In that moment he felt that all was lost.

Under the weight of the Mormon king he was crushed to the floor; his pistol slipped from his grasp; two great hands choked a despairing cry from his throat.

He saw the prophet's face over him, distorted with passion, his huge neck bulging, his eyes flaming like angry garnets.

He struggled to free his pinioned arms, to wrench off the death grip at his throat, but his efforts were like those of a child against a giant.

In a last terrible attempt he drew up his knees inch by inch under the weight of his enemy; it was his only chance--his only hope.