 Part 1 Chapter 7 of A Study in Scarlet. The intelligence with which Lestrade greeted us was so momentous and so unexpected that we were all three fairly dumbfounded. Gregson sprang out of his chair and upset the remainder of his whisky in water. I stared in silence at Sherlock Holmes, whose lips were compressed and his brows drawn down over his eyes. �Stangerson, too,� he muttered. �The plot thickens.� �It was quite thick enough before,� grumbled Lestrade, taking a chair. �I seem to have dropped into a sort of council of war. �Are you sure of this piece of intelligence?� stammered Gregson. �I have just come from his room,� said Lestrade. �I was the first to discover what had occurred. �We have been hearing Gregson's view of the matter,� Holmes observed. �Would you mind letting us know what you have seen and done?� �I have no objection,� Lestrade answered, seating himself. �I freely confess that I was of the opinion that Stangerson was concerned in the death of Dreber. This fresh development has shown me that I was completely mistaken. Full of the one idea I set myself to find out what had become of the Secretary. They had been seen together at Euston Station, about half past eight, on the evening of the third. At two in the morning Dreber had been found in the Brixton Road. The question which confronted me was to find out how Stangerson had been employed between eight thirty and the time of the crime and what had become of him afterwards. I telegraphed to Liverpool, giving a description of the man, and warning them to keep a watch upon the American boats. I then set to work calling upon all the hotels and lodging houses in the vicinity of Euston. You see, I argued that if Dreber and his companion had become separated, the natural course for the latter would be to put up somewhere in the vicinity for the night, and then to hang about the station again next morning. They would be likely to agree on some meeting place beforehand, remarked Holmes. So it proved. I spent the whole of yesterday evening in making inquiries entirely without avail. This morning I began very early, and at eight o'clock I reached Halliday's Private Hotel in Little George Street. On my inquiry as to whether a Mr. Stangerson was living there, they at once answered me in the affirmative. No doubt you were the gentleman whom he was expecting, they said. He has been waiting for a gentleman for two days. Where is he now? I asked. He is upstairs in bed. He wished to be called at nine. I will go up and see him at once, I said. It seemed to me that my sudden appearance might shake his nerves and lead him to say something unguarded. The boots volunteered to show me the room. It was on the second floor, and there was a small corridor leading up to it. The boots pointed out the door to me and was about to go downstairs again when I saw something that made me feel sickish in spite of my twenty years' experience. From under the door there curled a little red ribbon of blood which had meandered across the passage and formed a little pool along the skirting at the other side. I gave a cry which brought the boots back. He nearly fainted when he saw it. The door was locked on the inside, but we put our shoulders to it and knocked it in. The window of the room was open, and beside the window all huddled up lay the body of a man in his nightdress. He was quite dead and had been for some time, for his limbs were rigid and cold. When we turned him over the boots recognized him at once as being the same gentleman who had engaged the room under the name of Joseph Stangerson. The cause of death was a deep stab in the left side which must have penetrated the heart. And now comes the strangest part of the affair. What do you suppose was above the murdered man? I felt a creeping of the flesh and a presentiment of coming horror even before Sherlock Holmes answered. The word Rahe, written in letters of blood, he said. That was it, said Lestrade, in an all-struck voice, and we were all silent for a while. There was something so methodical and so incomprehensible about the deeds of this unknown assassin that it imparted a fresh ghastliness to its crimes. My nerves, which were steady enough on the field of battle, tingled as I thought of it. The man was seen, continued Lestrade. A milk boy, passing on his way to the dairy, happened to walk down the lane which leads from the muse at the back of the hotel. He noticed that a ladder which usually lay there was raised against one of the windows of the second floor, which was wide open. After passing he looked back and saw a man descend the ladder. He came down so quietly and openly that the boy imagined him to be some carpenter or joiner at work in the hotel. He took no particular notice of him beyond thinking in his own mind that it was early for him to be at work. He has an impression that the man was tall, had a reddish face, and was dressed in a long, brownish coat. He must have stayed in the room some little time after the murder, for we found blood-stained water in the basin where he had washed his hands and marks on the sheets where he had deliberately wiped his knife. I glanced at Holmes on hearing the description of the murderer which tallied so exactly with his own. There was, however, no trace of exultation or satisfaction upon his face. Did you find nothing in the room which could furnish a clue to the murderer? He asked. Nothing. Stangerson had Drebers' purse in his pocket, but it seems that this was usual as he did all the paying. There was eighty odd pounds in it, but nothing had been taken. Whatever the motives of these extraordinary crimes, robbery is certainly not one of them. There were no papers or memoranda in the murdered man's pocket except a single telegram dated from Cleveland about a month ago and containing the words, J.H. is in Europe. There was no name appended to this message. And was there nothing else? Holmes asked. Nothing of any importance. The man's novel with which he had read himself to sleep was lying upon the bed and his pipe was on a chair beside him. There was a glass of water on the table and on the windowsill a small chip ointment box containing a couple of pills. Sherlock Holmes sprang from his chair with an exclamation of delight. The last link, he cried exultantly, my case is complete. The two detectives stared at him in amazement. I have now in my hands, my companion said confidently, all the threads which have formed such a tangle. There are of course details to be filled in, but I am as certain of all the main facts from the time that Dreber parted from Stangerson at the station up to the discovery of the body of the latter as if I had seen them with my own eyes. I will give you a proof of my knowledge. Could you lay your hand upon those pills? I have them, said Lestrade, producing a small white box. I took them and the purse and the telegram, intending to have them put in a place of safety at the police station. It was the nearest chance my taking these pills, for I am bound to say that I do not attach any importance to them. Give them here, said Holmes. Now, Doctor, turning to me, are those ordinary pills? They certainly were not. They were of a pearly gray color, small, round, and almost transparent against the light. From their lightness and transparency, I should imagine that they are soluble in water, I remarked. Precisely so, answered Holmes. Now, would you mind going down and fetching that poor little devil of a terrier which has been bad so long and which the landlady wanted you to put out of its pain yesterday? I went downstairs and carried the dog upstairs in my arms. Its labored breathing and glazing eye showed that it was not far from its end. Indeed, its snow-white muzzle proclaimed that it had already exceeded the usual term of canine existence. I placed it upon a cushion on the rug. I will now cut one of these pills in two, said Holmes, and drawing his pin-knife, he suited the action to the word. One half we return into the box for future purposes. The other half I will place in this wine-glass, in which is a teaspoonful of water. You perceive that our friend, the doctor, is right and that it readily dissolves. This may be very interesting, said Lestrade, in the injured tone of one who suspects that he is being laughed at. I cannot see, however, what it has to do with the death of Mr. Joseph Stangerson. Patience, my friend, patience. You will find in time that it has everything to do with it. I shall now add a little milk to make the mixture palatable, and on presenting it to the dog, we find that he laps it up readily enough. As he spoke, he turned the contents of the wine-glass into a saucer and placed it in front of the terrier, who speedily licked it dry. Sherlock Holmes's earnest demeanor had so far convinced us that we all sat in silence, watching the animal intently, and expecting some startling effect. None such appeared, however. The dog continued to lie stretched upon the cushion, breathing in a labored way, but apparently neither the better nor the worse for its draft. Holmes had taken out his watch, and as minute followed minute without result, an expression of the utmost chagrin and disappointment appeared upon his features. He gawd his lip, drummed his fingers upon the table, and showed every other symptom of acute impatience. So great was his emotion that I felt sincerely sorry for him, while the two detectives smiled derisively, by no means displeased at this check which he had met. It can't be a coincidence, he cried, at last springing from his chair and pacing wildly up and down the room. It is impossible that it should be a mere coincidence. The very pills which I suspected in the case of Dreber are actually found after the death of Stangerson, and yet they are inert. What can it mean? Surely my whole chain of reasoning cannot have been false. It is impossible. And yet this wretched dog is none the worse. Ah! I have it! I have it! With the perfect shriek of delight he rushed to the box, cut the other pill into, dissolved it, added milk, and presented it to the terrier. The unfortunate creature's tongue seemed hardly to have been moistened in it, before it gave a convulsive shiver in every limb, and lay as rigid and lifeless as if it had been struck by lightning. Sherlock Holmes drew a long breath and wiped the perspiration from his forehead. I should have more faith, he said. I ought to know by this time that when a fact appears to be opposed to a long train of deductions it invariably proves to be capable of bearing some other interpretation. Of the two pills in that box, one was of the most deadly poison, and the other was entirely harmless. I ought to have known that before ever I saw the box at all. This last statement appeared to me to be so startling that I could hardly believe that he was in his sober senses. There was the dead dog, however, to prove that his conjecture had been correct. It seemed to me that the mists in my own mind were gradually clearing away, and I began to have a dim, vague perception of the truth. All this seemed strange to you, continued Holmes, because you failed at the beginning of the inquiry to grasp the importance of the single real clue which was presented to you. I had the good fortune to seize upon that, and everything which has occurred since then has served to confirm my original supposition, and, indeed, was the logical sequence of it. Hence, things which have perplexed you and made the case more obscure have served to enlighten me and to strengthen my conclusions. It is a mistake to confound strangeness with mystery. The most commonplace crime is often the most mysterious because it presents no new or special features from which deductions may be drawn. This murder would have been infinitely more difficult to unravel had the body of the victim been simply found lying in the roadway without any of those outre and sensational accompaniments which have rendered it remarkable. These strange details, far from making the case more difficult, have really had the effect of making it less so. Mr. Gregson, who had listened to this address with considerable impatience, could contain himself no longer. Look here, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, he said. We are all ready to acknowledge that you are a smart man, and that you have your own methods of working. We want something more than mere theory in preaching now, though. It is a case of taking the man. I have made my case out, and it seems I was wrong. Young Charpentier could not have been engaged in this second affair. Let's try it when after his man, Stangerson, and it appears that he was wrong, too. You have thrown out hints here and hints there, and seem to know more than we do, but the time has come when we feel that we have a right to ask you straight how much you do know of the business. Can you name the man who did it? I cannot help feeling that Gregson is right, sir, remarked Lestrade. We have both tried, and we have both failed. You have remarked more than once since I have been in the room that you had all the evidence which you require. Surely you will not withhold it any longer. Any delay in arresting the assassin, I observed, might give him time to perpetrate some fresh atrocity. Thus pressed by us all, Holmes showed signs of irresolution. He continued to walk up and down the room with his head sunk on his chest and his brows drawn down, as was his habit when lost in thought. There will be no more murders, he said at last, stopping abruptly and facing us. You can put that consideration out of the question. You have asked me if I know the name of the assassin. I do. The mere knowing of his name is a small thing, however, compared with the power of laying our hands upon him. This I expect very shortly to do. I have good hopes of managing it through my own arrangements, but it is a thing which needs delicate handling, for we have a shrewd and desperate man to deal with, who is supported, as I have had occasion to prove, by another who is as clever as himself. As long as this man has no idea that anyone can have a clue, there is some chance of securing him, but if he had the slightest suspicion he would change his name and vanish in an instant among the four million inhabitants of this great city. Without meaning to hurt either of your feelings, I am bound to say that I consider these men to be more than a match for the official force, and that is why I have not asked your assistance. If I fail, I shall, of course, incur all the blame due to this omission, but that I am prepared for. At present I am ready to promise that the instant that I can communicate with you without endangering my own combinations, I shall do so. Gregson and Lestrade seemed to be far from satisfied by this assurance, or by the depreciating allusion to the police force. The former had flushed up to the roots of his flaxen hair, while the others' beady eyes glistened with curiosity and resentment. Neither of them had time to speak, however, before there was a tap at the door, and the spokesman of the street Arabs, Young Wiggins, introduced his insignificant and unsavory person. Please, sir, he said, touching his forelock. I have the cab downstairs. Good boy, said Holmes, blandly. Why don't you introduce this pattern at Scotland Yard? He continued, taking a pair of steel handcuffs from a drawer. See how beautifully the spring works. They fasten in an instant. The old pattern is good enough, remarked Lestrade, if we can only find the man to put them on. Very good, very good, said Holmes, smiling. The cadman may as well help me with my boxes. Just ask him to step up, Wiggins. I was surprised to find my companion speaking as though he were about to set out on a journey, since he had not said anything to me about it. There was a small portmanteau in the room, and this he pulled out and began to strap. He was busily engaged at it when the cadman entered the room. Just give me a help with this buckle, cadman, he said, kneeling over his task and never turning his head. The fellow came forward with a somewhat sullen, defiant air and put down his hands to assist. At that instant there was a sharp click, the jangling of metal, and Sherlock Holmes sprang to his feet again. Gentlemen, he cried with flashing eyes. Let me introduce you to Mr. Jefferson Hope, the murderer of Enoch Dreber and Joseph Stangerson. The whole thing occurred in a moment, so quickly that I had no time to realize it. I have a vivid recollection of that instant, of Holmes' triumphant expression and the ring of his voice, of the cadman's dazed, savage face as he glared at the glittering handcuffs which had appeared as if by magic upon his wrists. For a second or two we might have been a group of statues. Then, with an inarticulate roar of fury, the prisoner wrenched himself free from Holmes' grasp and hurled himself through the window. Woodwork and glass gave way before him, but before he got quite through, Gregson, Lestrade, and Holmes sprang upon him like so many stag hounds. He was dragged back into the room and then commenced a terrific conflict, so powerful and so fierce was he that the four of us were shaken off again and again. He appeared to have the convulsive strength of a man in an epileptic fit. His face and hands were terribly mangled by his passage through the glass, but loss of blood had no effect in diminishing his resistance. It was not until Lestrade succeeded in getting his hand inside his neckcloth and half-strangling him that we made him realize that his struggles were of no avail, and even then we felt no security until we had pinioned his feet as well as his hands. That done we rose to our feet, breathless and panting. We have his cab, said Sherlock Holmes. It will serve to take him to Scotland Yard. And now, gentlemen, he continued with a pleasant smile, we have reached the end of our little mystery. You are very welcome to put any questions that you like to me now, and there is no danger that I will refuse to answer them. End of Part 1, Chapter 7. Part 2, Chapter 1 of a Study in Scarlet. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are available in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recorded by Larianne Walden. A Study in Scarlet by Sir Arthur Cunnandoyle. Part 2. The Country of the Saints. Chapter 1. On the Great Alkalai Plain. In the central portion of the Great North American continent there lies an arid and repulsive desert which for many a long year served as a barrier against the advance of civilization. From the Sierra Nevada to Nebraska, and from the Yellowstone River in the north to the Colorado upon the south, is a region of desolation and silence. Nor is nature always in one mood throughout this grim district. It comprises snow-capped and lofty mountains and dark and gloomy valleys. There are swift-flowing rivers which dash through jagged canyons, and there are enormous plains which in winter are white with snow and in summer are gray with the saline alkalai dust. They all preserve, however, the common characteristics of barrenness, inhospitality, and misery. There are no inhabitants of this land of despair. A band of ponies or of black feet may occasionally traverse it in order to reach other hunting grounds, but the hardiest of the braves are glad to lose sight of these awesome plains and to find themselves once more upon their prairies. The coyote skalks among the scrub, the buzzard flaps heavily through the air, and the clumsy grizzly bear lumbers through the dark ravines and picks up such sustenance as it can amongst the rocks. These are the sole dwellers in the wilderness. In the whole world there can be no more dreary view than that from the northern slope of the Sierra Blanco. As far as the eye can reach stretches the great flat land all dusted over with patches of alkalai and intersected by clumps of the dwarfish shepherdal bushes. On the extreme verge of the horizon lie a long chain of mountain peaks with their rugged summits flecked with snow. In this great stretch of country there is no sign of life, nor of anything appertaining to life. There is no bird in the steel blue heaven, no movement upon the dull gray earth. Above all there is absolute silence. Listen as one may there is no shadow of a sound in all that mighty wilderness. Nothing but silence, complete and heart-subduing silence. It has been said there is nothing appertaining to life upon the broad plain. That is hardly true. Looking down from the Sierra Blanco one sees a pathway traced out across the desert which winds away and is lost in the extreme distance. It is rutted with wheels and trodden down a street of many adventurers. Here and there there are scattered white objects which glisten in the sun and stand out against the dull deposit of alkalai. Approach and examine them. They are bones, some large in course, others smaller and more delicate. The former have belonged to oxen and the latter to men. For fifteen hundred miles one may trace this ghastly caravan route by these scattered remains who had fallen by the wayside. Looking down on this very scene there stood upon the Fourth of May, eighteen hundred and forty-seven, a solitary traveller. His appearance was such that he might have been the very genius or demon of the region. An observer would have found it difficult to say whether he was nearer to forty or to sixty. His face was lean and haggard and the brown parchment-like skin was drawn tightly over the projecting bones. His long brown hair and beard were all flecked and dashed with white. His eyes were sunken in his head and burned with an unnatural luster while the hand which grasped his rifle was hardly more fleshy than that of a skeleton. As he stood he leaned upon his weapon for support and yet his tall figure and the massive framework of his bones suggested a wiry and vigorous constitution. His galt face, however, and his clothes which hung so baggily over his shriveled limbs proclaimed what it was that gave him that senile and decrepit appearance. The man was dying, dying from hunger and from thirst. He had toiled painfully down the ravine and onto this little elevation in the vain hope of seeing some signs of water. Now the great salt plain stretched before his eyes and the distant belt of savage mountains without a sign anywhere of plant or tree which might indicate the presence of moisture. In all that broad landscape there was no gleam of hope. North and east and west he looked with wild, questioning eyes. And then he realized that his wanderings had come to an end and that there on that barren crag he was about to die. Why not here as well as in a feather bed twenty years hence, he muttered, as he seated himself in the shelter of a boulder. Before sitting down he had deposited upon the ground his useless rifle and also a large bundle tied up the gray shawl which he had carried slung over his right shoulder. It appeared to be somewhat too heavy for his strength, for in lowering it it came down on the ground with some little violence. Instantly there broke from the gray parcel a little moaning cry and from it there protruded a small, scared face with very bright brown eyes and two little speckled, dimpled fists. You hurt me, said a childish voice reproachfully. Have I though?' the man answered penitently. I didn't go for to do it. As he spoke he unwrapped the gray shawl and extricated a pretty little girl of about five years of age whose dainty shoes and smart pink frock with its little linen apron all bespoke a mother's care. The child was pale and wan but her healthy arms and legs showed that she had suffered less than her companion. How is it now?' he answered anxiously. For she was still rubbing the taucy golden curls which covered the back of her head. "'Kiss it and make it well,' she said with perfect gravity, showing the injured part up to him. That's what mother used to do. Where's mother?' Mother's gone. I guess you'll see her before long. "'Gone, eh?' said the little girl. Funny, she didn't say goodbye. She most always did if she was just going over to auntie's for tea and now she's been away three days. Say, it's awful dry, ain't it? Ain't there no water nor nothing to eat?' "'No, there ain't nothing, dearie. You'll just need to be patient a while and then you'll be all right. Put your head up again like that and then you'll feel bullier. It ain't easy to talk when your lips is like leather, but I guess I'd best let you know how the cards lie. What's that you've got?' "'Pretty things, fine things,' said the little girl enthusiastically, holding up two glittering fragments of Micah. When we goes back to home I'll give them to brother Bob.' "'You'll see prettier things than them soon,' said the man confidently. You just wait a bit. I was going to tell you, though. You remember when we left the river?' "'Oh, yes.' "'Well, we reckon we'd strike another river soon, do you see. But there was something wrong, compasses or map or something, and it didn't turn up. Water ran out, just except a little drop for the likes of you, and—and— and you couldn't wash yourself,' interrupted his companion gravely, staring up at his grimy visage. "'No, nor drink,' and Mr. Bender, he was the fuss to go, and then Indian Pete, and then Mrs. McGregor, and then Johnny Holmes, and then, dearie, your mother.' "'Then mother's a debtor, too,' cried the little girl, dropping her face in her pinafore and sobbing bitterly. "'Yes, they all went except you and me. Then I thought there was some chance of water in this direction, so I heaved you over my shoulder and we dreamt it together. It don't seem as though we've improved matters. There's an almighty small chance for us now.' "'Do you mean that we are going to die, too?' asked the child, checking her sobs and raising her tear-stained face. "'I guess that's about the size of it.' "'Why didn't you say so before?' she said, laughing gleefully. "'You gave me such a fright. Why, of course, now as long as we die we'll be with mother again.' "'Yes, you will, dearie.' "'And you, too. I'll tell her how awful good you've been. I'll bet she meets us at the door of heaven with a big pitcher of water and a lot of buckwheat cakes, hot and toasted on both sides, like Bob and me was fond of. "'How long will it be first?' "'I don't know, not very long.' The man's eyes were fixed upon the northern horizon. In the blue vault of the heaven there had appeared three little specks which increased in size every moment so rapidly did they approach. They speedily resolved themselves into three large brown birds which circled over the heads of the two wanderers and then settled upon some rocks which overlooked them. They were buzzards, the vultures of the West, whose coming is the forerunner of death. "'Cocks and hens,' cried the little girl gleefully, pointing at their ill-oamened forms and clapping her hands to make them rise. "'Say, did God make this country?' "'Of course he did,' said her companion, rather startled by this unexpected question. "'He made the country down in Illinois and he made the Missouri,' the little girl continued. "'I guess somebody else made the country in these parts. "'It's not nearly so well done. "'They forgot the water and the trees.' "'What would you think of offering up prayer?' the man asked diffidently. "'It ain't night yet,' she answered. "'It don't matter. "'It ain't quite regular, but he won't mind that, you bet. "'You say over them ones that you used to say every night in the wagon when we was on the plains.' "'Why don't you say some yourself?' the child asked, with wondering eyes. "'I'd just remember them,' he answered. "'I ain't said none since I was half the height of that gun. "'I guess it's never too late. "'You say them out and I'll stand by and come in on the choruses.' "'Then you'll need to kneel down and me, too,' she said, laying the shawl out for that purpose. "'You've got to put your hands up like this. "'It makes you feel kind of good.' It was a strange sight, had there been anything, but the buzzards to see it. "'Side by side on the narrow shawl knelt the two wanderers, the little prattling child and the reckless, hardened adventurer. Her chubby face and his haggard, angular visage were both turned up to the cloudless heaven and heartfelt entreaty to that dread being with whom they were face to face, while the two voices, the one thin and clear, the other deep and harsh, united in the entreaty for mercy and forgiveness. The prayer finished, they resumed their seat in the shadow of the boulder until the child fell asleep, nestling upon the broad breast of her protector. He watched over her slumber for some time, but nature proved to be too strong for him. For three days and three nights he had allowed himself neither rest nor repose. Slowly the eyelids drooped over the tired eyes and the head sunk lower and lower upon the breast until the man's grizzled beard was mixed with the gold tresses of his companion and both slept the same deep and dreamless slumber. Had the wanderer remained awake for another half hour, a strange sight would have met his eyes. Far away on the extreme verge of the alkali plain there rose up a little spray of dust, very slight at first and hardly to be distinguished from the mists of the distance, but gradually growing higher and broader until it formed a solid, well-defined cloud. This cloud continued to increase in size until it became evident that it could only be raised by a great multitude of moving creatures. In more fertile spots the observer would have come to the conclusion that one of those great herds of bisons which graze upon the prairie land was approaching him. This was obviously impossible in these arid wilds. As the whorl of dust drew nearer to the solitary bluff upon which the two castaways were reposing, the canvas covered tilts of wagons and the figures of armed horsemen began to show up through the haze and the apparition revealed itself as being a great caravan upon its journey for the west. But what a caravan! When the head of it had reached the base of the mountains, the rear was not yet visible on the horizon. Right across the enormous plain stretched the straggling array, wagons and carts, men on horseback and men on foot, innumerable women who staggered along under burdens and children who toddled beside the wagons or peeped out from under the white coverings. This was evidently no ordinary party of immigrants but rather some nomad people who had been compelled from stress of circumstances to seek themselves a new country. There rose through the clear air a confused clattering and rumbling from this great mass of humanity with the creaking of wheels and the neighing of horses. Loud as it was, it was not sufficient to rouse the two tired wayfarers above them. At the head of the column there rode a score or more of grave, iron-faced men, clad in somber, homespun garments and armed with rifles. On reaching the base of the bluff they halted and held a short council among themselves. The wells are to the right, my brothers, said one, a hard-lit, clean-shaven man with grisly hair. To the right of this Sierra Blanco so shall we reach the Rio Grande, said another. Fear not for water, cried a third. He who could draw it from the rocks will not now abandon his own chosen people. Amen, amen, responded the whole party. They were about to resume their journey when one of the youngest and keenest eyed uttered an exclamation and pointed up at the rugged crag above them. From its summit there fluttered a little wisp of pink showing up hard and bright against the grey rocks behind. At the sight there was a general reigning up of horses and unslinging of guns, while fresh horsemen came galloping up to reinforce the vanguard. The word redskins was on every lip. There can't be any number of engines here, said the elderly man, who appeared to be in command. We have passed the Polynes, and there are no other tribes until we cross the great mountains. Shall I go forward and see, brother Stangerson? asked one of the band. And I, and I, cried a dozen voices. Leave your horses below, and we will await you here, the elder answered. In a moment the young fellows had dismounted, fastened their horses, and were ascending the precipitous slope which led up to the object which had excited their curiosity. They advanced rapidly and noiselessly with the confidence and dexterity of practised scouts. The watchers from the plain below made them flit from rock to rock until their figures stood out against the skyline. The young man who had first given the alarm was leading them. Suddenly his followers saw him throw up his hands as though overcome with astonishment, and on joining him they were affected in the same way by the sight which met their eyes. On the little plateau which crowned the barren hill there stood a single giant boulder, and against this boulder there lay a tall man, long bearded and hard featured, but of an excessive thinness. His placid face and regular breathing showed that he was fast asleep. Beside him lay a child with her round white arms encircling his brown sinewy neck and her golden-haired head resting upon the breast of his velveteen tunic. Her rosy lips were parted showing the regular line of snow-white teeth within, and a playful smile played over her infantile features. Her plump little white legs, terminating in white socks and neat shoes with shining buckles offered a strange contrast to the long shriveled members of her companion. On the ledge of rock above this strange couple there stood three solemn buzzards who, at the side of the newcomers, uttered raucous screams of disappointment and flat solemnly away. The cries of the foul birds awoke the two sleepers who stared about them in bewilderment. The man staggered to his feet upon the plain which had been so desolate when sleep had overtaken him and which was now traversed by this enormous body of men and of beasts. His face assumed an expression of incredulity as he gazed, and he passed his bunny hand over his eyes. This is what they called delirium, I guess, he muttered. The child stood beside him, holding on to the skirt of his coat, and said nothing, but looked all rounder with the wondering, questioning gaze of childhood. The rescuing party were speedily able to convince the two castaways that their appearance was no delusion. One of them seized the little girl and hoisted her upon his shoulder while two others supported her gaunt companion and assisted him towards the wagons. My name is John Ferrier, the wanderer, explained. Me and that little one are all that's left of twenty-one people. The rest is all dead of thirst and hunger away down in the south. Is she your child, asked someone? I guess she is now, the other cried defiantly. She's mine, cause I saved her. No man will take her from me. She's Lucy Ferrier from this day on. Who are you, though? He continued, glancing with curiosity at his stalwart sunburned rescuers. There seems to be a powerful lot of you. Nine unto ten thousand, said one of the young men. We are the persecuted children of God, the chosen of the angel Moroni. I never heard tell on him, said the wanderer. He appears to have chosen a fair crowd of you. Do not jest at that which is sacred, said the other sternly. We are of those who believe in those sacred writings drawn in Egyptian letters on plates of beaten gold which were handed unto the holy Joseph Smith at Palmyra. We have come from Nauvoo in the state of Illinois where we had founded our temple. We have come to seek a refuge from the violent man and from the godless, even though it be the heart of the desert. The name of Nauvoo evidently recalled recollections to John Ferrier. I see, he said, you are the Mormons. We are the Mormons, answered his companions with one voice. And where are you going? We do not know. The hand of God is leading us under the person of our prophet. You must come before him. He shall say what is to be done with you. They had reached the base of the hill by this time and were surrounded by crowds of the pilgrims, pale-faced, meek-looking women, strong, laughing children, and anxious, earnest-eyed men. Many were the cries of astonishment and of commiseration which arose from them when they perceived the youth of one of the strangers and the destitution of the other. Their escort did not halt, however, but pushed on, followed by a great crowd of Mormons, until they reached a wagon which was conspicuous for its great size and for the godliness and smartness of its appearance. Six horses were yoked to it, whereas the others were furnished with two, or at most, four apiece. Beside the driver there sat a man who could not have been more than thirty years of age, but whose massive head and resolute expression marked him as a leader. He was reading a brown-backed volume, but as the crowd approached he laid it aside and listened attentively to an account of the episode. Then he turned to the two castaways. If we take you with us, he said, in solemn words, it can only be as believers in our own creed. We shall have no wolves in our fold. Better far that your bones should bleach in this wilderness than that you should prove to be that little speck of decay which in time corrupts the whole fruit. Will you come with us on these terms? Guess I'll come with you on any terms, said Farrier, with such emphasis that the grave elders could not restrain a smile. The leader alone retained his stern, impressive expression. Take him, Brother Stangerson, he said. Give him food and drink, and the child likewise. Let it be your task also to teach him our holy creed. We have delay long enough. Forward, own, own to Zion. Own, own to Zion, cried the crowd of Mormons, and the words rippled down the long caravan passing from mouth to mouth until they died away in a dull murmur in the far distance. With a cracking of whips and a creaking of wheels the great wagons got into motion and soon the whole caravan was winding along once more. The elder to whose care the two waves had been committed to his wagon where a meal was already awaiting them. You shall remain here, he said. In a few days you will have recovered from your fatigues. In the meantime remember that now and forever you are of our religion. Brigham Young has said it, and he has spoken with the voice of Joseph Smith, which is the voice of God. End of Part 2, Chapter 1 Part 2, Chapter 2 of A Study in Scarlet This is not the place to commemorate the trials and privations endured by the immigrant Mormons before they came to their final haven. From the shores of the Mississippi to the western slopes of the right hand side the their final haven. From the shores of the Mississippi to the western slopes of the Rocky Mountains they had struggled on with a constancy almost unparalleled in history. The savage man and the savage beast, hunger, thirst, fatigue, and disease, every impediment which nature could place in the way, had all been overcome with Anglo-Saxon tenacity. Yet the long journey and the accumulated terrors had shaken the hearts of the stoutest among them. There was not one who did not sink upon his knees in heartfelt prayer when they saw the broad belly of Utah bathed in the sunlight beneath them, and learned from the lips of their leader that this was the promised land, and that these virgin acres were to be theirs for evermore. Young speedily proved himself to be a skillful administrator as well as a resolute chief. Maps were drawn and charts prepared in which the future city was sketched out. All around farms were apportioned and allotted in proportion to the standing of each individual. The tradesman was put to his trade, and the artisan to his calling. In the town streets and squares sprang up as if by magic. In the country there was draining and hedging, planting and clearing, until the next summer saw the whole country golden with the wheat crop. Everything prospered in the strange settlement. Above all the great temple which they had erected in the center of the city grew ever taller and larger. From the first blush of dawn until the closing of the twilight the clatter of the hammer and the rasp of the saw were never absent from the monument which the immigrants erected to him who had led them safe through many dangers. The two castaways, John Ferrier and the little girl who had shared his fortunes and had been adopted as his daughter, accompanied the Mormons to the end of their great pilgrimage. Little Lucy Ferrier was born along pleasantly enough in Elder Stangerson's wagon, a retreat which she shared with the Mormons three wives and with his son, a headstrong forward boy of twelve. Heading rallied, with the elasticity of childhood, from the shock caused by her mother's death, she soon became a pet with the women and reconciled herself to this new life in her moving canvas-covered home. In the meantime Ferrier, having recovered from his privations, distinguished himself as a useful guide and an indefatigable hunter. So rapidly did he gain the esteem of his new companions that when they reached the end of their wanderings it was unanimously agreed that he should be provided with as large and as fertile attractive land as any of the settlers, with the exception of young himself, and of Stangerson, Kimball, Johnston, and Dreber, who were the four principal elders. On the farm thus acquired John Ferrier built himself a substantial log-house which received so many additions in succeeding years that it grew into a roomy villa. He was a man of a practical turn of mind, keen in his dealings and skillful with his hands. His iron constitution enabled him to work morning and evening at improving and tilling his lands. Hence it came about that his farm and all that belonged to him prospered exceedingly. In three years he was better off than his neighbors. In six he was well to do. In nine he was rich. And in twelve there were not half a dozen men in the whole of Salt Lake City who could compare with him. From the great inland sea to the distant Wasatch Mountains there was no name better known than that of John Ferrier. There was one way and only one in which he offended the susceptibilities of his co-religionists. No argument or persuasion could ever induce him to set up a female establishment after the manner of his companions. He never gave reasons for this persistent refusal, but contented himself by resolutely and inflexibly adhering to his determination. There were some who accused him of lukewarmness in his adopted religion, and others who put it down to greed of wealth and reluctance to incur expense. Others, again, spoke of some early love affair and of a fair-haired girl who had pined away on the shores of the Atlantic. Whatever the reason Ferrier remained strictly celibate. In every other respect he conformed to the religion of the young settlement and gained the name of being an orthodox and straight walking man. Lucy Ferrier grew up within the log-house and assisted her adopted father in all his undertakings. The keen air of the mountains and the balsamic odour of the pine trees took the place of nurse and mother to the young girl. As year succeeded to year she grew taller and stronger, her cheek more ruddy, and her step more elastic. Menial Wayfarer, upon the high road which ran by Ferrier's Farm, felt long forgotten thoughts revive in his mind as he watched her lithe, girlish figure tripping through the wheat fields, or met her mounted upon her father's Mustang, and managing it with all the ease and grace of a true child of the West. So the bud blossomed into a flower, and the year which saw her father the richest of the farmers, left her as fair a specimen of American girlhood as could be found in the whole Pacific slope. It was not the father, however, who first discovered that the child had developed into the woman. It seldom is in such cases. That mysterious change is too subtle and too gradual to be measured by dates. Least of all does the maiden herself know it until the tone of a voice or the touch of a hand sets her heart thrilling within her, and she learns, with a mixture of pride and of fear, that a new and a larger nature has awakened within her. There are few who cannot recall that day and remember the one little incident which heralded the dawn of a new life. In the case of Lucy Ferrier the occasion was serious enough in itself, apart from its future influence on her destiny and that of many besides. It was a warm June morning, and the latter day saints were as busy as the bees whose hive they had chosen for their emblem. In the fields and in the streets rose the same hum of human industry. Down the dusty high roads defiled long streams of heavily laden mules, all heading to the West, for the gold fever had broken out in California, and the overland route lay through the city of the elect. There, too, were droves of sheep and bullocks coming in from the outlying pasturelands, and trains of tired immigrants, men and horses equally weary of their interminable journey. Through all this motley assemblage, threading her way with the skill of an accomplished rider, there galloped Lucy Ferrier, her fair face flushed with the exercise, and her long chestnut hair floating out behind her. She had a commission from her father in the city, and was dashing in as she had done many a time before with all the fearlessness of youth, thinking only of her task and how it was to be performed. The travel-stained adventurers gazed after her in astonishment, and even the unemotional Indians, journeying in with their peltries, relaxed their accustomed stoicism as they marveled at the beauty of the pale-faced maiden. She had reached the outskirts of the city when she found the road blocked by a great drove of cattle, driven by a half-dozen wild-looking herdsmen from the plains. In her impatience she endeavored to pass this obstacle by pushing her horse into what appeared to be a gap. Scarcely had she got fairly into it, however, before the beasts closed in behind her, and she found herself completely embedded in the moving stream of fierce-eyed, long-horned bullocks. A custom day she was to deal with cattle, she was not alarmed at her situation, but took advantage of every opportunity to urge her horse own in the hopes of pushing her way through the cable-cade. Unfortunately the horns of one of the creatures, either by accident or design, came in violent contact with the flank of the Mustang and excited it to madness. In an instant it reared up on its hind legs with a snort of rage, and pranced and tossed in a way that would have unceded any but a skillful rider. The situation was full of peril. Every plunge of the excited horse brought it against the horns again and goaded it to fresh madness. It was all that the girl could do to keep herself in the saddle, yet a slip would mean a terrible death under the hoofs of the unwieldy and terrified animals. Unaccustomed to sudden emergencies, her head began to swim, and her grip upon the bridle too relaxed. Choked by the rising cloud of dust and by the steam from the struggling creatures, she might have abandoned her efforts in despair, but for a kindly voice at her elbow which assured her of assistance. At the same moment a sinewy brown hand caught the frightened horse by the curb, and forcing away through the drove, soon brought her to the outskirts. "'You're not heard, I hope, Miss,' said her preserver respectfully. She looked up at his dark fierce face and laughed saucily. "'I'm awful frightened,' she said naively. Whoever would have thought that Poncho would have been so scared by a lot of cows. "'Thank God you kept your seat,' the other said earnestly. He was a tall, savage-looking young fellow, mounted on a powerful-rown horse, and clad in the rough dress of a hunter, with a long rifle slung over his shoulders. "'I guess you were the daughter of John Ferrier,' he remarked. "'I saw you ride down from his house. When you see him, ask him if he remembers the Jefferson hopes of St. Louis. If he's the same Ferrier, my father and he were pretty thick.' "'Haven't you better come and ask yourself?' she asked, demurely. The young fellow seemed pleased at the suggestion, and his dark eyes sparkled with pleasure. "'I'll do so,' he said. "'We've been in the mountains for two months, and are not over and above in visiting condition. He must take us as he finds us.' "'He has a good deal to thank you for, and so have I,' she answered. "'He's awful fond of me. If those cows had jumped on me, he'd have never got over it.' "'Neither would I,' said her companion. "'You? Well, I don't see that it would make much matter to you, anyhow. You ain't even a friend of ours.' The young hunter's dark face grew so gloomy over this remark that Lucy Ferrier laughed aloud. "'There, I didn't mean that,' she said. "'Of course you are a friend now. You must come and see us. Now I must push along, or father won't trust me with his business any more. Good-bye.' "'Good-bye,' he answered, raising his broad sombrero and bending over her little hand. She wheeled her Mustang round, gave it a cut with her riding-flip, and darted away down the broad road in a rolling cloud of dust. Young Jefferson Hope rode on with his companions, gloomy and taciturn. He and they had been among the Nevada Mountains, prospecting for silver, and were returning to Salt Lake City in the hope of raising capital enough to work some loads which they had discovered. He had been as keen as any of them upon the business until this sudden incident had drawn his thoughts into another channel. The sight of the fair young girl, as frank and wholesome as the Sierra breezes, had stirred his volcanic, untamed heart to its very depths. When she had vanished from his sight, he realized that a crisis had come in his life, and that neither silver speculations nor any other questions could ever be of such importance to him as this new and all-absorbing one. The love which had sprung up in his heart was not the sudden changeable fancy of a boy, but rather the wild, fierce passion of a man of strong will and imperious temper. He had been accustomed to succeed in all that he undertook. He swore in his heart that he would not fail in this if human effort and human perseverance could render him successful. He called on John Farrier that night and many times again until his face was a familiar one at the farmhouse. John, cooped up in the valley and absorbed in his work, had had little chance of learning the news of the outside world during the last twelve years. All this Jefferson Hope was able to tell him, and in a style which interested Lucy as well as her father. He had been a pioneer in California and could narrate many a strange tale of fortunes made and fortunes lost in those wild Halcyon days. He had been a scout, too, and a trapper, a silver explorer, and a ranchman. Wherever stirring adventures were to be had, Jefferson Hope had been there in search of them. He soon became a favorite with the old farmer who spoke eloquently of his virtues. On such occasions Lucy was silent, but her blushing cheek and her bright, happy eyes showed only too clearly that her young heart was no longer her own. Her honest father may not have observed these symptoms, but they were assuredly not thrown away upon the man who had won her affections. It was a summer evening when he came galloping down the road and pulled up at the gate. She was at the doorway and came down to meet him. He threw the bridle over the fence and strode up the pathway. I am off, Lucy, he said, taking her two hands in his, and gazing tenderly down into her face. I won't ask you to come with me now, but will you be ready to come when I am here again? And when will that be, she asked, blushing and laughing. A couple of months at the outside, I will come and claim you then, my darling. There is no one who can stand between us. And how about Father, she asked. He has given his consent, provided we get these minds working all right. I have no fear on that head. Oh, well, of course, if you and Father have arranged it all, there's no more to be said, she whispered, with her cheek against his broad breast. Thank God, he said, hoarsely, stooping and kissing her. It is settled then. The longer I stay, the harder it will be to go. They're waiting for me at the canyon. Goodbye, my own darling. Goodbye. In two months you shall see me. He tore himself from her, as he spoke, and, flinging himself upon his horse, galloped furiously away, never even looking round, as though afraid that his resolution might fail him if he took one glance at what he was leaving. She stood at the gate, gazing after him until he vanished from her sight. Then she walked back into the house, the happiest girl in all Utah. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recorded by Laurie Ann Walden. A Study in Scarlet by Sir Arthur Cunning Doyle. Part II Chapter III John Ferrier Talks with the Prophet Three weeks had passed since Jefferson Hope and his comrades had departed from Salt Lake City. John Ferrier's heart was sore within him when he thought of the young man's return, and of the impending loss of his adopted child. Yet her bright and happy face reconciled him to the arrangement more than any argument could have done. He had always determined, deep down in his resolute heart, that nothing would ever induce him to allow his daughter to wed a Mormon. Such marriage he regarded as no marriage at all, but as a shame and a disgrace. Whatever he might think of the Mormon doctrines, upon that one point he was inflexible. He had to seal his mouth on the subject, however, for to express an unorthodox opinion was a dangerous matter in those days in the land of the saints. Yes, a dangerous matter. So dangerous that even the most saintly dared only whisper their religious opinions with baited breath lest something which fell from their lips might be misconstrued and bring down a swift retribution upon them. The victims of persecution had now turned to persecutors on their own account, and persecutors of the most terrible description. Not the Inquisition of Seville, nor the German Wimgricht, nor the secret societies of Italy, were ever able to put a more formidable machinery in motion than that which cast a cloud over the State of Utah. Its invisibility and the mystery which was attached to it made this organization doubly terrible. It appeared to be omniscient and omnipotent, and yet was neither seen nor heard. The man who held out against the church vanished away, and none knew whither he had gone or what had befallen him. His wife and his children awaited him at home, but no father ever returned to tell them how he had fared at the hands of his secret judges. A rash word or a hasty act was followed by annihilation, and yet none knew what the nature might be of this terrible power which was suspended over them. No wonder that men went about in fear and trembling, and that even in the heart of the wilderness they dared not whisper the doubts which oppressed them. At first this vague and terrible power was exercised only upon the recalcitrants, who, having embraced the Mormon faith, wished afterwards to pervert or to abandon it. Soon, however, it took a wider range. The supply of adult women was running short, and polygamy, without a female population on which to draw, was a barren doctrine indeed. Strange rumors began to be bandied about, rumors of murdered immigrants and rifled camps in regions where Indians had never been seen. Fresh women appeared in the harems of the elders, women who pined and wept, and bore upon their faces the traces of an unextinguishable horror. Belated wanderers upon the mountains spoke of gangs of armed men, masked, stealthy, and noiseless, who flitted by them in the darkness. These tales and rumors took substance in shape, and were corroborated and re-corroborated, until they resolved themselves into a definite name. To this day in the lonely ranches of the West, the name of the Danite Band, or the Avenging Angels, is a sinister and an ill-omend one. Fuller knowledge of the organization which produced such terrible results served to increase rather than to lessen the horror which it inspired in the minds of men. None knew who belonged to this ruthless society. The names of the participators in the deeds of blood and violence done under the name of religion were kept profoundly secret. The very friend to whom you communicated your misgivings as to the prophet and his mission might be one of those who would come forth at night with fire and sword to exact a terrible reparation. Hence every man feared his neighbor, and none spoke of the things which were nearest his heart. One fine morning John Ferrier was about to set out to his wheat fields when he heard the click of the latch and, looking through the window, saw a stout, sandy-haired, middle-aged man coming up the pathway. His heart leapt to his mouth, for this was none other than the great Brigham Young himself. Full of trepidation, for he knew that such a visit boated him little good, Ferrier ran to the door to greet the Mormon chief. The latter, however, received his salutations coldly, and followed him with a stern face into the sitting-room. Brother Ferrier, he said, taking a seat, and eyeing the farmer keenly from under his light-colored eyelashes. The true believers have been good friends to you. We picked you up when you were starving in the desert. We shared our food with you, led you safe to the chosen valley, gave you a goodly share of land, and allowed you to wax rich under our protection. Is this not so? It is so, answered John Ferrier. In return for all this we asked but one condition. That was, that you should embrace the true faith and conform in every way to its usages. This you promised to do, and this, if common report says truly, you have neglected. And how have I neglected it? asked Ferrier, throwing out his hands in expostulation. Have I not given to the common fund? Have I not attended at the temple? Have I not? Where are your wives? asked young, looking round him. Call the men that I may greet them. It is true that I have not married, Ferrier answered. But women were few, and there were many who had better claims than I. I was not a lonely man. I had my daughter to attend to my wants. It is of that daughter that I would speak to you, said the leader of the Mormons. She has grown to be the flower of Utah, and has found favor in the eyes of many who are high in the land. John Ferrier groaned internally. There are stories of her which I would feign disbelieve. Stories that she is sealed to some Gentile. This must be the gossip of idle tongues. What is the thirteenth rule in the Code of the St. Joseph Smith? Let every maiden of the true faith marry one of the elect, for if she wed a Gentile, she commits a grievous sin. This being so, it is impossible that you, who profess the Holy Creed, should suffer your daughter to violate it. John Ferrier made no answer, but he played nervously with his riding-whip. Upon this one point your whole faith shall be tested, so it has been decided in the Sacred Council of Four. The girl is young, and we would not have her wed gray hairs. Neither would we deprive her of all choice. We elders have many heifers. Footnote. Hepper C. Kimball, in one of his sermons, alludes to his hundred wives under this endearing epithet. End footnote. But our children must also be provided. Stangerson has a son, and Dreber has a son, and either of them would gladly welcome your daughter to his house. Let her choose between them. They are young and rich, and of the true faith. What say you to that? Ferrier remained silent for some little time with his brows knitted. You will give us time, he said at last. My daughter is very young. She is scarce of an age to marry. She shall have a month to choose, said young, rising from his seat. At the end of that time she shall give her answer. He was passing through the door when he turned with flushed face and flashing eyes. It were better for you, John Ferrier, he thundered, that you and she were now lying blanched skeletons upon the Sierra Blanco, than that you should put your weak wills against the orders of the Holy Four. With a threatening gesture of his hand he turned from the door, and Ferrier heard his heavy steps scrunching along the shingly path. He was still sitting with his elbow upon his knee, considering how he should broach the matter to his daughter, when a soft hand was laid upon his, and, looking up, he saw her standing beside him. One glance at her pale, frightened face showed him that she had heard what had passed. I could not help it, she said, in answer to his look. His voice rang through the house. Oh, Father, Father, what shall we do? Don't you scare yourself, he answered, drawing her to him and passing his broad, rough hand caressingly over her chestnut hair. We'll fix it up somehow or another. You don't find your fancy kind of lessening for this chap, do you? A sob and a squeeze of his hand were her only answer. No, of course not. I shouldn't care to hear you say you did. He's a likely lad, and he's a Christian, which is more than these folks here, in spite of all their praying and preaching. There's a party starting for Nevada tomorrow, and I'll manage to send him a message letting him know the hole we are in. If I know anything of that young man, he'll be back with a speed that would whip electro-telegraphs. Lucy laughed through her tears at her father's description. When he comes, he will advise us for the best, but it is for you that I am frightened, dear. One hears such dreadful stories about those who opposed the prophet, something terrible always happens to them. But we haven't opposed him yet, her father answered. It will be time to look out for squalls when we do. We have a clear month before us. At the end of that, I guess we had best chin out of Utah. Leave Utah? That's about the size of it. But the farm? We will raise as much as we can in money and let the rest go. To tell the truth, Lucy, it isn't the first time I've thought of doing it. I don't care about knuckling under to any man, as these folks do to their darned prophet. I'm a free-born American, and it's all new to me. Guess I'm too old to learn. If he comes browsing about this farm, he might chance to run up against a charge of buckshot traveling in the opposite direction. But they won't let us leave, his daughter objected. Wait till Jefferson comes, and we'll soon manage that. In the meantime, don't you fret yourself, my dearie, and don't get your eyes swelled up, else he'll be walking into me when he sees you. There's nothing to be afraid about, and there's no danger at all. John Ferrier uttered these consoling remarks in a very confident tone, but she could not help observing that he paid unusual care to the fastening of the doors that night, and that he carefully cleaned and loaded the rusty old shotgun which hung upon the wall of his bedroom. End of Part 2, Chapter 3. Part 2, Chapter 4 of a study in Scarlet. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. A study in Scarlet by Sir Arthur Cunn and Doyle. Part 2, Chapter 4. A Flight for Life. On the morning which followed his interview with the Mormon prophet, John Ferrier went into Salt Lake City, and having found his acquaintance who was bound for the Nevada Mountains, he entrusted him with his message to Jefferson Hope. In it he told the young man of the imminent danger which threatened them, and how necessary it was that he should return. Having done thus, he felt easier in his mind, and returned home with a lighter heart. As he approached his farm, he was surprised to see a horse hitched to each of the posts of the gate. Still more surprised was he on the entering to find two young men in possession of his sitting-room. One, with a long, pale face, was leaning back in the rocking chair with his feet cocked up upon the stove. The other, a bull-necked youth with coarse, bloated features, was standing in front of the window with his hand in his pockets whistling a popular hymn. Both of them nodded to Ferrier as he entered, and the one in the rocking chair commenced the conversation. Maybe you don't know us, he said. This here is the son of Elder Dreber, and I'm Joseph Stangerson who traveled with you in the desert when the Lord stretched out his hand and gathered you into the true fold. As he will all the nations in his own good time, said the other in a nasal voice, he grindeth slowly but exceeding small. John Ferrier bowed coldly. He had guessed who his visitors were. We have come, continued Stangerson, at the advice of our fathers to solicit the hand of your daughter for whichever of us may seem good to you and to her. As I have but four wives and Brother Dreber here has seven, it appears to me that my claim is the stronger one. Nay, nay, Brother Stangerson, cried the other. The question is not how many wives we have, but how many we can keep. My father has now given over his mills to me, and I am the richer man. But my prospects are better, said the other warmly. When the Lord removes my father, I shall have his tanning-yard and his leather factory. Then I am your elder and am higher in the church. It will be for the maiden to decide, rejoined young Dreber, smirking at his own reflection in the glass. We will leave it all to her decision. During this dialogue, John Ferrier had stood fuming in the doorway, hardly able to keep his riding whip from the backs of his two visitors. Look here, he said at last, striding up to them. When my daughter summons you, you can come, but until then I don't want to see your faces again. The two young Mormons stared at him in amazement, and there, as this competition between them for the maiden's hand was the highest of honors, both to her and her father. There are two ways out of the room, cried Ferrier. There is the door, and there is the window. Which do you care to use? His brown face looked so savage and his gaunt hands so threatening that his visitors sprang to their feet and beat a hurried retreat. The old farmer followed them to the door. Let me know when you have settled which it is to be, he said sardonically. You shall smart for this, stangers and cried, white with rage. You have defied the Prophet and the Council of Four. You shall rue it to the end of your days. The hand of the Lord shall be heavy upon you, cried young Dreber. He will arise and smite you. Then I'll start the smiting. Exclaimed Ferrier furiously, and would have rushed upstairs for his gun, had not Lucy seized him by the arm and restrained him. Before he could escape from her, the clatter of horses' hoofs told him that they were beyond his reach. The young canting rascals, he exclaimed, wiping the perspiration from his forehead. I would sooner see you in your grave, my girl, than the wife of either of them. And so should I, father, she answered with spirit. But Jefferson will soon be here. Yes, it will not be long before he comes. The sooner the better, for we do not know what their next move may be. It was, indeed, high time that someone capable of giving advice and help should come to the aid of the sturdy old farmer and his adopted daughter. In the whole history of the settlement, there had never been such a case of rank disobedience to the authority of the elders. If minor errors were to be made, if minor errors were punished so sternly, what would be the fate of this arch-rebel? Ferrier knew that his wealth and position would be of no avail to him. Others as well known and as riches himself had been spirited away before now, and their goods given over to the church. He was a brave man, but he trembled at the vague, shadowy terrors which hung over him. Any known danger he could face with a firm lip, but this suspense was unnerving. He concealed his fears from his daughter, however, and affected to make light of the whole matter, though she, with the keen eye of love, saw plainly that he was ill at ease. He expected that he would receive some message or remonstrance from young as to his conduct, and he was not mistaken, though it came in an unlooked-for manner. Upon rising next morning he found, to his surprise, a small square of paper pinned onto the coverlet of his bed just over his chest. On it was printed in bold, straggling letters, 29 days are given you for amendment, and then dash. The dash was more fear-inspiring than any threat could have been. How this warning came into his room puzzled John Ferrier sorely, for his servant slept in an outhouse, and the doors and windows had all been secured. He crumpled the paper up and said nothing to his daughter, but the incident struck a chill into his heart. The 29 days were evidently the balance of the month which Young had promised. What strength or courage could avail against an enemy armed with such mysterious powers? The hand which fastened that pin might have struck him to the heart, and he could never have known who had slain him. Still more shaken was he next morning. They had sat down to their breakfast, when Lucy, with a cry of surprise, pointed upwards. In the center of the ceiling was scrawled, with a burned stick, apparently, the number twenty-eight. To his daughter it was unintelligible, and he did not enlighten her. That night he sat up with his gun and kept watch and ward. He saw and he heard nothing, and yet in the morning a great twenty-seven had been painted upon the outside of his door. Thus day followed day, and as sure as morning came, he found that his unseen enemies had kept their register, and had marked up in some conspicuous position how many days were still left to him out of the month of grace. Sometimes the fatal numbers appeared upon the walls, sometimes upon the floors. Occasionally they were own small placards stuck upon the garden gate or the railings. With all his vigilance John Ferrier could not discover whence these daily warnings proceeded. A horror which was almost superstitious came upon him at the side of them. He became haggard and restless, and his eyes had the troubled look of some hunted creature. He had but one hope in life now, and that was for the arrival of the young hunter from Nevada. Twenty had changed to fifteen, and fifteen to ten, but there was no news of the absentee. One by one the numbers dwindled down, and still there came no sign of him. Whenever a horseman clattered down the road, or a driver shouted at his team, the old farmer hurried to the gate, thinking that help had arrived at last. At last when he saw five give way to four, and that again to three, he lost heart and abandoned all hope of escape. Single handed, and with his limited knowledge of the mountains which surrounded the settlement, he knew that he was powerless. The more frequented roads were strictly watched and guarded, and none could pass along them without an order from the council. Turned which way he would, there appeared to be no avoiding the blow which hung over him. Yet the old man never wavered in his resolution to part with life itself before he consented to what he regarded as his daughter's dishonor. He was sitting alone one evening, pondering deeply over his troubles, and searching vainly for some way out of them. That morning had shown the figure two upon the wall of his house, and the next day would be the last of the allotted time. What was to happen then? All manner of vague and terrible fancies filled his imagination. And his daughter, what was to become of her after he was gone? Was there no escape from the invisible network which was drawn all around 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. Farrier 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 Farrier 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, Farrier 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 as sprawl. 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 Farrier. How you scared me! Whatever made you come in like that? Give me food, the other said hoarsely. I have had no time for a bite or sup for eight and forty hours. He flung himself upon the 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 washed on every side. That is why I crawled my way up to it. They may be darn sharp, but they're not quite sharp enough to catch a washoe hunter. John Farrier 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 are 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 of a hope family in Utah. What are we to do? Tomorrow is your last day, and unless you act tonight, you are lost. I have a mule and two horses waiting in the Eagle Reveen. 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 Farrier 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 washed, 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 halfway through the mountains. What if we are stopped? asked Farrier. 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 Farrier peered over the fields which had been his own, and which he was now about to abandon forever. He had long nerved himself to the sacrifice, however, and the thought of the honor 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 grainland 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. Farrier carried the bag of gold and notes. Jefferson Hope had the scanty provisions in 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 in 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 cornfield. 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. Tomorrow at midnight, said the first, who appeared to be in authority, when the whipper will calls three times. It is well, returned the other. Shall I tell Brother Dreber? Pass it on to him and from him to the others. Nine to seven. Seven to five, repeated the other, and the two figures flittered 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 a defile which led between them was the Eagle Canyon 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 farrier 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 tracks so narrow in places that they had to travel in Indian file and so rough that only practiced 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 past 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. Travelers 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 Farrier. His Mormon experiences had taught him that that was the highest authority to which he could refer. Nine to seven, cried the sentinel. Seven to five returned Jefferson Hope promptly remembering the counter sign 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. End of Part Two, Chapter Four. Part Two, Chapter Five, of A Study in Scarlet. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recorded by Laurie Ann Walden. A Study in Scarlet by Sir Arthur Cunning Doyle. Part Two, Chapter Five, 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 marvelous, though savage, beauty lay before them. In every direction the great snow-capped peaks hem 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 horse-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 already in 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 feign 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 down 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 beatling 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 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 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 animals 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 subdivided 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. Wade 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 allowed Halu 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 born 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 rained 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 smoldering 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 forecobbit. 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 fulfill 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 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 smoldering 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 foot sore 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 horses hoofs and saw a mounted man riding towards him. As he approached he recognized him as a Mormon named Cooper 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, Cooper. 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 Dreber. 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 Dreber 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, Dreber'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 chiseled 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 haunt 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 saddish 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 beer 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 Dreber 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 Dreber and Stangerson and no one knew whither they had gone. Rumor reported that Dreber 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 traveled 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 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. End of part two chapter five.