his post the path broadened out, and the horses were able to break
into a trot. Looking back, they could see the solitary watcher
leaning upon his gun, and knew that they had passed the outlying post
of the chosen people, and that freedom lay before them.
CHAPTER V
The Avenging Angels
All night their course lay through intricate defiles and over
irregular and rock-strewn 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 bade 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
back-ground. 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 re-echo
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
onwards 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 approached 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 the
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 patience 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 Ca駉n, 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 recognized
him as a Mormon named Cowper, to whom he had rendered 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 answer 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.
