A Study in Scarlet
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