It was Rigdon's voice.

She perceived that he was helpless with terror.

The prophet had certainly struggled more lustily.
"Now you jest keep still, sister," said the loudest of her three companions.

"Kill him?
not if ye don't make a mess of it by interferin'.
It's only boilin' tar they've got in the pot." Susannah covered her face with her hands; then, too frightened to abstract her mind, she gazed again, as if her watchfulness might hinder some outrage.

The group was not near enough, the light was too uncertain, for her to see clearly.