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It appeared to be omniscient and omnipotent, and yet was neither seen nor heard.

The man who held out against the Church vanished away, and none knew whither he had gone or what had befallen him.

His wife and his children awaited him at home, but no father ever returned to tell them how he had fared at the hands of his secret judges.

A rash word or a hasty act was followed by annihilation, and yet none knew what the nature might be of this terrible power which was suspended over them.

No wonder that men went about in fear and trembling, and that even in the heart of the wilderness they dared not whisper the doubts which oppressed them.

At first this vague and terrible power was exercised only upon the recalcitrants who, having embraced the Mormon faith, wished afterwards to pervert or to abandon it.

Soon, however, it took a wider range.

The supply of adult women was running short, and polygamy without a female population on which to draw was a barren doctrine indeed.

Strange rumours began to be bandied about - rumours of murdered immigrants and rifled camps in regions where Indians had never been seen.

Fresh women appeared in the harems of the Elders - women who pined and wept, and bore upon their faces the traces of an unextinguishable horror.

Belated wanderers upon the mountains spoke of gangs of armed men, masked, stealthy, and noiseless, who flitted by them in the darkness.

These tales and rumours took substance and shape, and were corroborated and re-corroborated, until they resolved themselves into a definite name.

To this day, in the lonely ranches of the West, the name of the Danite Band, or the Avenging Angels, is a sinister and an ill-omened one.

Fuller knowledge of the organization which produced such terrible results served to increase rather than to lessen the horror which it inspired in the minds of men.

None knew who belonged to this ruthless society.

The names of the participators in the deeds of blood and violence done under the name of religion were kept profoundly secret.

The very friend to whom you communicated your misgivings as to the Prophet and his mission, might be one of those who would come forth at night with fire and sword to exact a terrible reparation.

Hence every man feared his neighbour, and none spoke of the things which were nearest his heart.

One fine morning, John Ferrier was about to set out to his wheatfields, when he heard the click of the latch, and, looking through the window, saw a stout, sandy-haired, middle-aged man coming up the pathway.

His heart leapt to his mouth, for this was none other than the great Brigham Young himself.

Full of trepidation - for he knew that such a visit boded him little good - Ferrier ran to the door to greet the Mormon chief.

The latter, however, received his salutations coldly, and followed him with a stern face into the sitting-room.

"Brother Ferrier," he said, taking a seat, and eyeing the farmer keenly from under his light-coloured eyelashes, "the true believers have been good friends to you.

We picked you up when you were starving in the desert, we shared our food with you, led you safe to the Chosen Valley, gave you a goodly share of land, and allowed you to wax rich under our protection.

Is not this so?"

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