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"
They
're
white
like
us
,
"
I
heard
Abby
Foxwell
complain
to
mother
.
"
Why
do
n't
they
come
in
to
us
?
"
"
They
ai
n't
whites
,
"
I
piped
up
,
with
a
wary
eye
for
the
swoop
of
mother
's
hand
.
"
They
're
Mormons
.
"
That
night
,
after
dark
,
three
of
our
young
men
stole
out
of
camp
.
I
saw
them
go
.
They
were
Will
Aden
,
Abel
Milliken
,
and
Timothy
Grant
.
"
They
are
heading
for
Cedar
City
to
get
help
,
"
father
told
mother
while
he
was
snatching
a
hasty
bite
of
supper
.
Mother
shook
her
head
.
"
There
's
plenty
of
Mormons
within
calling
distance
of
camp
,
"
she
said
.
"
If
they
wo
n't
help
,
and
they
have
n't
shown
any
signs
,
then
the
Cedar
City
ones
wo
n't
either
.
"
"
But
there
are
good
Mormons
and
bad
Mormons
--
"
father
began
.
"
We
have
n't
found
any
good
ones
so
far
,
"
she
shut
him
off
.
Not
until
morning
did
I
hear
of
the
return
of
Abel
Milliken
and
Timothy
Grant
,
but
I
was
not
long
in
learning
.
The
whole
camp
was
downcast
by
reason
of
their
report
.
The
three
had
gone
only
a
few
miles
when
they
were
challenged
by
white
men
.
As
soon
as
Will
Aden
spoke
up
,
telling
that
they
were
from
the
Fancher
Company
,
going
to
Cedar
City
for
help
,
he
was
shot
down
.
Milliken
and
Grant
escaped
back
with
the
news
,
and
the
news
settled
the
last
hope
in
the
hearts
of
our
company
.
The
whites
were
behind
the
Indians
,
and
the
doom
so
long
apprehended
was
upon
us
.
