He turned upon his questioner.
"Does my fury swell up in me?
No wonder! And you hain't guessed why?
Well, them pitiful remnant of Saints, the sick, the old, the poor, waitin' to be helped yender to winter quarters, has been throwed out into that there slough acrost the river, six hundred and forty of 'em." "When we were keeping faith by going ?" "What does a mobocrat care for faith-keepin'?
Have you brought back the wagons ?" "Yes; they'll reach the other side to-night.

I came ahead and made the lower crossing.

I've seen nothing and heard nothing.

Go on--tell me--talk, man!" "Talk ?--yes, I'll talk! We've had mobs and the very scum of hell to boil over here.

This is Saturday, the 19th, ain't it?
Well, Brockman marched against this stronghold of Israel jest a week ago, with eight hundred men.