seeing him, and yet there was the insane grip of steel in the two hands that clutched fiercely at Nathaniel’s.

“You have come in time, Nat!” he panted joyfully.  “You have come in time!  Hurry—­hurry—­hurry—­”

He ran back into the clearing, with Nathaniel close at his side, and pointed to the smoking ruins of the cabin among the lilacs.

“They were killed last night!” he cried shrilly.  “Somebody murdered them—­and burned them with the house!  They are dead—­dead!”

“Who?” shouted Nathaniel.

Obadiah had stopped and was rubbing and twisting his hands in his old, mad way.

“The old folks.  Ho, ho, the old folks, of course!  They are dead—­dead—­dead—­”

He fairly shrieked the words.  Then, for a moment, he stood tightly clutching his thin hands over his chest in a powerful effort to control himself.

“They are dead!” he repeated.

He spoke more calmly, and yet there was something so terrible in his eyes, something so harshly vibrant of elation in the quivering passion of his voice that Nathaniel felt himself filled with a strange horror.  He caught him by the arm, shaking him as he would have shaken a child.

“Where is Marion?” he asked.  “Tell me, Obadiah—­where is Marion?”

The councilor seemed not to have heard him.  A singular change came into his face and his eyes traveled beyond Nathaniel.  Following his glance the young man saw that three men had appeared from the scorched shrubbery about the burned house and were hurrying toward them.  Without shifting his eyes Obadiah spoke to him quickly.

“Those are king’s sheriffs, Nat,” he said.  “They know me.  In a moment they will recognize you.  The United States warship Michigan has just arrived in the harbor to arrest Strang.  If you can reach the cabin and hold it for an hour you will be saved.  Quick—­you must run—­”