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Show Port was ushered through the door by a burley man with a black mustache. The man was wearing a white sheepskin vest. Without any kind greeting, or without any questions ques-tions about what Port wanted, the jailer quickly rejoined two companions compa-nions on a bench against the far wall. They were engrossed in a competition of tossing playing cards into a pail in the center of the room. They seemed determined to finish their game before finding out who Port was or what he wanted. On a plank table against the left wall were three tin plates stacked high with boiled beef, thick slices of heavy brown bread, and slices of raw onions. As Port seated himself at the table the jailer with the sheepskin vest said, "Have some food. I'll be with you in a minute." ; Filling his mouth with bread and beef, Port continued to look around until his eyes rested on an iron grate covering a hole in the floor just a few feet beyond the table. He guessed this was the door to the basement dungeon where his friend and prophet was held prisoner. "What can I do for you? " the man in the sheepskin vest asked in a friendly voice, when their game was finished. He got up from the bench and walked towards Port. "I'd like to visit your prisoners," Port said, nodding towards the grate. "You a Mormon?" "Yes." Without the jailer saying another word, Port noticed a sudden chilling in the room, as if someone had thrown open the door and let in the cold December wind. Upon reaching the table, the jailer pushed the plate of food away from Port. "Had me fooled," the jailer said. ' 'You look more like a muskrat hunter than a Mormon fanatic. What's your business?" "I'm Joseph's cousin. Just want to visit." "Sorry. Visiting hours were over at three. You'll have to come back tomorrow." Port made no effort to leave. He figured the jailer was probably lying about the visiting hours just to be ornery. The other two men had retrieved the cards and were urging the jailer to join them in another game of throwing throw-ing cards in the hat. "Please let me see him, just for a few minutes," Port said. "If you dont get out of here," the jailer said, "111 throw you in the dungeon with the prisoners." "A lot warmer down there than in the woods where I'm going to camp," Port said, remaining in his seat. "Five minutes, on one condition," the jailer said. "What's that?" "You empty the swill bucket." Port nodded his willingness to do it. Removing a large key from his vest pocket, the jailer bent over and unlocked the grate. Lifting it open, he motioned for Port to descend the ladder lad-der into the black hole. "Visitor coming down," the jailer shouted into the hole. As Port stepped onto the ladder, the overwhelming stench of human urine and feces made him nauseous until his nostrils began to deaden to the smell. "It's me, Orrin Porter Rockwell," Port responded to anxious queries as he descended into darkness as the jailer slammed the iron grate over his head. "How are you, Port?" asked one of the voices. Port thought it curious that the man wanted to know how he was. They were the ones in jail, not ,POlt. ; - : "Someone light a candle," Port requested. He could hear the jingle of chains as the prisoners surrounded him, all talking at once. "We don't have any candles," someone so-meone answered. "Bring us some." "Don't forget matches." "And paper, pens and ink." "The swill bucket has been full for two days. It's running over." "Through the grate we hear them reading our mail before they burn it." "Food's full of maggots and rat dirt. Bring us something decent, if you can." "What's become of our families?" Port pulled a wooden match out of his pocket and struck it on the nearest log. Joseph stood directly in front of him, tall and erect, even with chains on his wrists and ankles. His hair was matted and dirty, his clothes soiled and torn, but his alert blue eyes were clear and intense. The prophet was smiling. Beyond Joseph, on a bed of dirty straw, was Sidney Rigdon, looking very ill. , "Sidney will die if we don't get him out of here," Hyrum said. "We'll all die if Judge King gets his way," Caleb Baldwin added. "Help us escape," Joseph whispered. "In the meantime, bring us what you can to make our stay more comfortable." The match went out, but rather than strike another, Port handed the last of his matches to Joseph, plus some dried meat that was in his pocket. ' 'They let me in on the condition I would empty the swill bucket," Port explained. One of the men carefully handed the bucket to Port. It was too full for the wooden lid to fit tightly. "One swill bucket coming up," Port shouted towards the grate. As he began to climb the ladder the grate was lifted open. The jailer stepped back as Port climbed onto the floor. The bucket was too full for him to prevent it from dripping. . "If you spill that in here I'll rub your nose in it," the jailer snarled. Port resisted the urge to return the insult. . - ( To be continued Next Week) tL The Orem-Geneva Times wants to help Jason Overman win his fight against the rare nerve cancer that is threatening his life. Jason, age 5, needs $155,000 for a bone marrow transplant that will increase in-crease his chances for a new lease on life... mm ; Mm We will donate one-half of the price of your subscription, new or re- newal to help raise the needed money for Jason. We will also put your name on a get-well get-well card that will be sent with the money collected. All new or renewal subscriptions received re-ceived before June 30 will be included. You can help Jason by subscribing. 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