The Lions of the Lord: A Tale of the Old West
 “But we are Israel, and surely Israel’s God—” 

 “The Lord had His chance the other day if He’d wanted it, when they took the town. No, Joel, He means us to gether out and become strong enough to beat ’em in our own might. But you wait; our day will come, and all the more credit to us then for doin’ it ourselves. Then we’ll consecrate the herds and flocks of the Gentile and his store and basket, his gold and silver, and his myrrh and frankincense. But for the present—well, we got to be politic and kind of modest about such doin’s. The big Fan, the Sons of Dan, done good work in Missouri and better in Nauvoo, and it’ll do still better where we’re goin’. But we must be patient. Only next time we’ll get to work quicker. If the Gentiles had been seen to quicker in Nauvoo, Joseph would be with us now. We learned our lesson there. Now the Lord has unfurled a Standard of Zion for the gathering of Israel, and this time we’ll fix the Gentiles early.” 

 “Amen! Brother Seth.” 

 A look of deep hatred had clouded the older man’s face as he spoke. He continued. 

 “Let the wrath of God abide upon ’em, and remember that we’re bein’ tried and proved for a purpose. And we got to be more practical. You been too theoretical yourself and too high-flyin’ in your notions. The Kingdom ain’t to be set up on earth by faith alone. The Lord has got to have works, like I told you about the other day.” 

 “You were right, Bishop, I need to be more practical. The olive-branch and not the sword would Ephraim extend to Japheth, but if—” 

 “If Japheth don’t toe the mark the Lord’s will must be worked upon him.” 

 “So be it, Brother Seth! I am ready now to be a Son of Dan.” 

 The Bishop rose from in front of their fire and looked about. No one was near. Here and there a fire blazed, and the embers of many more could be seen dying out in the distance. The nearest camp was that of the fever-stricken man who had fled on to the boat that morning with his child in his arms. They could see his shaven head in the firelight, and a woman hovering over him as he lay on the ground with a tattered quilt fixed over him in lieu of a tent. From another group came the strains of an accordion and the chorus of a hymn. 

 “That’s right,” said the Bishop. “I knew you’d come to it. I saw that long ago. Brother Brigham saw it, too. We knew you could be relied on. You want the 
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