Jefferson Hope’s prairie training gave him the ears of a lynx. He and his friends crouched down and heard the melancholy hooting of a mountain owl within a few yards of them. Another hoot immediately answered it. At the same moment a vague shadowy figure emerged from the gap. The first man uttered the plaintive signal cry again, and the second man appeared out of the obscurity.
“Tomorrow at midnight,” said the first man.
“When the Whip-poor-Will[59] 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 footsteps died away in the distance. Jefferson Hope sprang to his feet, and helped his companions through the gap. He led the way across the fields, he was supporting and carrying the girl.
“Hurry on! hurry on!” he gasped from time to time. “Everything depends on speed. Hurry on!”
They made rapid progress. Only once they met someone, and then they managed to slip into a field. Then the hunter chose a rugged and narrow footpath which led to the mountains. Two dark peaks loomed above them through the darkness. It was the Eagle Ravine in which the horses were awaiting them.
Jefferson Hope picked his way among the great boulders and along the watercourse. The girl sat 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.
In spite of all dangers and difficulties, the fugitives were happy, for every step increased the distance between them and the terrible people.
They soon had a proof, however, that they were still within the jurisdiction of the Saints. Suddenly the girl gave a cry and pointed upwards. On a rock, there stood a solitary sentinel. He saw them and asked:
“Who goes there?”
“Travellers for Nevada,” said Jefferson Hope, with his hand upon the rifle.
The lonely watcher was peering down at them.
“By whose permission?” he asked.
“The Holy Four,” answered Ferrier.
“Nine to seven,” cried the sentinel.
“Seven to five,” returned Jefferson Hope promptly. He remembered the countersign in the garden.
“Pass, and the Lord go with you,” said the voice from above.
They went forward. They knew that freedom lay before them.
Chapter V
The Avenging Angels
All night their course lay through intricate defiles and over and rock-strewn paths. More than once they lost their way, but Hope’s knowledge of the mountains enabled them to regain the track once more.
In the morning, a scene of marvellous though savage beauty lay before them. The rocky banks were on either side of them.
The sun rose slowly above the eastern horizon. The magnificent spectacle cheered the hearts of the three fugitives and gave them fresh energy. But Jefferson Hope was inexorable.
“They are following us,” he said. “Everything depends upon our speed. We must come to Carson.”
During the whole of that day they went on through the defiles, and by evening they were more than thirty miles from their enemies. At night-time they chose the cave, where the rocks offered some protection from the chill wind, and they enjoyed a few hours’ sleep. Before daybreak, however, they were up and on their way once more. They saw no signs of any pursuers, and Jefferson Hope began to think that they were out of the reach[60] of the terrible organization. He little knew about its iron grasp.
About the middle of the second day their scanty store of provisions began to run out. The young hunter made a fire, at which his companions might warm themselves, for they were now nearly five thousand feet above the sea level.
He took his gun and walked for a couple of miles without success, though from the marks upon the bark of the trees, and other indications, he knew that there were numerous bears in the vicinity.
At last, on the edge of a pinnacle, three or four hundred feet above him, he saw a big-horn[61]. He rested his rifle upon a rock. The animal sprang into the air, and then came down into the valley beneath.
The creature was too heavy to carry, so the hunter cut one haunch and part of the flank. With this trophy over his shoulder, he hastened to go back. But he lost his way. He came to a mountain torrent. Night was coming on rapidly, and it was almost dark before he at last found the familiar defile. Even in the darkness he could recognize the outline of the cliffs which bounded it. He made a loud halloo as a signal that he was coming. He paused and listened for an answer. No answer came. Again he shouted, even louder than before, and again no whisper came back from his friends. A vague, nameless dread came over him.
When he turned the corner, he saw the spot. The same dead silence still reigned all round. There was no living creature near the remains of the fire: animals, man, maiden, all were gone.
Jefferson Hope was bewildered and stunned. However, he was a man of action, and speedily recovered from his temporary impotence. He seized a piece of wood from the fire, and examined the little camp. He saw the feet of horses. Near the camp was a heap of reddish soil. As the young hunter approached it, he perceived a stick with a sheet of paper. The inscription upon the paper was brief:
John Ferrier,
From Salt Lake City,
Died August 4th, 1860
The sturdy old man was killed, then, and this was his epitaph. Jefferson Hope looked wildly round to see if there was a second grave, but there was no sign of one. Their terrible pursuers took Lucy with them back. She will be one of the harem of the Elder’s son.
And he decided at least to devote his life to revenge. He will devote his strong will and energy to that. With a grim, white face, he cooked some food. Then he took it and walked back through the mountains upon the track of the avenging angels.
On the sixth day, he reached the Eagle Ravine. He looked down upon the home of the Mormones. He was very exhausted. He observed that there were flags in some of the principal streets, and other signs of festivity. Then he heard the clatter of horse’s hoofs, and saw a horseman. He recognized a Mormon named Cowper, whom he knew before.
“I am Jefferson Hope,” he said. “You remember me.”
The Mormon looked at him with astonishment. Then the man’s surprise changed to consternation.
“You are mad to come here!” he cried. “I must not talk to you. There is a warrant against you from the Holy Four. You assisted the Ferriers.”
“I don’t fear them, or their warrant,” Hope said, earnestly. “You must know something, Cowper. We were friends. Please, don’t refuse to answer me.”
“What is it?” the Mormon asked uneasily. “Be quick. The rocks have ears and the trees have eyes.”
“How is Lucy Ferrier?”
“She was married yesterday to young Drebber.”
“Married, you say?” said Hope faintly. He was white.
“Married