"And I tell you, Hickman Holt, I don't want her consent. That I leave _you_ to obtain; and if you can't get it otherwise, you must _force_ it. Bah! what is it for? A good husband--a good home--plenty of meat, drink, and dress: for don't you get it into your fancy that the Latter-Day Saints resemble your canting hypocrites of other creeds, who think they please God by their miserable penances. Quite the reverse, I can assure you. We mean to live as God intended men should live--eat, drink, and be merry. Look there!" The speaker exhibited a handful of shining gold pieces. "That's the way our church provides for its apostles. Your daughter will be a thousand times better off there, than in this wretched hovel. Perhaps _she_ will not mind the change so much as _you_ appear to think. I know many a first-rate girl that would be glad of the chance." "I know _she_ won't give in--far less to be made a Mormon o'. I've heern her speak agin 'em." "I say again, she must give in. After all, you needn't tell her I'm a Mormon: she needn't know anything about _that_. Let her think I'm only moving out west--to Oregon--where there are plenty of respectable emigrants now going. She'll not suspect anything in that. Once out at Salt Lake City, she'll soon get reconciled to Mormon life, I guess." The squatter remained silent for some moments--his head hanging forward over his broad breast--his eyes turned inward, as if searching within his bosom for some thought to guide and direct him. In there, no doubt, a terrible struggle was going on--a tumult of mixed emotions. He loved his daughter, and would leave her to her own will; but he feared this saintly suitor, and dared not gainsay him. It must have been some dread secret, or fiendish scheme, that enabled this small insignificant man to sway the will of such a giant! A considerable time passed, and still the squatter vouchsafed no answer. He was evidently wavering, as to the nature of the response he should make. Twice or thrice he raised his head, stealthily directing his glance to the countenance of his visitor; but only to read, in the looks of the latter, a fixed and implacable purpose. There was no mercy there. All at once, a change came over the colossus. A resolution of resistance had arisen within him--as was evinced by his altered attitude and the darkening shadow upon his countenance. The triumphant glances of the pseudo-saint appeared to have provoked him, more than the matter in dispute. Like the buffalo of the plains stung with Indian arrows, or the great _mysticetus_ of the deep goaded by the harpoon of the whaler, all the angry energies of his nature appeared suddenly aroused from their lethargy; and he sprang to his feet, towering erect in the presence of his tormentor. "Damnation!" cried he, striking the floor with his heavy heel, "she won't do it--she won't, and she _shan't_!"