mpanions. "Kill him? not if ye don't make a mess of it by interferin'.
It's only boilin' tar they've got in the pot."

Susannah covered her face with her hands; then, too frightened to
abstract her mind, she gazed again, as if her watchfulness might hinder
some outrage. The group was not near enough, the light was too
uncertain, for her to see clearly. The shadows of the men were cast
about upon field and wall as if horrible goblins surrounded and
overshadowed the more material goblins who were at work. They were
taking Rigdon's clothes from him. Their language did not come to her
clearly, but it was of the vilest sort, and she heard enough to make her
heart shiver and sicken. They held over him the constant threat that if
he resisted they would kill him outright. If Smith, too, were exposed to
such treatment she did not believe that he would submit, and perhaps he
was now being done to death not far off.

When they began to beat Rigdon with rods and his screams rang out,
Susannah could endure no longer. She broke madly away from her keepers,
running back along the road towards Emma's house. They essayed to
follow; then with a laugh and a shrug let her go, calling to her to run
quick and see if the prophet had fetched down angels to protect him.

Susannah ran a long way, then, breathless and exhausted, found that she
had missed a turning and gone much too far. Afraid lest she should lose
herself by mistaking even the main direction in which she wanted to go,
and that while out of reach of any respectable house she might again be
assailed by members of the mob, she came back, walking with more
caution. She had no hope now of being the means of bringing help. She
had come farther from the village instead of nearing it, and what few
neighbours there were, having failed to interfere, were evidently
inimical.

When she found the right turning she again heard the shouts of some
assaulting party, and, creeping within the shadow of trees, she waited.

At length they passed her, straggling along the road, shouting and
singing, carrying with them some garments which, in rough horse-play,
they were tearing into fragments. When the last had turned his back to
where she stood she crept out, running again like a hunted thing,
fearing what she might find as the result of their work. To increase her
distress the thought came that it was more than possible that like work
had been going on at Kirtland that night. Tears of unutterable