Bab Bab 11 · Part II - A Flight For Life.

. Part II - A Flight For Life.

On the morning which followed his interview with the Mormon Prophet,

John Ferrier went in to Salt Lake City, and having found his

acquaintance, who was bound for the Nevada Mountains, he entrusted him

with his message to Jefferson Hope. In it he told the young man of the

imminent danger which threatened them, and how necessary it was that he

should return. Having done thus he felt easier in his mind, and

returned home with a lighter heart.

As he approached his farm, he was surprised to see a horse hitched to

each of the posts of the gate. Still more surprised was he on entering

to find two young men in possession of his sitting-room. One, with a

long pale face, was leaning back in the rocking-chair, with his feet

cocked up upon the stove. The other, a bull-necked youth with coarse

bloated features, was standing in front of the window with his hands in

his pocket, whistling a popular hymn. Both of them nodded to Ferrier as

he entered, and the one in the rocking-chair commenced the

conversation.

“Maybe you don’t know us,” he said. “This here is the son of Elder

Drebber, and I’m Joseph Stangerson, who travelled with you in the

desert when the Lord stretched out His hand and gathered you into the

true fold.”

“As He will all the nations in His own good time,” said the other in a

nasal voice; “He grindeth slowly but exceeding small.”

John Ferrier bowed coldly. He had guessed who his visitors were.

“We have come,” continued Stangerson, “at the advice of our fathers to

solicit the hand of your daughter for whichever of us may seem good to

you and to her. As I have but four wives and Brother Drebber here has

seven, it appears to me that my claim is the stronger one.”

“Nay, nay, Brother Stangerson,” cried the other; “the question is not

how many wives we have, but how many we can keep. My father has now

given over his mills to me, and I am the richer man.”

“But my prospects are better,” said the other, warmly. “When the Lord

removes my father, I shall have his tanning yard and his leather

factory. Then I am your elder, and am higher in the Church.”

“It will be for the maiden to decide,” rejoined young Drebber, smirking

at his own reflection in the glass. “We will leave it all to her

decision.”

During this dialogue, John Ferrier had stood fuming in the doorway,

hardly able to keep his riding-whip from the backs of his two visitors.

“Look here,” he said at last, striding up to them, “when my daughter

summons you, you can come, but until then I don’t want to see your

faces again.”

The two young Mormons stared at him in amazement. In their eyes this

competition between them for the maiden’s hand was the highest of

honours both to her and her father.

“There are two ways out of the room,” cried Ferrier; “there is the

door, and there is the window. Which do you care to use?”

His brown face looked so savage, and his gaunt hands so threatening,

that his visitors sprang to their feet and beat a hurried retreat. The

old farmer followed them to the door.

“Let me know when you have settled which it is to be,” he said,

sardonically.

“You shall smart for this!” Stangerson cried, white with rage. “You

have defied the Prophet and the Council of Four. You shall rue it to

the end of your days.”

“The hand of the Lord shall be heavy upon you,” cried young Drebber;

“He will arise and smite you!”

“Then I’ll start the smiting,” exclaimed Ferrier furiously, and would

have rushed upstairs for his gun had not Lucy seized him by the arm and

restrained him. Before he could escape from her, the clatter of horses’

hoofs told him that they were beyond his reach.

“The young canting rascals!” he exclaimed, wiping the perspiration from

his forehead; “I would sooner see you in your grave, my girl, than the

wife of either of them.”

“And so should I, father,” she answered, with spirit; “but Jefferson

will soon be here.”

“Yes. It will not be long before he comes. The sooner the better, for

we do not know what their next move may be.”

It was, indeed, high time that someone capable of giving advice and

help should come to the aid of the sturdy old farmer and his adopted

daughter. In the whole history of the settlement there had never been

such a case of rank disobedience to the authority of the Elders. If

minor errors were punished so sternly, what would be the fate of this

arch rebel. Ferrier knew that his wealth and position would be of no

avail to him. Others as well known and as rich as himself had been

spirited away before now, and their goods given over to the Church. He

was a brave man, but he trembled at the vague, shadowy terrors which

hung over him. Any known danger he could face with a firm lip, but this

suspense was unnerving. He concealed his fears from his daughter,

however, and affected to make light of the whole matter, though she,

with the keen eye of love, saw plainly that he was ill at ease.

He expected that he would receive some message or remonstrance from

Young as to his conduct, and he was not mistaken, though it came in an

unlooked-for manner. Upon rising next morning he found, to his

surprise, a small square of paper pinned on to the coverlet of his bed

just over his chest. On it was printed, in bold straggling letters:—

“Twenty-nine days are given you for amendment, and then——”

The dash was more fear-inspiring than any threat could have been. How

this warning came into his room puzzled John Ferrier sorely, for his

servants slept in an outhouse, and the doors and windows had all been

secured. He crumpled the paper up and said nothing to his daughter, but

the incident struck a chill into his heart. The twenty-nine days were

evidently the balance of the month which Young had promised. What

strength or courage could avail against an enemy armed with such

mysterious powers? The hand which fastened that pin might have struck

him to the heart, and he could never have known who had slain him.

Still more shaken was he next morning. They had sat down to their

breakfast when Lucy with a cry of surprise pointed upwards. In the

centre of the ceiling was scrawled, with a burned stick apparently, the

number 28. To his daughter it was unintelligible, and he did not

enlighten her. That night he sat up with his gun and kept watch and

ward. He saw and he heard nothing, and yet in the morning a great 27

had been painted upon the outside of his door.

Thus day followed day; and as sure as morning came he found that his

unseen enemies had kept their register, and had marked up in some

conspicuous position how many days were still left to him out of the

month of grace. Sometimes the fatal numbers appeared upon the walls,

sometimes upon the floors, occasionally they were on small placards

stuck upon the garden gate or the railings. With all his vigilance John

Ferrier could not discover whence these daily warnings proceeded. A

horror which was almost superstitious came upon him at the sight of

them. He became haggard and restless, and his eyes had the troubled

look of some hunted creature. He had but one hope in life now, and that

was for the arrival of the young hunter from Nevada.

Twenty had changed to fifteen and fifteen to ten, but there was no news

of the absentee. One by one the numbers dwindled down, and still there

came no sign of him. Whenever a horseman clattered down the road, or a

driver shouted at his team, the old farmer hurried to the gate thinking

that help had arrived at last. At last, when he saw five give way to

four and that again to three, he lost heart, and abandoned all hope of

escape. Single-handed, and with his limited knowledge of the mountains

which surrounded the settlement, he knew that he was powerless. The

more-frequented roads were strictly watched and guarded, and none could

pass along them without an order from the Council. Turn which way he

would, there appeared to be no avoiding the blow which hung over him.

Yet the old man never wavered in his resolution to part with life

itself before he consented to what he regarded as his daughter’s

dishonour.

He was sitting alone one evening pondering deeply over his troubles,

and searching vainly for some way out of them. That morning had shown

the figure 2 upon the wall of his house, and the next day would be the

last of the allotted time. What was to happen then? All manner of vague

and terrible fancies filled his imagination. And his daughter—what was

to become of her after he was gone? Was there no escape from the

invisible network which was drawn all round them. He sank his head upon

the table and sobbed at the thought of his own impotence.

What was that? In the silence he heard a gentle scratching sound—low,

but very distinct in the quiet of the night. It came from the door of

the house. Ferrier crept into the hall and listened intently. There was

a pause for a few moments, and then the low insidious sound was

repeated. Someone was evidently tapping very gently upon one of the

panels of the door. Was it some midnight assassin who had come to carry

out the murderous orders of the secret tribunal? Or was it some agent

who was marking up that the last day of grace had arrived. John Ferrier

felt that instant death would be better than the suspense which shook

his nerves and chilled his heart. Springing forward he drew the bolt

and threw the door open.

Outside all was calm and quiet. The night was fine, and the stars were

twinkling brightly overhead. The little front garden lay before the

farmer’s eyes bounded by the fence and gate, but neither there nor on

the road was any human being to be seen. With a sigh of relief, Ferrier

looked to right and to left, until happening to glance straight down at

his own feet he saw to his astonishment a man lying flat upon his face

upon the ground, with arms and legs all asprawl.

So unnerved was he at the sight that he leaned up against the wall with

his hand to his throat to stifle his inclination to call out. His first

thought was that the prostrate figure was that of some wounded or dying

man, but as he watched it he saw it writhe along the ground and into

the hall with the rapidity and noiselessness of a serpent. Once within

the house the man sprang to his feet, closed the door, and revealed to

the astonished farmer the fierce face and resolute expression of

Jefferson Hope.

“Good God!” gasped John Ferrier. “How you scared me! Whatever made you

come in like that.”

“Give me food,” the other said, hoarsely. “I have had no time for bite

or sup for eight-and-forty hours.” He flung himself upon the cold meat

and bread which were still lying upon the table from his host’s supper,

and devoured it voraciously. “Does Lucy bear up well?” he asked, when

he had satisfied his hunger.

“Yes. She does not know the danger,” her father answered.

“That is well. The house is watched on every side. That is why I

crawled my way up to it. They may be darned sharp, but they’re not

quite sharp enough to catch a Washoe hunter.”

John Ferrier felt a different man now that he realized that he had a

devoted ally. He seized the young man’s leathery hand and wrung it

cordially. “You’re a man to be proud of,” he said. “There are not many

who would come to share our danger and our troubles.”

“You’ve hit it there, pard,” the young hunter answered. “I have a

respect for you, but if you were alone in this business I’d think twice

before I put my head into such a hornet’s nest. It’s Lucy that brings

me here, and before harm comes on her I guess there will be one less o’

the Hope family in Utah.”

“What are we to do?”

“To-morrow is your last day, and unless you act to-night you are lost.

I have a mule and two horses waiting in the Eagle Ravine. How much

money have you?”

“Two thousand dollars in gold, and five in notes.”

“That will do. I have as much more to add to it. We must push for

Carson City through the mountains. You had best wake Lucy. It is as

well that the servants do not sleep in the house.”

While Ferrier was absent, preparing his daughter for the approaching

journey, Jefferson Hope packed all the eatables that he could find into

a small parcel, and filled a stoneware jar with water, for he knew by

experience that the mountain wells were few and far between. He had

hardly completed his arrangements before the farmer returned with his

daughter all dressed and ready for a start. The greeting between the

lovers was warm, but brief, for minutes were precious, and there was

much to be done.

“We must make our start at once,” said Jefferson Hope, speaking in a

low but resolute voice, like one who realizes the greatness of the

peril, but has steeled his heart to meet it. “The front and back

entrances are watched, but with caution we may get away through the

side window and across the fields. Once on the road we are only two

miles from the Ravine where the horses are waiting. By daybreak we

should be half-way through the mountains.”

“What if we are stopped,” asked Ferrier.

Hope slapped the revolver butt which protruded from the front of his

tunic. “If they are too many for us we shall take two or three of them

with us,” he said with a sinister smile.

The lights inside the house had all been extinguished, and from the

darkened window Ferrier peered over the fields which had been his own,

and which he was now about to abandon for ever. He had long nerved

himself to the sacrifice, however, and the thought of the honour and

happiness of his daughter outweighed any regret at his ruined fortunes.

All looked so peaceful and happy, the rustling trees and the broad

silent stretch of grain-land, that it was difficult to realize that the

spirit of murder lurked through it all. Yet the white face and set

expression of the young hunter showed that in his approach to the house

he had seen enough to satisfy him upon that head.

Ferrier carried the bag of gold and notes, Jefferson Hope had the

scanty provisions and water, while Lucy had a small bundle containing a

few of her more valued possessions. Opening the window very slowly and

carefully, they waited until a dark cloud had somewhat obscured the

night, and then one by one passed through into the little garden. With

bated breath and crouching figures they stumbled across it, and gained

the shelter of the hedge, which they skirted until they came to the gap

which opened into the cornfields. They had just reached this point when

the young man seized his two companions and dragged them down into the

shadow, where they lay silent and trembling.

It was as well that his prairie training had given Jefferson Hope the

ears of a lynx. He and his friends had hardly crouched down before the

melancholy hooting of a mountain owl was heard within a few yards of

them, which was immediately answered by another hoot at a small

distance. At the same moment a vague shadowy figure emerged from the

gap for which they had been making, and uttered the plaintive signal

cry again, on which a second man appeared out of the obscurity.

“To-morrow at midnight,” said the first who appeared to be in

authority. “When the Whip-poor-Will calls three times.”

“It is well,” returned the other. “Shall I tell Brother Drebber?”

“Pass it on to him, and from him to the others. Nine to seven!”

“Seven to five!” repeated the other, and the two figures flitted away

in different directions. Their concluding words had evidently been some

form of sign and countersign. The instant that their footsteps had died

away in the distance, Jefferson Hope sprang to his feet, and helping

his companions through the gap, led the way across the fields at the

top of his speed, supporting and half-carrying the girl when her

strength appeared to fail her.

“Hurry on! hurry on!” he gasped from time to time. “We are through the

line of sentinels. Everything depends on speed. Hurry on!”

Once on the high road they made rapid progress. Only once did they meet

anyone, and then they managed to slip into a field, and so avoid

recognition. Before reaching the town the hunter branched away into a

rugged and narrow footpath which led to the mountains. Two dark jagged

peaks loomed above them through the darkness, and the defile which led

between them was the Eagle Cañon in which the horses were awaiting

them. With unerring instinct Jefferson Hope picked his way among the

great boulders and along the bed of a dried-up watercourse, until he

came to the retired corner, screened with rocks, where the faithful

animals had been picketed. The girl was placed upon the mule, and old

Ferrier upon one of the horses, with his money-bag, while Jefferson

Hope led the other along the precipitous and dangerous path.

It was a bewildering route for anyone who was not accustomed to face

Nature in her wildest moods. On the one side a great crag towered up a

thousand feet or more, black, stern, and menacing, with long basaltic

columns upon its rugged surface like the ribs of some petrified

monster. On the other hand a wild chaos of boulders and debris made all

advance impossible. Between the two ran the irregular track, so narrow

in places that they had to travel in Indian file, and so rough that

only practised riders could have traversed it at all. Yet in spite of

all dangers and difficulties, the hearts of the fugitives were light

within them, for every step increased the distance between them and the

terrible despotism from which they were flying.

They soon had a proof, however, that they were still within the

jurisdiction of the Saints. They had reached the very wildest and most

desolate portion of the pass when the girl gave a startled cry, and

pointed upwards. On a rock which overlooked the track, showing out dark

and plain against the sky, there stood a solitary sentinel. He saw them

as soon as they perceived him, and his military challenge of “Who goes

there?” rang through the silent ravine.

“Travellers for Nevada,” said Jefferson Hope, with his hand upon the

rifle which hung by his saddle.

They could see the lonely watcher fingering his gun, and peering down

at them as if dissatisfied at their reply.

“By whose permission?” he asked.

“The Holy Four,” answered Ferrier. His Mormon experiences had taught

him that that was the highest authority to which he could refer.

“Nine from seven,” cried the sentinel.

“Seven from five,” returned Jefferson Hope promptly, remembering the

countersign which he had heard in the garden.

“Pass, and the Lord go with you,” said the voice from above. Beyond 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.