CHAPTER 20

PROPHET HANSEN LEANED BACK in the oversized seat of the Gulfstream V.  He sipped a daiquiri made to his specifications by Bill Campbell.  Like the founder of Mormonism, Joseph Smith, Prophet Hansen believed that the moderate use of alcohol was no sin.  He smiled when he remembered that Smith, for expediency, had forbidden his flock to drink any alcoholic beverages.  Hansen also knew that he and Joseph both sometimes expanded the definition of the word “moderation” when it came to their own drinking.

At the Salt Lake City airport, Hoyt Akers taxied the jet to a stop and Campbell opened the door.  As the Prophet stepped out onto the tarmac, he inhaled the warm, fresh air—a welcome change from the sterile air conditioning of the jet.  He smiled at the man approaching him.

“Thanks, Jake, for meeting us.”

“My pleasure, President.”

Jake Kellog, a giant, pear-shaped man, opened the door to a dark gray Suburban and, when the Prophet was seated, closed it.  Hansen had told him a dozen times he didn’t have to hold the door for him, but Kellog, a man of stock phrases, always had the same reply.  “I’d rather be a doorkeeper in the house of the Lord,” he said, “than a king in the gentile world.”  Hansen would smile wearily.  Akers and Campbell took the middle and back passenger seats so they could stretch out during the two-hour ride to the Manti cabin.

Hansen was quiet during the trip.  If he opened a conversation with Kellog, he would be engaged all the way to Manti.  So he leaned against the Suburban’s door and watched the high desert scenery.  At Spanish Fork, south of Provo, they turned east on US Highway 89.  At the Thistle Junction the highway turned south, meandering through the sleepy Mormon communities of Fairview, Mt. Pleasant, Spring City, and Ephraim.  A haze obscured the long view of the Sanpete Valley.

“Manti Forest is ablaze again,” Kellog said.  “Fighting four major fires.”

Eventually, the Manti Temple rose out of the haze. The Mormon Prophet Lorenzo Snow had dedicated the temple in 1888, the third of the Utah Temples. To Hansen it was the most beautiful of all the temples, and he had always hoped that one day he would wrest it from the Utah Mormon Church so he could do the real endowment ceremony in it.  Inside the temple, he knew, two spiral staircases accessed three floors and 86,000 square feet of endowment and sealing rooms.  The Utah pioneers had quarried the temple’s fine-textured, cream-colored oolite limestone from the hill upon which the building stood.  

Hansen had first seen the Manti Temple as a boy of eight when he accompanied his father to a conference at Short Creek, a town on the Utah-Arizona border.  That was before the infamous 1950s Short Creek raid in which Arizona state cops descended on the polygamous community and jailed all the men.  At the time of Hansen’s visit to Short Creek, some of the houses still rested on timber skids.  The polygamist patriarchs, in the earliest days at Short Creek, would hitch teams of horses to the skids to drag the small houses across the state boundary at the approach of lawmen.  When Arizona authorities came to harass them, they lived in Utah; when Utah police came, they lived in Arizona.  When lawmen mounted motor vehicles instead of horses, the skids became useless.  In recent years Short Creek—now named Hilldale, Utah, and Colorado City, Arizona—festered, embroiled in a battle with the State of Arizona which sought to break up the polygamous community.  A group called Help the Child Brides had attempted to rescue young girls who resisted polygamy.  Hansen sighed.  What nonsense!

The sleepy village of Manti, Utah, was known to polygamists as The Gathering Place.  Seeing it now, Hansen again felt a wave of emotion sweep through him.  Manti, Hansen believed, was a spiritual vortex; a place central to Mormon history.  All the Mormon splinter groups coveted the Manti Temple.  For that reason, Manti drew Mormon fundamentalist leaders—pretenders Hansen called them—like a magnet.

In Manti, Hansen had confronted David Longo and his sword-wielding archangels.  That was shortly before the lunatic Longo ordered his wife to toss their seven kids from the eleventh floor of Salt Lake City’s International Dunes Hotel and then jump herself.  Longo then drove to a canyon outside Salt Lake City and committed suicide.  Longo had claimed to be God Himself.  Hansen recalled a recent article circulating in the Western press that some of Longo’s left-behind followers still remain faithful to his memory, still awaiting his resurrection and return to earth.

The Suburban passed the headquarters of another Latter-day Prophet, Jim Harmston, founder of The True and Living Church of Jesus Christ of the Saints of the Last Days.  Harmston had purchased two of the buildings on Main Street in Manti, painted them red and waited for the world to be delivered into his hands.  Hansen had viewed videotape in which Harmston read a prophecy stating that “the name of the Living God is Harmston.”

The Suburban turned left, passing along the south side of the temple fronted by a lush green carpet of lawn where the main Utah Church presented the annual Manti Pageant—a depiction of the founding of Mormonism, played out by hundreds of actors on the temple hillside after dark.  The Manti Pageant was modeled after the one in Palmyra, New York.

Thickening smoke engulfed the Suburban as it began its assent into the Manti National Forest.  They passed the turnoff to the hunting camp where Heber LeBaron had assassinated Daniel Ben Jordan in 1987.  Jordan had been the number two man to Heber’s father, Ervil LeBaron.  On written orders from his father, Heber eventually dispatched Jordan and a dozen other dissidents.  Heber had orchestrated the so-called Four O’clock Murders in Houston in 1988, with he and his team executing four different people at exactly 4:00 p.m.

The Suburban continued up Manti Canyon, past the Cottonwoods Campground and Milky Falls, and headed north on Skyline Road toward Jet Fox Reservoir.  Before reaching the reservoir, they turned onto a logging road.  Five minutes later, Kellog pulled into a graveled parking lot outside the C1MS cabin on Cove Creek.  After Kellog helped the Prophet out of the vehicle, he fetched a bucket of water and began washing the Suburban.

***

Samuel Pete Marchon loved the drive from San Bernardino, California, to Hansen’s Utah cabin.  He liked the quarterly business meetings.  He liked being with the other Danites and being in the presence of Bill Campbell and especially the Prophet himself.  He was proud to be one of the Danites, a group named after the elite guard that had done Brigham Young’s bidding.  Samuel Pete affected the style and swagger of his historical heroes, the three Destroying Angels—Bill Hickman, Orin Porter Rockwell, and John D. Lee.

Samuel Pete wished he could have driven the Corvette, but that wouldn’t have been prudent.  The rental Chevy would be fine.  At least it was a full-sized car; he hated to drive short wheelbase cars unless they were power machines like the Corvette.  But, the Corvette, of course, would attract too much attention and raise too many questions.  The brethren did not like his flashy taste and they certainly would not approve of the way he financed his lifestyle.

Samuel Pete had struggled with the innovations he introduced into his relationship with the Church of the One Mighty and Strong, and his favorite wife, Erin, had warned him that he was on dangerous ground.  But he was too loyal and valuable to the Prophet to be very concerned.  Not only was he a Danite, he was Bishop of the San Bernardino branch of the church.  And mainly, he brought in nearly $5 million a year in tithes, and profits.  Ninety percent or more of the profits came from drugs.

Samuel Pete prided himself on his inventiveness.  He had turned a $1 million-a-year drug business into nearly $5 million annually in less than five years.  The Prophet was very proud of him and had given him several bonuses.  The first time profits had hit $3 million, the Prophet had flown Samuel Pete and his three wives to Cancun for a week at Sandals.  The Prophet had given Samuel Pete a plaque commending him for “bringing the gold of the gentiles into the Kingdom of God.”  The coke addicts of Riverside County were funding the worldwide operations of the Kingdom.  The plan had a certain irony that fascinated Prophet Hansen.  He loved the idea of stripping money from reprobate gentiles.  Samuel Pete liked the plan because it gave him ample opportunity to exercise his talents as a Destroying Angel.  He ruled his domain with what he thought was a brilliant combination of charm and terror.

Occasionally Samuel Pete wondered if Prophet Hansen would overlook the fact that a few hundred thousand dollars a year were channeled into Samuel Pete’s private accounts.  Actually, the Prophet had been very clear in saying that he would not understand skimming.  But only a fool would fail to realize that Samuel Pete was a great asset to the church—even if he had a penchant for the good life.

***

Bill Campbell went inside, checked out the cabin, and then waved the Prophet in.  It was 3:00 p.m.; the others would be arriving in a couple hours.  Hoyt Akers, the pilot, followed.

The front door of the cabin opened into a large room.  A twenty-foot oak table dominated the center of the room, surrounded by twenty chairs, enough for all the Danites and Hansen with a few left over.  Off the common room were four bedrooms, a kitchen and two bathrooms.  Jake Kellog kept everything open all winter long, including the last two miles of road, which he cleared using the Suburban, fitted with a snow blade.  Kellog also kept the cabin spotless, although the acrid smell of smoke from the forest fires irritated the Prophet today.

“Hoyt, after you sweep the cabin for electronic bugs,” Hansen said, “man your lookout post.  I want you in position by four o’clock.  Bill and I are going to take a walk.”

Hansen and Campbell strolled in silence through the pine forest for several minutes until they came upon a stone outcropping that overlooked the Sanpete Valley.  Bloodstains were on the stone ledge.

“How many know about this place?” Campbell asked.

“Just you, me, and Charlie Pickens.”  Hansen smiled.  “I mean, of course, we are the only living people who know about this place.”

***

At 4:00 p.m., cars began to arrive.  All twenty Danites were invited to this meeting, but Harry Bushnell from Dallas would be briefed later because his first wife was dying of cancer and he was with her at the hospital.  Hansen had reluctantly granted Bushnell’s request to be excused.

Hansen took each arriving Danite aside as he came in, hugged him, and told him how much his service to the church was appreciated.  He also handed each of them an envelope with twenty, crisp $100 bills inside.

When everyone was present, Hansen dismissed Hoyt Akers to join Kellog outside.  Bill Campbell called the meeting to order and everyone stood for an opening prayer.  The first order of business after they were seated was to sustain Ronald Hansen as Prophet, Seer, and Revelator.  This procedure was performed at each official gathering of the Danites.  The question was posed and a show of hands confirmed that all the men recognized Hansen’s prophetic calling.  They also swore allegiance to the prophet and to the church.  They swore to defend the Prophet with their lives.  Campbell then introduced Hansen.

Hansen uncurled from his chair and looked around the table.  A white tablecloth covered it, and bottles of water and bowls of nuts were within reach of each man.  The nuts, according to Hansen’s instructions, were macadamias and pecans, heavily salted—the Prophet’s favorite snack. 

For an hour, Hansen covered routine matters.  Nathan Asay from Houston complained that the local Utah Mormons were making trouble in Texas.  Asay’s own polygamous family, as well as several other C1MS families had been in the news.  The dustup began when Warren Jeffs, the Prophet and President of The Fundamentalist Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, from Colorado City, Arizona, was sentenced to ten-years-to-life for marrying a fourteen-year old girl to her cousin.  The publicity lured Texas newsmen to Jeffs’ Compound in El Dorado.  Now they were sniffing around Asay’s family, going so far as to accost one of his daughters at high school.

“So President,” Asay asked the Prophet, “how far can I go with these guys?”

Hansen didn’t hesitate.  “You meet the reporter privately.  Tell him if he ever intimidates one of your children again he will have purchased a ticket to hell.”  Then he added, “Make sure he isn’t wired when you talk to him.  If he doesn’t get in line, Silent Bill Campbell will take a vacation to Houston.”

Everyone looked at Bill.  Campbell acted as if he hadn’t heard the remark.

Hansen spent thirty minutes comparing income figures from each of the Danite domains.  “Every last one of you shows an increase!” he said with enthusiasm.  “I’m proud of you.”

The Danites glowed.

After covering several other routine business items, the Prophet discussed the Argentinean plans.  This was always of great interest to the Danites, who liked the assurance that in case of emergency there was a haven for them outside the country.

“I want to go over the procedure for a major evacuation,” Hansen said.  “These are especially dangerous times.  All of the normal procedures remain in place.  However, I want to review the computer destruction plans.  You need to be sure that you have data stored only on your alpha computer.  Nowhere else.  I want you to wire a plastic explosive charge to the computer.  It needs to be enough to destroy the entire room in which the computer is housed.  It needs to be set up so you can detonate it from your cell phone.  If you are ever going out of cell phone range, be sure the room will explode if anyone gains entrance.  If you have any questions as to how to accomplish this, you need to call Secretary Satterwhite and have him give you the information you need.  Of course, we need to be updated immediately if you change the number of the detonator.

“As far as your electronic reports are concerned, I want you to start sending them daily.  Again, I emphasize, we are in critical times.  We are vulnerable.  We need to be up to date and mobile.  Be extremely vigilant.”  He paused.  “Any questions?”

There were none.

“Well, I know you are anxious to get back on the road.  There is, however, one more order of business.  And I’m afraid it will take a while, so we’ll take a fifteen minute recess.”

***

When they reassembled, Bill Campbell was absent.  Hansen called the meeting to order.

“Brothers, it is my sad duty to convene a President’s court.”  As he surveyed the group, Hansen saw shock move around the table in a wave.  The men looked at each other, their faces registering confusion and fear.

“I’m going to need to ask Samuel Pete Marchon to take the chair at the head of the table.”

Samuel Pete went white.  “What?” he gasped breathlessly.

“Come now, brother,” Hansen said.  “You have nothing to fear if your conscience is clear.”

Hansen turned to a large man on his left with a Brigham Young beard—a full beard except the upper lip was shaved clean.

“Charlie, would you take a seat beside brother Marchon?  I am appointing you his counsel.  I want you to make sure that whatever we do here in no way abridges Samuel Pete’s God-given right to a fair trial.”

Charlie Pickens slid his chair back slowly.  Hansen saw Pickens’ face cloud.  He had been a trusted advisor to Hansen for twenty years.  He had followed him down many dangerous paths and had always been totally and absolutely faithful.  He was, as he said of himself, “A do-and-die disciple of Ronald Hansen.”  The church held him in great respect.  There was nothing—nothing—Charlie Pickens would not do for Prophet Hansen.  Pickens was as well known for his wisdom and honesty as he was for his commitment to duty.  But today, the Prophet saw something in the face of Pickens he had never seen before.  The Danite was a beat too slow in rising from his chair.  He looked at the Prophet for a split-second too long.

Pickens moved to the chair that had been pulled alongside Samuel Pete’s.  Samuel Pete looked at Charlie in a way that said What’s going on here?  Charlie touched his shoulder reassuringly.

Hansen placed a tape recorder on the table and said in an official tone, “Let the record show that this is the president’s court, convened to consider the matter of Samuel Pete Marchon, charged by the president with wrongdoing in the discharge of his office.”

He looked at Samuel Pete.

“Brother Marchon, I think you know where this is going.  Would you like to say anything that would make this easier for all of us?”

Samuel Pete looked around wildly.  He finally looked at Hansen, shook his head, and looked down at the table.

“Very well, brother.”

Hansen produced a manila folder from a briefcase that was lying open on a chair beside him.  “Let the court note that I am offering into evidence copies of bank statements and other financial papers.  I will briefly describe what the paperwork reveals.

“First, in violation of church rules and the direct command of the president, brother Marchon has opened bank accounts in his own name.  At least six, as these documents demonstrate.  Of course, there can only be one reason for such accounts to exist.  That is to deposit monies acquired as a result of brother Marchon’s performance of duties in his official capacity as an officer of the church.  He knows full well that all outside income is to be reported to the church.  No such reports exist.  We therefore conclude that he has been attempting to hide these funds from the eyes of the brethren.  But, of course, he cannot hide anything from the eyes of the Lord.”

Hansen paused.  He stared off into the distance, then said aloud, almost to himself, “I wonder why our brother thought the Lord would not reveal his activities to the prophet?”

 Then he addressed Samuel Pete, “Brother, I would ask you if we have mistreated you in any way?  Have we failed to provide handsomely for you and your three wives and eight children?  Have we withheld any blessing from you?  Have we failed to appreciate and reward your earnest and devoted service to the church?”

Samuel Pete, eyes moist, shook his head.

“Brother do you recognize the seriousness of this matter?”

Samuel Pete nodded.

The room was silent.

Hansen said, “The seriousness of these charges is underscored by the fact that the various bank accounts we have discovered contain more than $300,000!  And of course there is the matter of your lifestyle.  The Corvette convertible, the lavish expenditures for entertainment and personal accouterments for yourself and your wives…Brother, it seems as though you left us and went your own way and thought that we would be unaware.  As you can see, that is not the case.  Do you have anything to say for yourself that will help us understand your behavior?”

“President, I…I…can’t think of anything.  Except, I am sorry.”

“Really?  I expect you are, at this moment.  And, I hope so for your soul’s sake.  If anyone was ever in need of repentance, it is you, my dear brother.”

Samuel Pete had his head lowered, his nose just inches from the table.  Hansen could hear the sounds of the breathing of the other Danites, but no one spoke or even cleared his throat.

Finally, Hansen spoke.  “Well, brother Marchon, I think we have no choice but to find you guilty as charged.  So let it be recorded.

“Now, brother, I want you to go with brother Campbell while we move into the penalty phase of this trial.”

Bill Campbell had materialized at the back of the room.  He was wearing a Colt 44 on his hip.  Samuel Pete turned to look at him.  Campbell smiled and held out his hand in a gesture indicating Samuel Pete should stand up and accompany him.  Samuel Pete did so.  They left the room.

Hansen continued. 

“I want to introduce a little background law into the proceedings.”

He retrieved a well-worn Bible from his briefcase and opened it.

“You are all familiar with the story of Ananias and Sapphira from the Book of Acts.  Let me summarize it to refresh our memories.”

Several of the brethren were glancing around the table looking from face to face.  Others were stoic.  Charlie Pickens crossed his arms over his massive chest and stared straight ahead.

“We find,” Hansen said, “that the Apostles of Christ were gathered together not long after Jesus had ascended into heaven.  They were questioning one of the disciples, Ananias.  Peter asked him about a certain piece of property; property he had dedicated to the church, but then sold.  He gave some of the money to the church and kept some of it for himself.

“Peter asked him why he had set about to lie to God in the matter.  Peter said that the property certainly had belonged to Ananias and he could have done anything with it he wanted to.  But after he gave it to the church, it was pure devilish deception to sell it slyly while pretending that he was a great contributor to the church.

“You may recall that right in the middle of Peter’s rebuke, Ananias fell dead at Peter’s feet and was carried out of the room.  Shortly thereafter, Sapphira, Ananias’ wife came into the room.  She was a party to the deception and when Peter asked her about the selling price of the land, she lied to him.”

Hansen looked around the table into the eyes of all the gathered men.  He put his finger on the text of the Bible before him and read Peter’s words to Sapphira. “’How is it that ye have agreed together to tempt the Spirit of the Lord?  Behold, the feet of them which have buried thy husband are at the door, and shall carry thee out.’”  Hansen looked up from the book. “At that,” he said, “Sapphira dropped dead.

“I recount this story to underscore the serious nature of our brother’s crime.  It goes to the root of trust, does it not?  We are the leaders of an organization that God has established to move in these last days in very serious and dangerous enterprises.  How can we have traitors in our midst?  Need I remind you that at this very moment law enforcement agencies are watching our every move, waiting to strip of us of our families, our property, and our freedom?  Do we dare trust our lives into the hands of someone who is stealing the Kingdom’s money to squander it on his own lusts?  Do we dare entrust the welfare of the church itself into such hands?  No, we cannot do so.  We dare not do so.

“And, what shall we do with such a person?  He has violated the most solemn trust that could ever be given a man in this lifetime.  He has been a trusted guardian of the Prophet of God and of God’s church.  He has violated that trust.  I tell you in the most solemn words that at this moment our brother has prepared a place for himself in hell.”

The Prophet looked into each face, one after another.  “How then, I ask, can we help our brother?”

Hansen paused and looked around the table once again.  Everyone knew what was coming.

“Just to be clear,” Hansen said, “let me recall the words of earlier prophets in similar situations.  The bottom line is that brother Marchon had placed himself in eternal peril, and there is but one way to save his soul.”

Hansen paused, reached for a glass, and took a sip of water.  “President Brigham Young articulated our theology for us.  He told us that—while it is true that the blood of Christ is the atoning agent for sin—there are some sins a man commits that cannot be cleansed by the blood of Christ.  For those sins, the only possible remedy is the shedding of the man’s own blood.  President Young had the courage to follow his convictions in these matters, as you well know.

“I want to read a quote from a passage I just recently came across.  This is President Heber C. Kimball, recounting in the Salt Lake City Tabernacle how the apostles of Christ, as an act of mercy, blood-atoned Judas Iscariot.  In case anyone wants to look up this reference, it is found in the Journal of Discourses, Volume six, page 126.”

Nobody put pen to paper.

The Prophet continued, “The biblical account incorrectly states that Judas hanged himself, and that while hanging from a tree, his bowels gushed out.  The truth is, according to President Kimball, and here I quote, ‘The other apostles kicked him until his bowels came out.’  Kimball then went on to state publicly, ‘I know the day is right at hand when men will forfeit their Priesthood and turn against us and against the covenants they have made, and they will be destroyed as Judas was.’

“Now, brethren, I am not suggesting that we handle brother Marchon in that way.  But if we love him we have no choice but to do what is necessary to save his soul.

“I therefore pronounce capital judgment upon him.  The responsibility falls to me.  I am the Prophet.  I accept that responsibility.

“I will not trouble you further in this matter.  You have heard the facts.  You see what the outcome must be.  I ask only one thing of you.  By a show of hands, I want all of you to affirm your confidence in me to act according to the Word of God and according to the leading of the Holy Spirit.”

Every hand at the table quickly extended in submission to the articulated will of the Prophet.  Hansen looked at Charlie Picket whose hand was raised high.  The Prophet smiled at him.

“Thank you very much brothers.  I know this has been a trying day for you all.  I want you to be prepared to step forward to receive brother Marchon’s kingdom.  We will seek God as to whom his wives and children should be given for their protection.  We really do not want to break up the fellowship of his three sister wives.  So that means that one of you will probably be seeing an increase of eleven in the size of your family.  I will dispatch brother Pickens to the wives this afternoon.  I remind you that you are under solemn obligation to treat this entire matter with the utmost secrecy.  Reveal nothing you have seen or heard here today—even to your own wives—upon penalty of the sacred oaths you swore in the temple.

“Do not discuss this matter among yourselves.  Now, I want you to quietly gather your materials and leave for home at once.  As I said, brother Pickens will stay behind with brother Campbell and me so that all will be done in the presence of responsible witnesses.”

***

Bill Campbell, Charlie Pickens, and Samuel Pete Marchon were gathered at the bloodstained rock.  Samuel Pete was white and shaking. His hands were bound in front of his body at the wrists with white cord.  The cord was anchored to another cord which went around his waist.  He was wearing a white shirt and white pants provided by Campbell.  They were a little too large for him because Campbell had been unsure of Samuel Pete’s sizes.  Samuel Pete tried to hitch the pants up with his elbows.  Around his waist a green apron flapped in the mountain breeze. He asked if he could be seated.  Campbell helped him down to a sitting position.  A mountain bluebird sang in the treetops.

Just then Hansen appeared on the trail.  He was dressed in a white gown.  On top of his head was a white hat that looked like something a baker would wear; only it was scarcely two inches in height.  He wore white shoes.  A band of white material stretched from his left shoulder down through a gold-corded belt and around his back to connect at the shoulder where it originated.  He, too, wore a green apron.  Stuck in his belt was a large jewel-handled knife with a Bowie blade.

Samuel Pete heard his approach but refused to look up.  At the prodding of Campbell he did so and gasped.  He looked wildly at Pickens and Campbell, but their eyes were dead.

Campbell stood him on his feet.  Hansen addressed him formally.

“Brother Marchon, having been duly tried by the president’s court and found guilty, it is my responsibility to announce the official penalty ascribed to your crime.”

Hansen paused and looked at Samuel Pete with compassion.

“Son,” he said quietly, “it is my sad duty to tell you that out of our hearts of love for you we find it absolutely necessary to shed your blood for your crimes.”

He waited a moment.

“Son, it would be very important for you if you were able to accept this penalty.  I know how hard this is for you, but I assure you there is no escape from what awaits you.  The only question is whether this sacrifice will sufficiently appease the anger of God.  I believe that whether or not God accepts this sacrifice depends directly upon your attitude in the matter.  All of us come eventually to the hour of our death.  You, of course, did not expect that moment to come today.  I appreciate the misgivings you are experiencing—the dread, the terror.”  He paused and looked out over the lush valley falling away to the West until the pines were swallowed up by the haze from the forest smoke.

“Dear brother,” Hansen continued, “there is no dread or terror for those who approach their deaths with their consciences clear.  If this sacrifice is effectual, you will awake in paradise where you will await—with confidence—the Resurrection of the Just.  If this sacrifice is effectual, you will attend the Morning of the First Resurrection, rather than the resurrection of the unjust.

“So, brother, I beg you.  Please repent of these crimes and signify that you accept this penalty as just.  In doing so, you may earn a better resurrection.”

Samuel Pete shook his head and looked at the ground.  “What about my family?” he whispered.

“You have lost them—eternally lost them.”

After two or three minutes of silence, punctuated only by Samuel Pete’s sobs, Hansen spoke again.

“Son, in view of your emotional condition, I think we can accept a nodding of your head as assent and confession.  Can you do that, dear boy?”

Finally, Samuel Pete nodded his head almost imperceptibly.

“That will do,” the Prophet said.

***

Bill Campbell, Hoyt Akers, and the Prophet rode from the Manti Forest in silence in the Suburban.  The driver, Jake Kellog, who had not been privy to any of the proceedings of the afternoon, whistled tunelessly as he drove.  As they pulled out of the parking lot, Kellog asked, “How come Marchon’s rental car is still here?  Did he ride back with someone else?”

Hansen said, “Don’t worry about it.”

Hansen was lost in thought.  No matter how many blood atonements he conducted, he could never get over the solemn sense of destiny which accompanied them.  His eyes closed, he recalled the scene: Bill Campbell’s strong hands wrapped in Samuel Pete’s hair, pinning his head to the rock; Pickens astride Samuel Pete’s bound feet; the feel of Bowie’s blade as it penetrated to the neck vertebrae; the round, almost cherubic mouth of Samuel Pete in the long death scream.  The procedure—strangely enough—always reminded Hansen of the first time he ate canned salmon and bit into one of the soft vertebrae which crunched between his teeth and sent shivers up his spine.  But this time a new emotion rose up within the Prophet, something wild he had never felt before.  Only the light touch of Charlie Pickens’ hand on the Prophet’s elbow had caused him to stop sawing with the Bowie blade.  The trachea, the jugulars, the carotids had all given way and the neck vertebrae were succumbing.  When he stopped, Samuel Pete’s head was still attached, but barely, so that carrying the body to the shallow grave required all three men.

Finally, as they approached Salt Lake City, the Prophet spoke.

“Bill, where is that place near the airport where we got that great steak?  I’m famished!”