penalties. A third of them were women. As
Nathaniel had previously noted, the feminine part of the Mormon
population wore their hair either in braids down their backs or in thick
curls flowing over their shoulders and with the exception of three or
four were attired in skirts that just concealed their knees. Obadiah
halted his companion close to a group of half a dozen of these women and
nudged him slyly.

"Pretty sight, eh, Nat?" he chuckled. "Ah, the king has a wonderful eye
for beauty, Nat--wonderful eye! He orders that no skirt shall fall below
the female knee. Ho, ho, if he dared, if he _quite_ dared, Nat!"

He nudged Nathaniel again with such enthusiasm that the latter jumped as
though a knife had been thrust between his ribs.

"By George, I admire his taste!" he laughed. The women caught him
staring at them, and one, who was the youngest and prettiest of the lot,
smiled invitingly.

"Tush--the Jezebel!" snapped Obadiah, catching the look. "That's her
child playing just beyond."

The young woman tossed her head and her white teeth gleamed in a laugh,
as though she had overheard the old councilor's words.

"See her twist her hair," he snarled venomously as the young woman,
still boldly eying Nathaniel, played with the luxuriant curls that
glistened in the sun upon her breast. "Ezra Wilton is so fond of her
that he will take no other wife. Ugh, Strang is a fool!"

Nathaniel turned away from the smiling eyes with a shrug.

"Why?"

"To tell our women that it helps to save their souls to wear short
skirts and let their hair hang down. For every soul of a woman that it
saves it sends two men on the road to hell!"

So intense was the old man's displeasure and so ludicrous the twisting
contortions of his face that Nathaniel could hardly restrain himself
from bursting into a roar of laughter. Obadiah perceived his inclination
and with an angry bob of his head led the way through to the inner edge
of the waiting circle of men. Within this circle, in a small open space,
was a short post with straps attached to an arm nailed across it, and
leaning upon this post in an attitude of one who possesses a most
distinguished office was a young man with a three thonged whip in his
hand. An ominous silence pervaded the circle, with the exception of the
hushed whispering of a number of women who had forced themselves into
the line of spectators, bent upon witnessing the sight of blood as well
as hearing the sound of lashes.