All night their course lay through intricate
defiles and over
irregular and rockstrewn paths. More than once they
lost their
way, but Hope's intimate knowledge of the mountains
enabled
them to regain the track once more. When morning broke,
a
scene of marvellous though savage beauty lay before
them. In
every direction the great snow-capped peaks hemmed
them in,
peeping over each other's shoulders to the far horizon.
So steep
were the rocky banks on either side of them that the
larch and the
pine seemed to be suspended over their heads, and
to need only a
gust of wind to come hurtling down upon them. Nor
was the fear
entirely an illusion, for the barren valley was thickly
strewn with
trees and boulders which had fallen in a similar manner.
Even as
they passed, a great rock came thundering down with
a hoarse
rattle which woke the echoes in the silent gorges,
and startled the
weary horses into a gallop.
As the sun rose slowly above the eastern horizon,
the caps of
the great mountains lit up one after the other, like
lamps at a
festival, until they were all ruddy and glowing. The
magnificent
spectacle cheered the hearts of the three fugitives
and gave them
fresh energy. At a wild torrent which swept out of
a ravine they
called a halt and watered their horses, while they
partook of a
hasty breakfast. Lucy and her father would fain have
rested
longer, but Jefferson Hope was inexorable. "They will
be upon
our track by this time," he said. "Everything depends
upon our
speed. Once safe in Carson, we may rest for the remainder
of
our lives."
During the whole of that day they struggled
on through the
defiles, and by evening they calculated that they
were more than
thirty miles from their enemies. At night-time they
chose the
base of a beetling crag, where the rocks offered some
protection
from the chill wind, and there, huddled together for
warmth,
they enjoyed a few hours' sleep. Before daybreak,
however, they
were up and on their way once more. They had seen
no signs of
any pursuers, and Jefferson Hope began to think that
they were
fairly out of the reach of the terrible organization
whose enmity
they had incurred. He little knew how far that iron
grasp could
reach, or how soon it was to close upon them and crush
them.
About the middle of the second day of their
flight their scanty
store of provisions began to run out. This gave the
hunter little
uneasiness, however, for there was game to be had
among the
mountains, and he had frequently before had to depend
upon his
rifle for the needs of life. Choosing a sheltered
nook, he piled
together a few dried branches and made a blazing fire,
at which
his companions might warm themselves, for they were
now
nearly five thousand feet above the sea level, and
the air was
bitter and keen. Having tethered the horses, and bid
Lucy adieu,
he threw his gun over his shoulder, and set out in
search of
whatever chance might throw in his way. Looking back,
he saw
the old man and the young girl crouching over the
blazing fire,
while the three animals stood motionless in the background.
Then the intervening rocks hid them from his view.
He walked for a couple of miles through one
ravine after
another without success, though, from the marks upon
the bark
of the trees, and other indications, he judged that
there were
numerous bears in the vicinity. At last, after two
or three hours'
fruitless search, he was thinking of turning back
in despair, when
casting his eyes upwards he saw a sight which sent
a thrill of
pleasure through his heart. On the edge of a jutting
pinnacle,
three or four hundred feet above him, there stood
a creature
somewhat resembling a sheep in appearance, but armed
with a
pair of gigantic horns. The big-horn -- for so it
is called -- was
acting, probably, as a guardian over a flock which
were invisible
to the hunter; but fortunately it was heading in the
opposite
direction, and had not perceived him. Lying on his
face, he
rested his rifle upon a rock, and took a long and
steady aim
before drawing the trigger. The animal sprang into
the air,
tottered for a moment upon the edge of the precipice,
and then
came crashing down into the valley beneath.
The creature was too unwieldy to lift, so the
hunter contented
himself with cutting away one haunch and part of the
flank. With
this trophy over his shoulder, he hastened to retrace
his steps, for
the evening was already drawing in. He had hardly
started,
however, before he realized the difficulty which faced
him. In
his eagerness he had wandered far past the ravines
which were
known to him, and it was no easy matter to pick out
the path
which he had taken. The valley in which he found himself
divided and sub-divided into many gorges, which were
so like
each other that it was impossible to distinguish one
from the
other. He followed one for a mile or more until he
came to a
mountain torrent which he was sure that he had never
seen
before. Convinced that he had taken the wrong turn,
he tried
another, but with the same result. Night was coming
on rapidly,
and it was almost dark before he at last found himself
in a defile
which was familiar to him. Even then it was no easy
matter to
keep to the right track, for the moon had not yet
risen, and the
high cliffs on either side made the obscurity more
profound.
Weighed down with his burden, and weary from his exertions,
he stumbled along, keeping up his heart by the reflection
that
every step brought him nearer to Lucy, and that he
carried with
him enough to ensure them food for the remainder of
their
journey.
He had now come to the mouth of the very defile
in which he
had left them. Even in the darkness he could recognize
the
outline of the cliffs which bounded it. They must,
he reflected,
be awaiting him anxiously, for he had been absent
nearly five
hours. In the gladness of his heart he put his hands
to his mouth
and made the glen reecho to a loud halloo as a signal
that he was
coming. He paused and listened for an answer. None
came save
his own cry, which clattered up the dreary, silent
ravines, and
was borne back to his ears in countless repetitions.
Again he
shouted, even louder than before, and again no whisper
came
back from the friends whom he had left such a short
time ago. A
vague, nameless dread came over him, and he hurried
onward
frantically, dropping the precious food in his agitation.
When he turned the corner, he came full in
sight of the spot
where the fire had been lit. There was still a glowing
pile of
wood ashes there, but it had evidently not been tended
since his
departure. The same dead silence still reigned all
round. With his
fears all changed to convictions, he hurried on. There
was no
living creature near the remains of the fire: animals,
man, maiden
all were gone. It was only too clear that some sudden
and terrible
disaster had occurred during his absence -- a disaster
which had
embraced them all, and yet had left no traces behind
it.
Bewildered and stunned by this blow, Jefferson
Hope felt his
head spin round, and had to lean upon his rifle to
save himself
from falling. He was essentially a man of action,
however, and
speedily recovered from his temporary impotence. Seizing
a
half-consumed piece of wood from the smouldering fire,
he blew
it into a flame, and proceeded with its help to examine
the little
camp. The ground was all stamped down by the feet
of horses,
showing that a large party of mounted men had overtaken
the
fugitives, and the direction of their tracks proved
that they had
afterwards turned back to Salt Lake City. Had they
carried back
both of his companions with them? Jefferson Hope had
almost
persuaded himself that they must have done so, when
his eye fell
upon an object which made every nerve of his body
tingle within
him. A little way on one side of the camp was a low-lying
heap
of reddish soil, which had assuredly not been there
before. There
was no mistaking it for anything but a newly dug grave.
As the
young hunter approaehed it, he perceived that a stick
had been
planted on it, with a sheet of paper stuck in the
cleft fork of it.
The inscription upon the paper was brief, but to the
point:
JOHN FERRIER,
FORMERLY OF SALT LAKE CITY.
Died August 4th, 1860.
The sturdy old man, whom he had left so short a time
before,
was gone, then, and this was all his epitaph. Jefferson
Hope
looked wildly round to see if there was a second grave,
but there
was no sign of one. Lucy had been carried back by
their terrible
pursuers to fulfil her original destiny, by becoming
one of the
harem of an Elder's son. As the young fellow realized
the
certainty of her fate, and his own powerlessness to
prevent it, he
wished that he, too, was lying with the old farmer
in his last
silent resting-place.
Again, however, his active spirit shook off
the lethargy which
springs from despair. If there was nothing else left
to him, he
could at least devote his life to revenge. With indomitable
pa-
tience and perseverance, Jefferson Hope possessed
also a power
of sustained vindictiveness, which he may have learned
from the
Indians amongst whom he had lived. As he stood by
the desolate
fire, he felt that the only one thing which could
assuage his grief
would be thorough and complete retribution, brought
by his own
hand upon his enemies. His strong will and untiring
energy
should, he determined, be devoted to that one end.
With a grim,
white face, he retraced his steps to where he had
dropped the
food, and having stirred up the smouldering fire,
he cooked
enough to last him for a few days. This he made up
into a
bundle, and, tired as he was, he set himself to walk
back through
the mountains upon the track of the Avenging Angels.
For five days he toiled footsore and weary
through the defiles
which he had already traversed on horseback. At night
he flung
himself down among the rocks, and snatched a few hours
of
sleep; but before daybreak he was always well on his
way. On
the sixth day, he reached the Eagle Canon, from which
they had
commenced their ill-fated flight. Thence he could
look down
upon the home of the Saints. Worn and exhausted, he
leaned
upon his rifle and shook his gaunt hand fiercely at
the silent
widespread city beneath him. As he looked at it, he
observed
that there were flags in some of the principal streets,
and other
signs of festivity. He was still speculating as to
what this might
mean when he heard the clatter of horse's hoofs, and
saw a
mounted man riding towards him. As he approached,
he recog-
nized him as a Mormon named Cowper, to whom he had
ren-
dered services at different times. He therefore accosted
him
when he got up to him, with the object of finding
out what Lucy
Ferrier's fate had been.
"I am Jefferson Hope," he said. "You remember
me."
The Mormon looked at him with undisguised astonishment
--
indeed, it was difficult to recognize in this tattered,
unkempt
wanderer, with ghastly white face and fierce, wild
eyes, the
spruce young hunter of former days. Having, however,
at last
satisfied himself as to his identity, the man's surprise
changed to
consternation.
"You are mad to come here," he cried. "It is
as much as my
own life is worth to be seen talking with you. There
is a warrant
against you from the Holy Four for assisting the Ferriers
away."
"I don't fear them, or their warrant," Hope
said, earnestly.
"You must know something of this matter, Cowper. I
conjure
you by everything you hold dear to answer a few questions.
We
have always been friends. For God's sake, don't refuse
to an-
swer me."
"What is it?" the Mormon asked, uneasily. "Be
quick. The
very rocks have ears and the trees eyes."
"What has become of Lucy Ferrier?"
"She was married yesterday to young Drebber.
Hold up, man,
hold up; you have no life left in you."
"Don't mind me," said Hope faintly. He was
white to the
very lips, and had sunk down on the stone against
which he had
been leaning. "Married, you say?"
"Married yesterday -- that's what those flags
are for on the
Endowment House. There was some words between young
Drebber
and young Stangerson as to which was to have her.
They'd both
been in the party that followed them, and Stangerson
had shot
her father, which seemed to give him the best claim;
but when
they argued it out in council, Drebber's party was
the stronger,
so the Prophet gave her over to him. No one won't
have her very
long though, for I saw death in her face yesterday.
She is more
like a ghost than a woman. Are you off, then?"
"Yes, I am off," said Jefferson Hope, who had
risen from his
seat. His face might have been chiselled out of marble,
so hard
and set was its expression, while its eyes glowed
with a baleful
light.
"Where are you going?"
"Never mind," he answered; and, slinging his
weapon over
his shoulder, strode off down the gorge and so away
into the
heart of the mountains to the haunts of the wild beasts.
Amongst
them all there was none so fierce and so dangerous
as himself.
The prediction of the Mormon was only too well
fulfilled.
Whether it was the terrible death of her father or
the effects of
the hateful marriage into which she had been forced,
poor Lucy
never held up heF head again, but pined away and died
within a
month. Her sottish husband, who had married her principally
for
the sake of John Ferrier's property, did not affect
any great grief
at his bereavement; but his other wives mourned over
her, and
sat up with her the night before the burial, as is
the Mormon
custom. They were grouped round the bier in the early
hours of
the morning, when, to their inexpressible fear and
astonishment,
the door was flung open, and a savage-looking, weather-beaten
man in tattered garments strode into the room. Without
a glance
or a word to the cowering women, he walked up to the
white
silent figure which had once contained the pure soul
of Lucy
Ferrier. Stooping over her, he pressed his lips reverently
to her
cold forehead, and then, snatching up her hand, he
took the
wedding ring from her finger. "She shall not be buried
in that,"
he cried with a fierce snarl, and before an alarm
could be raised
sprang down the stairs and was gone. So strange and
so brief
was the episode that the watchers might have found
it hard to
believe it themselves or persuade other people of
it, had it not
been for the undeniable fact that the circlet of gold
which marked
her as having been a bride had disappeared.
For some months Jefferson Hope lingered among
the moun-
tains, leading a strange, wild life, and nursing in
his heart the
fierce desire for vengeance which possessed him. Tales
were told
in the city of the weird figure which was seen prowling
about the
suburbs, and which haunted the lonely mountain gorges.
Once a
bullet whistled through Stangerson's window and flattened
itself
upon the wall within a foot of him. On another occasion,
as
Drebber passed under a cliff a great boulder crashed
down on
him, and he only escaped a terrible death by throwing
himself
upon his face. The two young Mormons were not long
in discov-
ering the reason of these attempts upon their lives,
and led
repeated expeditions into the mountains in the hope
of capturing
or killing their enemy, but always without success.
Then they
adopted the precaution of never going out alone or
after night-
fall, and of having their houses guarded. After a
time they were
able to relax these measures, for nothing was either
heard or seen
of their opponent, and they hoped that time had cooled
his
vindictiveness.
Far from doing so, it had, if anything, augmented
it. The
hunter's mind was of a hard, unyielding nature, and
the predomi-
nant idea of revenge had taken such complete possession
of it
that there was no room for any other emotion. He was,
however
above all things, practical. He soon realized that
even his iron
constitution could not stand the incessant strain
which he was
putting upon it. Exposure and want of wholesome food
were
wearing him out. If he died like a dog among the mountains
what was to become of his revenge then? And yet such
a death
was sure to overtake him if he persisted. He felt
that that was to
play his enemy's game, so he reluctantly returned
to the old
Nevada mines, there to recruit his health and to amass
money
enough to allow him to pursue his object without privation.
His intention had been to be absent a year
at the most, but a
combination of unforeseen circumstances prevented
his leaving
the mines for nearly five. At the end of that time,
however, his
memory of his wrongs and his craving for revenge were
quite as
keen as on that memorable night when he had stood
by John
Ferrier's grave. Disguised, and under an assumed name,
he
returned to Salt Lake City, careless what became of
his own life,
as long as he obtained what he knew to be justice.
There he
found evil tidings awaiting him. There had been a
schism among
the Chosen People a few months before, some of the
younger
members of the Church having rebelled against the
authority of
the Elders, and the result had been the secession
of a certain
number of the malcontents, who had left Utah and become
Gentiles. Among these had been Drebber and Stangerson;
and no
one knew whither they had gone. Rumour reported that
Drebber
had managed to convert a large part of his property
into money,
and that he had departed a wealthy man, while his
companion,
Stangerson, was comparatively poor. There was no clue
at all,
however, as to their whereabouts.
Many a man, however vindictive, would have
abandoned all
thought of revenge in the face of such a difficulty,
but Jefferson
Hope never faltered for a moment. With the small competence
he possessed, eked out by such employment as he could
pick up,
he travelled from town to town through the United
States in
quest of his enemies. Year passed into year, his black
hair turned
grizzled, but still he wandered on, a human bloodhound,
with his
mind wholly set upon the one object to which he had
devoted his
life. At last his perseverance was rewarded. It was
but a glance
of a face in a window, but that one glance told him
that Cleve-
land in Ohio possessed the men whom he was in pursuit
of. He
returned to his miserable lodgings with his plan of
vengeance all
arranged. It chanced, however, that Drebber, looking
from his
window, had recognized the vagrant in the street,
and had read
murder in his eyes. He hurried before a justice of
the peace
accompanied by Stangerson, who had become his private
secre-
tary, and represented to him that they were in danger
of their
lives from the jealousy and hatred of an old rival.
That evening
Jefferson Hope was taken into custody, and not being
able to
find sureties, was detained for some weeks. When at
last he was
liberated it was only to find that Drebber's house
was deserted,
and that he and his secretary had departed for Europe.
Again the avenger had been foiled, and again
his concentrated
hatred urged him to continue the pursuit. Funds were
wanting,
however, and for some time he had to return to work,
saving
every dollar for his approaching journey. At last,
having col-
lected enough to keep life in him, he departed for
Europe, and
tracked his enemies from city to city, working his
way in any
menial capacity, but never overtaking the fugitives.
When he
reached St. Petersburg, they had departed for Paris;
and when he
followed them there, he learned that they had just
set off for
Copenhagen. At the Danish capital he was again a few
days late,
for they had journeyed on to London, where he at last
succeeded
in running them to earth. As to what occurred there,
we cannot
do better than quote the old hunter's own account,
as duly
recorded in Dr. Watson's Journal, to which we are
already under
such obligations. |
