She had reached the outskirts of the city when she found the road blocked by a great drove of cattle,driven by a half-dozen wild-looking herdsmen from the plains.In her impatience she endeavoured to pass this obstacle by pushing her horse into what appeared to be a gap.Scarcely had she got fairly into it, however, before the beasts closed in behind her,and she found herself completely imbedded in the moving stream of fierce-eyed,long-horned bullocks. Accustomed as she was to deal with cattle,she was not alarmed at her situation, but took advantage of every opportunity to urge her horse on in the hopes of pushing her way through the cavalcade.Unfortunately the horns of one of the creatures, either by accident or design,came in violent contact with the flank of the mustang, and excited it to madness.In an instant it reared up upon its hind legs with a snort of rage,and pranced and tossed in a way that would have unseated any but a most skilful rider.The situation was full of peril. Every plunge of the excited horse brought it against the horns again,and goaded it to fresh madness. It was all that the girl could do to keep herself in the saddle,yet a slip would mean a terrible death under the hoofs of the unwieldy and terrified animals.Unaccustomed to sudden emergencies, her head began to swim, and her grip upon the bridle to relax.Choked by the rising cloud of dust and by the steam from the struggling creatures,she might have abandoned her efforts in despair,but for a kindly voice at her elbow which assured her of assistance.At the same moment a sinewy brown hand caught the frightened horse by the curb,and forcing a way through the drove, soon brought her to the outskirts.
“You’re not hurt, I hope, miss,” said her preserver, respectfully.
She looked up at his dark, fierce face, and laughed saucily. “I’m awful frightened,” she said,naively; “whoever would have thought that Poncho would have been so scared by a lot of cows?”
“Thank God you kept your seat,” the other said earnestly. He was a tall,savage-looking young fellow, mounted on a powerful roan horse,and clad in the rough dress of a hunter, with a long rifle slung over his shoulders.“I guess you are the daughter of John Ferrier,” he remarked, “I saw you ride down from his house.When you see him, ask him if he remembers the Jefferson Hopes of St. Louis.If he’s the same Ferrier, my father and he were pretty thick.”
“Hadn’t you better come and ask yourself?” she asked, demurely.
The young fellow seemed pleased at the suggestion, and his dark eyes sparkled with pleasure.“I’ll do so,” he said, “we’ve been in the mountains for two months,and are not over and above in visiting condition. He must take us as he finds us.”
“He has a good deal to thank you for, and so have I,” she answered, “he’s awful fond of me.If those cows had jumped on me he’d have never got over it.”
“Neither would I,” said her companion.
“You!Well, I don’t see that it would make much matter to you, anyhow. You ain’t even a friend of ours.”
The young hunter’s dark face grew so gloomy over this remark that Lucy Ferrier laughed aloud.
“There, I didn’t mean that,” she said; “of course, you are a friend now. You must come and see us.Now I must push along, or father won’t trust me with his business any more. Good-bye!”
“Good-bye,” he answered, raising his broad sombrero, and bending over her little hand.She wheeled her mustang round, gave it a cut with her riding-whip,and darted away down the broad road in a rolling cloud of dust.
Young Jefferson Hope rode on with his companions, gloomy and taciturn.He and they had been among the Nevada Mountains prospecting for silver,and were returning to Salt Lake City in the hope of raising capital enough to work some lodes which they had discovered.He had been as keen as any of them upon the business until this sudden incident had drawn his thoughts into another channel.The sight of the fair young girl, as frank and wholesome as the Sierra breezes,had stirred his volcanic, untamed heart to its very depths. When she had vanished from his sight,he realized that a crisis had come in his life,and that neither silver speculations nor any other questions could ever be of such importance to him as this new and all-absorbing one.The love which had sprung up in his heart was not the sudden, changeable fancy of a boy,but rather the wild, fierce passion of a man of strong will and imperious temper.He had been accustomed to succeed in all that he undertook.He swore in his heart that he would not fail in this if human effort and human perseverance could render him successful.
He called on John Ferrier that night, and many times again,until his face was a familiar one at the farm-house. John, cooped up in the valley,and absorbed in his work, had had little chance of learning the news of the outside world during the last twelve years.All this Jefferson Hope was able to tell him,and in a style which interested Lucy as well as her father. He had been a pioneer in California,and could narrate many a strange tale of fortunes made and fortunes lost in those wild,halcyon days. He had been a scout too, and a trapper, a silver explorer, and a ranchman.Wherever stirring adventures were to be had, Jefferson Hope had been there in search of them.He soon became a favourite with the old farmer, who spoke eloquently of his virtues.On such occasions, Lucy was silent, but her blushing cheek and her bright, happy eyes,showed only too clearly that her young heart was no longer her own.Her honest father may not have observed these symptoms,but they were assuredly not thrown away upon the man who had won her affections.
It was a summer evening when he came galloping down the road and pulled up at the gate.She was at the doorway, and came down to meet him.He threw the bridle over the fence and strode up the pathway.
“I am off, Lucy,” he said, taking her two hands in his, and gazing tenderly down into her face;“I won’t ask you to come with me now, but will you be ready to come when I am here again?”
“And when will that be?” she asked, blushing and laughing.
“A couple of months at the outside. I will come and claim you then, my darling.There’s no one who can stand between us.”
“And how about father?” she asked.
“He has given his consent, provided we get these mines working all right. I have no fear on that head.”
“Oh, well; of course, if you and father have arranged it all, there’s no more to be said,” she whispered, with her cheek against his broad breast.
“Thank God!” he said, hoarsely, stooping and kissing her. “It is settled, then. The longer I stay,the harder it will be to go. They are waiting for me at the cañon. Good-bye,my own darling—good-bye. In two months you shall see me.”
He tore himself from her as he spoke, and, flinging himself upon his horse, galloped furiously away,never even looking round, as though afraid that his resolution might fail him if he took one glance at what he was leaving.She stood at the gate, gazing after him until he vanished from her sight.Then she walked back into the house, the happiest girl in all Utah.
CHAPTER III. JOHN FERRIER TALKS WITH THE PROPHET.
Three weeks had passed since Jefferson Hope and his comrades had departed from Salt Lake City.John Ferrier’s heart was sore within him when he thought of the young man’s return,and of the impending loss of his adopted child.Yet her bright and happy face reconciled him to the arrangement more than any argument could have done.He had always determined, deep down in his resolute heart,that nothing would ever induce him to allow his daughter to wed a Mormon.Such a marriage he regarded as no marriage at all, but as a shame and a disgrace.Whatever he might think of the Mormon doctrines, upon that one point he was inflexible.He had to seal his mouth on the subject, however,for to express an unorthodox opinion was a dangerous matter in those days in the Land of the Saints.
Yes, a dangerous matter—so dangerous that even the most saintly dared only whisper their religious opinions with bated breath,lest something which fell from their lips might be misconstrued,and bring down a swift retribution upon them.The victims of persecution had now turned persecutors on their own account,and persecutors of the most terrible description. Not the Inquisition of Seville,nor the German Vehmgericht, nor the Secret Societies of Italy,were ever able to put a more formidable machinery in motion than that which cast a cloud over the State of Utah.
Its invisibility, and the mystery which was attached to it, made this organization doubly terrible.It appeared to be omniscient and omnipotent, and yet was neither seen nor heard.The man who held out against the Church vanished away,and none knew whither he had gone or what had befallen him.His wife and his children awaited him at home,but no father ever returned to tell them how he had fared at the hands of his secret judges.A rash word or a hasty act was followed by annihilation,and yet none knew what the nature might be of this terrible power which was suspended over them.No wonder that men went about in fear and trembling,and that even in the heart of the wilderness they dared not whisper the doubts which oppressed them.
At first this vague and terrible power was exercised only upon the recalcitrants who,having embraced the Mormon faith, wished afterwards to pervert or to abandon it. Soon, however,it took a wider range. The supply of adult women was running short,and polygamy without a female population on which to draw was a barren doctrine indeed.Strange rumours began to be bandied about—rumours of murdered immigrants and rifled camps in regions where Indians had never been seen.Fresh women appeared in the harems of the Elders—women who pined and wept,and bore upon their faces the traces of an unextinguishable horror.Belated wanderers upon the mountains spoke of gangs of armed men, masked, stealthy, and noiseless,who flitted by them in the darkness. These tales and rumours took substance and shape,and were corroborated and re-corroborated, until they resolved themselves into a definite name.To this day, in the lonely ranches of the West, the name of the Danite Band,or the Avenging Angels, is a sinister and an ill-omened one.
Fuller knowledge of the organization which produced such terrible results served to increase rather than to lessen the horror which it inspired in the minds of men. None knew who belonged to this ruthless society. The names of the participators in the deeds of blood and violence done under the name of religion were kept profoundly secret. The very friend to whom you communicated your misgivings as to the Prophet and his mission, might be one of those who would come forth at night with fire and sword to exact a terrible reparation. Hence every man feared his neighbour, and none spoke of the things which were nearest his heart.
One fine morning, John Ferrier was about to set out to his wheatfields,when he heard the click of the latch, and, looking through the window, saw a stout, sandy-haired,middle-aged man coming up the pathway. His heart leapt to his mouth,for this was none other than the great Brigham Young himself.Full of trepidation—for he knew that such a visit boded him little good—Ferrier ran to the door to greet the Mormon chief.The latter, however, received his salutations coldly,and followed him with a stern face into the sitting-room.
“Brother Ferrier,” he said, taking a seat,and eyeing the farmer keenly from under his light-coloured eyelashes,“the true believers have been good friends to you.We picked you up when you were starving in the desert, we shared our food with you,led you safe to the Chosen Valley, gave you a goodly share of land,and allowed you to wax rich under our protection. Is not this so?”
“It is so,” answered John Ferrier.
“In return for all this we asked but one condition: that was,that you should embrace the true faith, and conform in every way to its usages.This you promised to do, and this, if common report says truly, you have neglected.”
“And how have I neglected it?” asked Ferrier, throwing out his hands in expostulation. “Have I not given to the common fund?Have I not attended at the Temple?Have I not——?”
“Where are your wives?” asked Young, looking round him. “Call them in, that I may greet them.”
“It is true that I have not married,” Ferrier answered. “But women were few,and there were many who had better claims than I. I was not a lonely man:I had my daughter to attend to my wants.”
“It is of that daughter that I would speak to you,” said the leader of the Mormons.“She has grown to be the flower of Utah,and has found favour in the eyes of many who are high in the land.”
John Ferrier groaned internally.
“There are stories of her which I would fain disbelieve—stories that she is sealed to some Gentile.This must be the gossip of idle tongues.What is the thirteenth rule in the code of the sainted Joseph Smith?‘Let every maiden of the true faith marry one of the elect; for if she wed a Gentile,she commits a grievous sin.’ This being so, it is impossible that you, who profess the holy creed,should suffer your daughter to violate it.”
John Ferrier made no answer, but he played nervously with his riding-whip.
“Upon this one point your whole faith shall be tested—so it has been decided in the Sacred Council of Four.The girl is young, and we would not have her wed grey hairs,neither would we deprive her of all choice. We Elders have many heifers,[1] but our children must also be provided. Stangerson has a son, and Drebber has a son,and either of them would gladly welcome your daughter to their house. Let her choose between them.They are young and rich, and of the true faith. What say you to that?”
[1] Heber C. Kemball, in one of his sermons,alludes to his hundred wives under this endearing epithet.
Ferrier remained silent for some little time with his brows knitted.
“You will give us time,” he said at last.“My daughter is very young—she is scarce of an age to marry.”
“She shall have a month to choose,” said Young, rising from his seat.“At the end of that time she shall give her answer.”
He was passing through the door, when he turned, with flushed face and flashing eyes.“It were better for you, John Ferrier,” he thundered,“that you and she were now lying blanched skeletons upon the Sierra Blanco,than that you should put your weak wills against the orders of the Holy Four!”
With a threatening gesture of his hand, he turned from the door,and Ferrier heard his heavy step scrunching along the shingly path.
He was still sitting with his elbows upon his knees,considering how he should broach the matter to his daughter when a soft hand was laid upon his,and looking up, he saw her standing beside him. One glance at her pale,frightened face showed him that she had heard what had passed.
“I could not help it,” she said, in answer to his look. “His voice rang through the house. Oh, father, father, what shall we do?”
“Don’t you scare yourself,” he answered, drawing her to him, and passing his broad,rough hand caressingly over her chestnut hair. “We’ll fix it up somehow or another.You don’t find your fancy kind o’ lessening for this chap, do you?”
A sob and a squeeze of his hand was her only answer.
“No; of course not. I shouldn’t care to hear you say you did. He’s a likely lad,and he’s a Christian, which is more than these folk here,in spite o’ all their praying and preaching. There’s a party starting for Nevada to-morrow,and I’ll manage to send him a message letting him know the hole we are in.If I know anything o’ that young man, he’ll be back here with a speed that would whip electro-telegraphs. ”
Lucy laughed through her tears at her father’s description.
“When he comes, he will advise us for the best. But it is for you that I am frightened, dear.One hears—one hears such dreadful stories about those who oppose the Prophet:something terrible always happens to them.”
“But we haven’t opposed him yet,” her father answered.“It will be time to look out for squalls when we do. We have a clear month before us;at the end of that, I guess we had best shin out of Utah.”
“Leave Utah!”
“That’s about the size of it.”
“But the farm?”
“We will raise as much as we can in money, and let the rest go. To tell the truth, Lucy,it isn’t the first time I have thought of doing it. I don’t care about knuckling under to any man,as these folk do to their darned prophet. I’m a free-born American, and it’s all new to me.Guess I’m too old to learn. If he comes browsing about this farm,he might chance to run up against a charge of buckshot travelling in the opposite direction.”
“But they won’t let us leave,” his daughter objected.
“Wait till Jefferson comes, and we’ll soon manage that. In the meantime, don’t you fret yourself,my dearie, and don’t get your eyes swelled up, else he’ll be walking into me when he sees you.There’s nothing to be afeared about, and there’s no danger at all.”
John Ferrier uttered these consoling remarks in a very confident tone,but she could not help observing that he paid unusual care to the fastening of the doors that night,and that he carefully cleaned and loaded the rusty old shotgun which hung upon the wall of his bedroom.
CHAPTER IV. 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.