The Fugitive Son (19 page)

Rather than disturb the prophet during his visit with the Indian delegates, Andy decided to look for Pa, who would surely want to be in on his meeting with Brother Brigham.

Pa’s initial greeting reminded Andy why he had been in no hurry to get to Salt Lake. “It’s about time you got here!” Pa thundered. “Didn’t the prophet say to come as soon as possible? It’s the first of September already, and he sent that message over a week ago!”

Andy studied his boots, not wanting to look his Pa in the eye. “I left Aunt Hettie’s the night I got the message,” he defended. “Then I met up with Chief Kanosh and traveled the rest of the way with his band. Traveling alone would have been faster, but they were on their way to meet with the prophet, too, so we traveled together.”

This bit of news seemed to puzzle Pa. “Chief Kanosh meeting with the prophet? I wonder what’s up?”

“Not only Kanosh, but a dozen or so Indian chiefs from all over central and southern Utah,” Andy added. “And Jacob Hamblin from Cedar City was with them as well.”

“Only one way to find out what’s going on. Let’s head over to see the prophet. Likely our assignment has something to do with all this.” Pa mounted his horse and rode off, leaving Andy no choice but to follow.

Brother Brigham greeted them both warmly, but it seemed to Andy he had aged greatly in just the few weeks since they had last met. The prophet ushered them into his office, checked up and down the halls, then closed the door and locked it. Obviously, this was to be a private conversation.

Speaking to them as two of his most trusted followers, Brother Brigham stroked his beard thoughtfully as he chose his words. “These are perilous times, brethren. My flock is increasingly apathetic toward the Word of the Lord. Buchanan’s men have cut off our mail service, and a new territorial governor is even now on his way to Utah, sent to ‘restore order.’”

He stopped and cleared his throat. “President Buchanan is accusing the Saints of insurrection, treason, and rebellion! I tell you, it’s Haun’s Mill, Nauvoo, and Ohio all over again!” Bowing his head into his hands, the prophet looked like a broken man. “Will the persecution never stop?” he sobbed out the words.

Regaining his composure, he lifted his head. “But the good Lord has seen our despair. He’s seen the troops gathered against us and has sent us help! Just this morning, I met with the Indian leaders, and a spirit seems to be taking possession of them to assist Israel. I can hardly restrain them from exterminating the Americans. I gave them some counsel and a few presents, and they’re ready to work with us starting immediately.”

He looked from Pa to Andy. “I think the Lord has given us a new strategy. He has given us the Indians to use as the battle axe of the Lord!”

Andy knew what that meant. He remembered several occasions when the Saints had disguised themselves as Indians and then led the Indians with whom they had made alliances into the slaughter of government officials as they left the area, letting all the blame fall on the real Indians. He forced his wayward thoughts back to the present, where the prophet was still speaking.

“As you already know, I’ve declared martial law throughout the territory. And I’ve admonished the brethren up and down the breadth and length of Deseret to discontinue feeding the enemy. The wagon trains always counted on replenishing their supplies, food, and grain from our storehouses as they passed through here, as we are the only major supply station between Independence and the gold fields in California.”

He paused and considered. “It helped us all. The travelers were fed, and we got a pretty good income from the trade.” He grinned and rubbed his hands together, mocking the caricature of a greedy merchant.

“But, alas, the time of such generosity has come to an end. No matter how hard they beg, we will refuse to feed our enemies. Not one more American will be fed from the abundance of the Saints! Let them cross the deserts without food for their families or grass for their cattle. Let them face some of the hardships they have put on the Saints for all these years!”

Andy gulped. Never had he seen the prophet so intense. He had heard already about the fiery sermons Brother Brigham and some of the other church leaders had just preached at the annual conference in the hills above the city, sermons that had fomented and stirred up the populace to do battle against all “Americats” as the Saints called them. But he hadn’t imagined just how radical and dangerous all this rhetoric was. At the same time, he wondered what all this had to do with the job the prophet had in store for him. What would his “duty” be in this?

He didn’t have long to wonder. The prophet turned directly to him and announced, “My son, you’ve come to the kingdom for just such a time as this. A huge wagon train, perhaps the largest and richest to date, is slowly traveling through Deseret with vast herds of cattle and stock. And it’s been rumored that thousands of dollars in gold pieces are tucked away in the fancy wagons.”

Brigham paused to let this news soak in. “Now I don’t have to tell you how Kanosh and his friends reacted to that news this morning. All those horses and beef on the hoof make the train very tempting to a hungry band of Indian warriors.

“To make matters worse,” he continued, “this particular party hales from down Arkansas way, and it’s rumored that some of them took part in the Haun’s Mill debacle years ago and are bragging about it. And our dear Brother Pratt was martyred a few months ago in the same county in Arkansas these people come from.” He shook his head. “I don’t rightly know how I’m going to keep the Saints in line on this one. From what Brother Hamblin told me this morning, many of our brethren are itching to take revenge against them. They want to use up all the travelers from Arkansas.”

Andy wondered why the prophet was so intent on spreading this news, especially here and now, unless he was deliberately trying to incite the Saints. Wouldn’t that just foment more hatred against them? And was it even true? All the stories he had heard about Apostle Pratt’s murder were that Hector McLean, the estranged husband of Pratt’s twelfth wife, had chased him halfway across the country, intent on killing the man who had wrecked his family. It had nothing to do with this huge party of travelers headed for a new life in California.

Pa studied the prophet’s words. “So what is it you want the boy and me to do? Help use ‘em up? Or look out for the wagon train?”

Brigham casually slung his arm around Pa’s shoulders. “I can trust you to do whatever the good Lord tells you to do,” he replied. “They planned to go the northern route across Deseret. But when they camped here a few weeks ago to try to re-provision, they were warned that the Indians along the northern trail were angry with the whites and that their safety could not be guaranteed. We convinced them that the southern route was grassy and flat, abounding with lush fields and plenty of grain. One of our men told them of a meadow just east of the desert in the foothills of the Iron Mountains where they could rest and build up their stock for the long trek through the desert. So the party took him at his word and decided to take the southern route.”

Again, Andy mulled over his suspicions. It sounded like the southern Saints were laying a trap for the unsuspecting travelers. He hoped not. There were already so many crimes piled up against the Saints in his mind, he was on the verge of apostasy. He longed for the simple faith of his childhood – faith in the prophet, trust in Pa, belief in the church that God had brought forth in such a miraculous way through Joseph Smith. What had happened to all the glorious promises, the thrilling miracles, the stirring sermons?

Brother Brigham’s voice broke his reverie. “Other than that advice, the Saints here gave them a cold reception, following my orders not to feed our enemies. The good Lord blessed us with fine crops this year and, with all their gold, the travelers might have helped fill our coffers a good deal. However, there may be easier methods to get our hands on some of that wealth without sharing our blessings from God.” He paused and stroked his beard. “If the army puts us under siege, we’ll need to store all our crops – not help those who would choose to misuse us.”

Pa nodded his head in agreement. “I was at conference last month when you said all foreigners attempting to travel through Deseret must be stopped. You were absolutely right. If Buchanan continues to send an army against us, war will commence. We must do all in our power to save Deseret.”

“Buchanan can’t say I didn’t warn him,” the prophet said. “As the Indian agent for the territory, I’m responsible for keeping peace with the Indians. I told him that if he declares war on us, I will no longer restrain the natives and will set them loose upon any immigrant trains that try to pass through here.”

The prophet pulled Andy into his embrace, clasping him tightly. “So, brethren, your duty is to follow the wagon train at a discreet distance and keep an eye on the travelers, doing whatever is required. I’ve taken my hand of restraint off the natives, but I want you to make certain they bring no shame to the Saints. If the Arkansians get out of control… well, all hell might break loose. In that case, your orders are the same. Don’t let anyone bring disgrace or accusations against our southern Utah brothers.”

Totally perplexed, Andy followed Pa from the prophet’s quarters. What was his duty? Did the prophet mean they were to let the Indians carry out one of their infamous wagon train attacks? Or were they to squelch their plans for a raid on the wealth of the travelers? Were they to try to calm the immigrants? Or cover up any problems they initiated?

With all his heart, Andy prayed that no encounter would occur and that the wagon train would be allowed to pass safely through southern Utah. Maybe he could catch up with Chief Kanosh and talk his Indian friends out of attacking the train. The prophet had said the wagons were well protected with a number of trained riflemen, experienced trail hands, and many Mexican War veterans. Surely Kanosh wouldn’t want to lead his warriors into a battle that could prove to be a suicide raid.

Following the huge wagon train at a discreet distance, Andy could readily observe the travelers’ weary demeanor. They seemed extremely trail-worn, but they still gathered each night for prayer and hymn singing, reminding Andy of the Saints he had accompanied on their westward treks. They weren’t much different from those Saints, intent on getting the long journey over with. They also seemed to be close-knit families who cared deeply for one another. Andy watched as the children played together, mothers sat and nursed babies, men jawed and talked as they tended their stock.

He cringed as he witnessed time after time when usually gregarious Mormons denied them passage across their fields, grazing for the stock, or, for that matter, any sign of hospitality. The travelers were shunned, harassed, and obviously denied any supplies everywhere they went.

Andy assumed it was not for lack of money. It was plain the travelers had money enough to purchase whatever they needed. The lead vehicle was an expensive wagon, and what looked like a thousand head of cattle grazed along the trail, guarded by a number of riflemen. Andy turned in his saddle, exclaiming to Pa, “Would you take a look at that stallion! He must be worth at least $2,000!”

Pa studied the horse. “He’d bring more than that in stud services. I’d wager the prophet would dearly love to have him in his stables.”

As they drew nearer to the settlements in southern Utah, the animosity toward the travelers seemed to increase, with settlers yelling and cursing them. Trying to tone down the rhetoric, Andy approached a group of shouting men and said, “Why not just let them pass through? The prophet doesn’t want trouble of any kind.”

“He’s already got trouble! Those gentile mongrels poisoned the springs back up there a ways. We don’t want ‘em here killing our cattle!” one of the men shouted.

The others chimed in, “Yeah! They’re just like their kin in Missouri – Mormon haters! They’ve been bragging all along how they chased us out of their territory. And they wuz laudin’ the courts for lettin’ off the guy who used up Parley Pratt!”

Andy tried to quiet their accusations, but no one would listen. They were bent on revenge against all the perceived problems the Arkansas travelers had caused. From his observation along the southern route, Andy knew the accusations had to be false. He had watched the train closely for days and had witnessed no signs of obnoxious or boisterous behavior. No doubt due to their circumstances and weariness, they seemed a rather quiet group, not given to trouble making. If anything, he had to admit that they seemed to go out of their way to avoid trouble.

But it was impossible to convey the truth to the haranguing crowd. The Saints had been roused to the boiling point through fiery sermons, threatening armies, and false rumors. Andy remembered reading about Jesus’ crucifixion in the Bible Major Crawford had given him. The shouting men in Deseret sounded a lot like the ones who hurled accusations at Jesus, telling lies about him, demanding that he be killed for no reason. Andy hoped the men would calm down before innocent blood was shed.

He decided to give reason one more try. Riding into the center of the mob, he held up his hands. “Listen, fellas, harvest is near, and it looks to me like the good Lord has blessed us with a bountiful crop. We can afford to sell some of it to these hungry folks. They have plenty of money to pay cash, and who doesn’t need cash these days? You’re going to have to sell some of the crop somewhere. Why not sell it to these people who need to get on through Deseret and into California?”