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.
CHAPTER V.
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 close 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, he 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 bade 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 back-ground. Then the
intervening rocks hid them from his view.
He w
alked 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