"I particularly request you gentlemen," said General Johnston, when they reported at his tent, "not so much in a military capacity, as in the name of decency and honor, to remain as much as possible in your own quarters, and to keep away from these 'Mormon' villages. As for the men, I wish you to deal severely with any of them who go far from camp; in fact I wish all to be done that can be done to keep down unnecessary excitement. You understand, gentlemen?" "I wonder if the gallant general imagines," said Sherwood, as they walked away from the general's tent, "that any one is going to obey strictly his orders and requests. Why," said he, as the two were returning to their own tents, "he is either very simple or else very tame if he expects either officers or men are to be entirely restricted in making some sport out of this dead, dreary and absurd campaign." "I think the general is entirely right, Sherwood, and so far as I am concerned, I shall do what I can to carry out his orders; even to reporting delinquents, officers as well as men," he added significantly, as he gave a quick glance at his companion. "Oh, well, 'catching comes before hanging,' is a true if a vulgar proverb, so I bid you a pleasant good-night." As Captain Sherwood turned into his own tent, he was surprised to find a figure dimly outlined by the sputtering tallow candle, crouching near his bunk. "What on earth are you doing here, Liz? Don't you know it would mean severe punishment to you and disgrace to me, if you were found inside these lines?" The half-breed Creole laughed with a low, sneering sound and answered softly: "Do you think I have forgotten all the lessons of my youth, learned in the silent swamps of our early Louisiana home? Fear not, the snake herself is not more silent, nor the night-bird more swift in her flight than I. Fear not!" And she laughed again, with a quiet, mirthless chuckle. XXVII. CHRISTMAS EVE, 1858. The days and weeks of the dry, brilliant summer and autumn flew along with dusty, burnished wings. For some time the efforts of the commanding officer at Camp Floyd were measurably successful in restraining undue intercourse between his men and the people of the neighboring settlements. In the city of Great Salt Lake the affairs of the people went on with much the same regularity and soberness that had always characterized them. Yet, underneath every act and word, one could feel the current of silent expectation and preparation among this hunted people; expectation of anything sudden and vicious which the army of Utah might attempt to do; and a consequent preparation for defense and perhaps war. There was a small reign of terror, at times, rampant in those whilom silent city streets. While the officers might hold their own men in check, they exercised no authority over the crowd of vile camp-followers which sometimes swept up and over those city thoroughfares with a terrifying cloud of debauchery and crime.