第 十二 章 · Part II - The Avenging Angels.

. Part II - 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

Cañon, 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.

“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.