authorities.

My father believed that if he left Utah, his recession might tend to
placate the government and soften the severity of the prosecutions of
the Mormons; and accordingly, on the night of February 12, 1886, he
boarded a west-bound Central Pacific train at Willard. The Federal
officers in some way learned of it; he was arrested, on the train, at
Humboldt Wells, Nevada, and brought back to Utah. Near Promontory he
fell from the steps of the moving car, at night, in the midst of an
alkali desert, and hurt himself seriously. He was recaptured and brought
to Salt Lake City on a stretcher, in a special car, guarded by a squad
of soldiers from Fort Douglas, with loaded muskets, and a captain with a
conspicuous sword. He was taken to Judge Zane's chambers and placed
under bonds of $25,000. Immediately two bench warrants were issued by a
United States Commissioner, and these were served upon him while he lay
on a mattress on the floor of Zane's office. Two more bonds of $10,000
each were given. He was then taken to his home.

Later--(President Taylor still insisting that he must not stand trial)--
he disappeared again, "on the underground," and his bonds were
declared forfeited. But in the meantime, while the grand jury was
hearing testimony against him, one of the beloved women of his family
was called for examination, and District Attorney Dickson asked her some
questions that deeply wounded her. She returned home weeping. My
brothers and I felt that the questions had been needlessly offensive,
and after an indignant discussion of the matter, I undertook to
remonstrate personally with Mr. Dickson.

If I had been as wise, then, as I sometimes think I am now, I should
have realized that a meeting between us was dangerous; that the feeling,