On our way to church, naturally enough the boys asked our names,
and Howard spoke up and said: "My name is George Howard, and this
is my brother Frank." And I will tell you now with all candor I
did not feel right over this, for it was the first time in my life
that I had ever lived under an assumed name, but I had agreed to
do what I could, and although I would have given the best horse I
had to have been out of the scrape, yet I was into it and I was
determined to go through with it if possible. That evening when we
came out of church Jim gave me an introduction to his two sisters
and they asked me to walk home with them from church, and I did
so.
After conversing with them for some time and getting a little
acquainted with them, I asked the girl on my left how old she was,
and she said she was seventeen. I asked her how long she had lived
in this country. She said: "My father was one of the first
settlers in this country. He came here among the first emigrants
and I was raised here in this country."
"Is that so?" I asked. "Then you were here in this part of the
country at the time of the Mountain Meadow massacre?" "Yes," said
she, "but you know we must not talk about that." "Well," said I,
"you know they were all Gentiles that were killed and what's the
difference?" "Well," she said, "I think it was all wrong any way.
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