"Afterwards this William Mann showed the boots on his own feet, in Far West, saying: 'Here is a pair of boots that I pulled off before the d--d Mormon was done kicking!' "The murderer Glaze also boasted over the country, as a heroic deed, the blowing off the head of my young son. "But to return to Alma, and how the Lord helped me to save his life. "I removed the wounded boy to a house, some distance off, the next day, and dressed his hip; the Lord directing me as before. I was reminded that in my husband's trunk there was a bottle of balsam. This I poured into the wound, greatly soothing Alma's pain. "'Alma, my child,' I said, 'you believe that the Lord made your hip?' "'Yes, mother.' "'Well, the Lord can make something there in the place of your hip, don't you believe he can, Alma?' "'Do you think that the Lord can, mother?' inquired the child, in his simplicity. "'Yes, my son,' I replied, 'he has shown it all to me in a vision.' "Then I laid him comfortably on his face, and said: 'Now you lay like that, and don't move, and the Lord will make you another hip.' "So Alma laid on his face for five weeks, until he was entirely recovered--a flexible gristle having grown in place of the missing joint and socket, which remains to this day a marvel to physicians. "On the day that he walked again I was out of the house fetching a bucket of water, when I heard screams from the children. Running back, in affright, I entered, and there was Alma on the floor, dancing around, and the children screaming in astonishment and joy. "It is now nearly forty years ago, but Alma has never been the least crippled during his life, and he has traveled quite a long period of the time as a missionary of the gospel and a living miracle of the power of God. "I cannot leave the tragic story without relating some incidents of those five weeks when I was a prisoner with my wounded boy in Missouri, near the scene of the massacre, unable to obey the order of extermination. "All the Mormons in the neighborhood had fled out of the State, excepting a few families of the bereaved women and children who had gathered at the house of Brother David Evans, two miles from the scene of the massacre. To this house Alma had been carried after that fatal night. "In our utter desolation, what could we women do but pray? Prayer was our only source of comfort; our Heavenly Father our only helper. None but he could save and deliver us. "One day a mobber came from the mill with the captain's fiat: "'The captain says if you women don't stop your d--d praying he will send down a posse and kill every d--d one of you!' "And he might as well have done it, as to stop us poor women praying in that hour of our great calamity. "Our prayers were hushed in terror. We dared not let our voices be heard in the house in supplication. I could pray in my bed or in silence, but I could not live thus long. This godless silence was more intolerable than had been that night of the massacre.