Having satisfied her need, Susannah turned away dully without a word.  The settler’s wife offered the remainder of the bread and milk to the Danite, who regarded it with famished eyes.

“Where’s your husband?” he asked.

“We’ve enough men about the place.”

“Where is your husband?”

“He’s away with the militia under Lucas.”

“Then I’ll not touch his food,” said the Danite.  With an oath he flung the cup and plate upon the ground.  “Do you see that woman there?” He pointed to Susannah.  “I took the food for her, for she had died without it.  Yesterday devils like your husband shot her child in her arms and her husband before her eyes, and to Almighty God I pray that when I’ve got her to some safe place I may have strength yet to shoot your husband and your children, shoot them down like dogs, and laugh at you because you don’t like it.”  The restrained passion of all the long preceding hours broke out.  His face was ashen, his eyes burning; there was foam about his lips as, with thick utterance, he hurled the words at her.

The woman stepped back in dismay, but she, too, was enraged now, and courage was the habit of the free life she led.  “You are a bloody Mormon,” she cried, “and if I’d known it I’d have let your woman die before I’d have fed her.”  She walked backwards, her voice rising higher with passion.  Unable to think connectedly, she shrieked the phrases she had in mind.  “Coming here to spread idolatry in a Christian country!  Teaching superstition in a free Christian land!” She was still shrieking some jargon about the United States being founded on the Word of God, and the divine right to exterminate all Mormons, when he, walking fast, joined Susannah.

They had not gone much further before a large dog which the settler’s wife had evidently let loose, came after them with fierce intent.  The Danite turned, and as the dog sprang, slew it with one stab of his knife, and, leaving it bleeding upon the road, hurried Susannah into the forest.

It was a tradition upon that farm for years afterwards that these two Mormons, after receiving charity, had made an open display of that wanton wickedness which was habitual to them.

Susannah and the Danite travelled on for many hours.  The way was not easy.  Sometimes where the trees were thin their legs were tangled knee-deep in a plant covered with minute white feathery blossoms, looking like white swan’s-down shot through with green light, that carpeted miles of the ground; sometimes the trees had fallen so thickly that they had to clamber from log to log rather than walk; sometimes their way was a bog, and they were in danger of sinking deeper than was safe.

Susannah asked no questions.  She had heard and understood all the words that had passed in the incident of the morning.  She felt cowed now, afraid to think what might come next; it was enough that the Danite had evidently some point in view.