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                                Chapter 5

                           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 dose 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,
be 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 bid 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 background.  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 onward
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 an 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 Canyon, 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 night
fall, 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 to 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.