"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 her
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 mountains, 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 discovering 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 nightfall, 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 predominant 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 upon
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 Cleveland 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 secretary, 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 collected 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.
CHAPTER VI
A Continuation Of The Reminiscences Of John Watson, M.D.
Our prisoner's furious resistance did not apparently indicate any
ferocity in his disposition towards ourselves, for on finding himself
powerless, he smiled in an affable manner, and expressed his hopes
that he had not hurt any of us in the scuffle. "I guess you're going
to take me to the police-station," he remarked to Sherlock Holmes.
"My cab's at the door. If you'll loose my legs I'll walk down to it.
I'm not so light to lift as I used to be."
Gregson and Lestrade exchanged glances as if they thought this
proposition rather a bold one; but Holmes at once took the prisoner
at his word, and loosened the towel which we had bound round his
ankles. He rose and stretched his legs, as though to assure himself
that they were free once more. I remember that I thought to myself,
as I eyed him, that I had seldom seen a more powerfully built man;
and his dark sunburned face bore an expression of determination and
energy which was as formidable as his personal strength.
"If there's a vacant place for a chief of the police, I reckon you
are the man for it," he said, gazing with undisguised admiration at
my fellow-lodger. "The way you kept on my trail was a caution."
"You had better come with me," said Holmes to the two detectives.
"I can drive you," said Lestrade.
"Good! and Gregson can come inside with me. You too, Doctor, you have
taken an interest in the case and may as well stick to us."
I assented gladly, and we all descended together. Our prisoner made
no attempt at escape, but stepped calmly into the cab which had been
his, and we followed him. Lestrade mounted the box, whipped up the
horse, and brought us in a very short time to our destination. We
were ushered into a small chamber where a police Inspector noted down
our prisoner's name and the names of the men with whose murder he had
been charged. The official was a white-faced unemotional man, who
went through his duties in a dull mechanical way. "The prisoner will
be put before the magistrates in the course of the week," he said;
"in the mean time, Mr. Jefferson Hope, have you anything that you
wish to say? I must warn you that your words will be taken down, and
may be used against you."
"I've got a good deal to say," our prisoner said slowly. "I want to
tell you gentlemen all about it."
"Hadn't you better reserve that for your trial?" asked the Inspector.
"I may never be tried," he answered. "You needn't look startled. It
isn't suicide I am thinking of. Are you a Doctor?" He turned his
fierce dark eyes upon me as he asked this last question.
"Yes; I am," I answered.
"Then put your hand here," he said, with a smile, motioning with his
manacled wrists towards his chest.
I did so; and became at once conscious of an extraordinary throbbing
and commotion which was going on inside. The walls of his chest
seemed to thrill and quiver as a frail building would do inside when
some powerful engine was at work. In the silence of the room I could
hear a dull humming and buzzing noise which proceeded from the same
source.
"Why," I cried, "you have an aortic aneurism!"
"That's what they call it," he said, placidly. "I went to a Doctor
last week about it, and he told me that it is bound to burst before
many days passed. It has been getting worse for years. I got it from
over-exposure and under-feeding among the Salt Lake Mountains. I've
done my work now, and I don't care how soon I go, but I should like
to leave some account of the business behind me. I don't want to be
remembered as a common cut-throat."
The Inspector and the two detectives had a hurried discussion as to
the advisability of allowing him to tell his story.
"Do you consider, Doctor, that there is immediate danger?" the former
asked.
"Most certainly there is," I answered.
"In that case it is clearly our duty, in the interests of justice, to
take his statement," said the Inspector. "You are at liberty, sir, to
give your account, which I again warn you will be taken down."
"I'll sit down, with your leave," the prisoner said, suiting the
action to the word. "This aneurism of mine makes me easily tired, and
the tussle we had half an hour ago has not mended matters. I'm on the
brink of the grave, and I am not likely to lie to you. Every word I
say is the absolute truth, and how you use it is a matter of no
consequence to me."
With these words, Jefferson Hope leaned back in his chair and began
the following remarkable statement. He spoke in a calm and methodical
manner, as though the events which he narrated were commonplace
enough. I can vouch for the accuracy of the subjoined account, for I
have had access to Lestrade's note-book, in which the prisoner's
words were taken down exactly as they were uttered.
"It don't much matter to you why I hated these men," he said; "it's
enough that they were guilty of the death of two human beings--a
father and a daughter--and that they had, therefore, forfeited their
own lives. After the lapse of time that has passed since their crime,
it was impossible for me to secure a conviction against them in any
court. I knew of their guilt though, and I determined that I should
be judge, jury, and executioner all rolled into one. You'd have done
the same, if you have any manhood in you, if you had been in my
place.
"That girl that I spoke of was to have married me twenty years ago.
She was forced into marrying that same Drebber, and broke her heart
over it. I took the marriage ring from her dead finger, and I vowed
that his dying eyes should rest upon that very ring, and that his
last thoughts should be of the crime for which he was punished. I
have carried it about with me, and have followed him and his
