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                                Chapter 4

                            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 the 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 pockets
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 Jobn 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.
Singlehanded, 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 ball 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 halfway 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 forever.  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
grainland, 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 cornfield.  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 whippoorwill 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
Canyon 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 water-course, 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 tracks, 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 to seven," cried the sentinel.
     "Seven to 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.