A Study in Scarlet

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, {22}

  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 Canon, 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 o
f 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 nightfall, 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 upon 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.

  CHAPTER VI.

  A CONTINUATION OF THE REMINISCENCES OF JOHN WATSON, M.D.

  OUR prisoner's furious resistance did not apparently indicate

  any ferocity in his disposition towards ourselves, for on

  finding himself powerless, he smiled in an affable manner,

  and expressed his hopes that he had not hurt any of us in the

  scuffle. "I guess you're going to take me to the police-station,"

  he remarked to Sherlock Holmes. "My cab's at the door.

  If you'll loose my legs I'll walk down to it. I'm not so light

  to lift as I used to be."

  Gregson and Lestrade exchanged glances as if t
hey thought

  this proposition rather a bold one; but Holmes at once took

  the prisoner at his word, and loosened the towel which we had

  bound round his ancles. {23} He rose and stretched his legs,

  as though to assure himself that they were free once more.

  I remember that I thought to myself, as I eyed him, that I had

  seldom seen a more powerfully built man; and his dark

  sunburned face bore an expression of determination and energy

  which was as formidable as his personal strength.

  "If there's a vacant place for a chief of the police,

  I reckon you are the man for it," he said, gazing with

  undisguised admiration at my fellow-lodger. "The way you

  kept on my trail was a caution."

  "You had better come with me," said Holmes to the two detectives.

  "I can drive you," said Lestrade.

  "Good! and Gregson can come inside with me. You too, Doctor,

  you have taken an interest in the case and may as well stick

  to us."

  I assented gladly, and we all descended together. Our

  prisoner made no attempt at escape, but stepped calmly into

  the cab which had been his, and we followed him. Lestrade

  mounted the box, whipped up the horse, and brought us in a

  very short time to our destination. We were ushered into a

  small chamber where a police Inspector noted down our

  prisoner's name and the names of the men with whose murder he

  had been charged. The official was a white-faced unemotional

  man, who went through his duties in a dull mechanical way.

  "The prisoner will be put before the magistrates in the

  course of the week," he said; "in the mean time, Mr.

  Jefferson Hope, have you anything that you wish to say?

  I must warn you that your words will be taken down, and may

  be used against you."

  "I've got a good deal to say," our prisoner said slowly.

  "I want to tell you gentlemen all about it."

  "Hadn't you better reserve that for your trial?" asked the

  Inspector.

  "I may never be tried," he answered. "You needn't look

  startled. It isn't suicide I am thinking of. Are you a

  Doctor?" He turned his fierce dark eyes upon me as he asked

  this last question.

  "Yes; I am," I answered.

  "Then put your hand here," he said, with a smile, motioning

  with his manacled wrists towards his chest.

  I did so; and became at once conscious of an extraordinary

  throbbing and commotion which was going on inside. The walls

  of his chest seemed to thrill and quiver as a frail building

  would do inside when some powerful engine was at work. In

  the silence of the room I could hear a dull humming and

  buzzing noise which proceeded from the same source.

  "Why," I cried, "you have an aortic aneurism!"

  "That's what they call it," he said, placidly. "I went to a

  Doctor last week about it, and he told me that it is bound to

  burst before many days passed. It has been getting worse for

  years. I got it from over-exposure and under-feeding among

  the Salt Lake Mountains. I've done my work now, and I don't

  care how soon I go, but I should like to leave some account

  of the business behind me. I don't want to be remembered as

  a common cut-throat."

  The Inspector and the two detectives had a hurried discussion

  as to the advisability of allowing him to tell his story.

  "Do you consider, Doctor, that there is immediate danger?"

  the former asked, {24}

  "Most certainly there is," I answered.

  "In that case it is clearly our duty, in the interests

  of justice, to take his statement," said the Inspector.

  "You are at liberty, sir, to give your account, which I again

  warn you will be taken down."

  "I'll sit down, with your leave," the prisoner said, suiting

  the action to the word. "This aneurism of mine makes me

  easily tired, and the tussle we had half an hour ago has not