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 {21} 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 Canon
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.
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