Rensselaer Republican, Volume 27, Number 15, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 6 December 1894 — A STUDY IN SCARLET. [ARTICLE]

A STUDY IN SCARLET.

BY A. CONAN DOYLE.

PART 11. .(Being a reprint from the reminiscences of John H. Watson, M. D., late of the Army Medics Department.] - ' "• . " ■ - __g . CH APTER V --Continued.

" 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 outlines of the cliffs which bounded it. They must, he reflected, be awaiting him anxiously, for he had been absent nearly "five hours. In the gladness of his heart he put his hands to his mouth -and made the glen re-echo to a loud halloo as a signal that he was coming. He paused and listened for an answer. None came save his own «ry, which clattered up the dreary, silent ravines, and was borne back to his ears in countless repetitions. Again he shouted, even louder than before, and again no whisper came . back from the friends whom he had left such a short time ago. A vague, nameless dread came over him. and he hurried on ward frantically, dropping the precious food in his agitation.

nized him as a Mormon named Cowper, to whom he had rendered services at different times. lie 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 life is worth to be seen talking with you. There is a warrant against you from the Holy Four for assisting the Ferriers away.” -T donTfear them or their warrant,” Hope said,,earnestly. “You must know something of this matter, Cowper. I conjure you by everything you hold dear to answer a few questions. We have always been friends. FOr God’s sake don’t refuse to answer me.” “What is it?” the Mormon asked, uneasily. “Be quick. The very rocks have ears and the trees eyes,” “What has become of Lucy Fer- ’ rier?”

When he turned the corner, he came full in sight of the spot where the fire had been lighted. There was still a glowing pile of woodashes there, but it had evidently not been tended since his departure. The same dead silence reigned all round. With his fears all changed to convictions, he hurried on. There was no living creature near the remains of the fire; animals, man, maiden, all were gone. It was only too clear that some sudden and terrib e disaster h: d »ccurred during bis absence—a disaster which had embraced them all and yet had left tio traces behind it. —— Bewildered and stunned by this blow, Jefferson Hope felt his head Bpin 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 afterward 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 Jiis-body_ tinglc_Mthin_bim- AJittle way on one side of the" camp was a low-lying heap of reddish soil, which bad assuredly not been there before. There was no mistaking it for anything but a newly dug grave. As the young hunter approached it he .perceived that a stick had been planted on it. with a sheet of paper; stuck in the cleft fork of it. The in- 1 -kcription was brief, but to the point: JOHN FERRIER, FORMERLY OF SALT LAKE CITY. Died August 4, 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 bad been carried back by their terrible pursuers to fulfill her original destiny by becoming one of the| harem of the elder’s son. As the young fellow realized the certainty of her fate and his own powerlessness to prevent it, he wished that he, too, was lying with the old farmer in bis last resting place. Again, however, his active spirit; shook off the lethargy which springs fom despair. If there was nothing e se L-ft 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 among whom he had lived. As he stood by the desolate fire he felt that the only one thing which could assuage his grief would be thorough and complete retribution ; brought by his own hand upon his enemies. His strong will and un-,

; “She was married yesterday to ’young Drebber. Hold up, man; hold up! You have no life left in you.” | “Don't mind me,” said Hope faint ; ly. 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 Endow--1 ment House. There was some words i between young Drebber and young Stangerson as to which was to have : her. They’d both been in the party j that followed them, and Stangerson had shot her father, which seemed to give him the best claim; but when they argued it out in council, Drebber’s party was the stronger, so the prophet gave her over to him. No one won’t have her very long, though, for T saw death in her face yesterday. : She is more like a ghost than a , woman. Are you off, then?” j “Yes, I’m off,” said Jefferson Hope, who had risen from his seat. His face might have been chisled out of marble, so hard and so set was ; [its expression, while his eyes glowed with a baleful light. “Where are you going?” “Never mind,” he answered; and, swinging his weapon over his shoulder, strode off down the gorge and so away into the heart of the mountains to the haunts of the wild beasts. Among them all there was none so fierce and so dangerous as himself. ~The prediction of the Mormon was only too well fulfilled. Whether it was the terrible death of her father or the effects of the hateful marriage into which she had been forced, poor Lucy never held up her head again, but pined away and died within a month. Her sottish husband, who had married her principally for the sake of John Ferrier’s property, did not affect any great grief at his be- ■ reavement; but bis other wives i mourned over her, and sat up with her the night before the burial, as is the Mormon custom. They were grouped around the bier in the early hours of the morning, when, to their inexpressible fear and astonishment, ' the door was flung open, and a sav- ■ age-looking, weather-beaten man in tattered garments strode into the room. Without a glance or a wdrd 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 sprung 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.

tiring energy should, he determined, be devoted to that one end. With a prim, white face, he retraced his «teps to where he had dropped the f<x d, and having stirred up the smol- | dering fire, he cooked enough to last. fcim for a few days. This he made' ■up into a bundle, and, tired as he wag, 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 be had already traversed on horseback. At night he flung himself "down among the rocks and snatched * few hours of sleep; but before daybreak he’was always well on his way. Oa the sixth day he reached the Eagle Ravine, from which they had commenced their ill-fated flight. Thence he could look down upon the borne of the Saints. Worn and exhausted, he leaned upon his rifle, and shook his gaunt hand fiercely at the «ilent, widespread city beneath him. As he looked at it he observed that there werq flags in some of the principal streets, and other signs of activity. He was still speculating as to what this might mean, when he beard the clatter of horse’s hoofs and •aw a mounted man riding toward hhn. As he approached, he recog- (

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 Drcbber passed undera cliff, a great bowlder crashed down on him, and he only escaped a terrible death by’ throwing himself upon his face. The two young Mbrmons 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 hearaor seenof 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'predohainant idea of revenge had taken such complete possession of it that' there was no room for any other emotion. 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 dogamong 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 pre vented his leaving the mines for nearly five. At the end of that time, however, his memory of his wrongs and bis cravings for revenge were quite as keen as on that memorable night when he had stood by John Ferrier’s grave. Disguised, and under an assumed name, he returned to Salt Lake City, careless what became of his own life, as long as he obtained what he knew to be justice. There he found evil tidings awaiting him. There had been a schism among the Chosen People a few months before, some of the younger members of the Church having rebelled against the authority of the elders, and the result had been the secession of a certain number of the malcontents, who had left Utah and become Gentiles. Among these had been Drebber and Stangerson; and no one knew whither they had gone. Rumor reported that Drebber had managed to convert a large part of his property into money, and that he had departed a wealthy man, while his companion, Stangerson, was comparatively poor. There was no clue at all, however, as to their whereabouts. Many a man, however vindictive, would have abandoned all thought of revenge in the face of such a difficulty, but Jefferson Hope never faltered for a moment. With the small competence he possessed, eked out by such employment as he could pick up, he 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 upon which he had devoted his life. At last his perseverance was rewarded. It was but a glance at a face in a window, but that one glance told him that Cleveland, in Ohio, possessed the men he was in pursuit of. He returned to his miserable lodg ings 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 hnrried 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. Fnnds 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 davs late, for they had journeyed on to Rondon, where he at last succeeded in running them to earth. As to what occurred there, we cannot do better than quote the old hunter’s own account, as duly recorded in Dr. Watson’s journal, to which we are already under such obligations.

CHAPTER VI. A CONTINUATION OF THE REMINISCENCES OF JOHN H. WATSON, M. D. Our prisoner’s furious resistance did not apparently indicate any ferocity in his disposition toward ourselves, for on finding himself powerless he smiled in an affable manner and expressed his hope that he had not hurt any of us in the scuffle. “I guess you are going to take me to the police station,” he remarked to Sherlock Holmes. ‘‘My cab’s at the door. If you’ll loose my legs I’ll Vvalk down to it. I'm not so light to lift as I used to be.” Gregson and Lestrade exchanged glances as if they thought this proposition rather a bold one; but Holmes at once took the prisoner at his word and loosened the towel which he had bound round his ankles. He rose and stretched his legs, as though to assure himself that they were free once more, I remember that I thought to myself, as I eyed him,

that I had seldom seen a more povr. erfully built man; and his dark, Sunburned face bore an expression o f determination and energy which was as formidable as his great per SoQa f strength. If there is a vacant place for a chief of police, I reckon you are the man for it,” he said, gazing with undisguised admiration at my fellow lodger. “The way you kept on my trail was a caution.” You had better come with me,” said Holmes to the two detectives. uJ, can d r i y e you,” said Lestrade. Good! and Gregson can come inside with me. You, too, doctor; you have taken an interest in the case and may as well stick to us.” I assented gladly and we all descended together. Our prisoner made no attempt to escape, but stepped calmly into the cab which had been his and we followed him. Lestrade mounted the box, whipped up the horse and brought us in a very short time to our destination*. We were ushered into a small chamber, where a police inspector ■ noted down our prisoner’s name and the names of the men with whose murder he had been charged. The official was a white faced, unemotional man, wb o w T eu t thro ugh his duties in a dull, mechanical way. “The prisoner will be put before the magistrates in the course of the week, ” he said; “in the mean time, Mr. Jefferson Hope, have you anything that you wish to say? I must warn you that your words will be taken down and may be used against you.” “I’ve got a good deal to say,” our prisoner said, slowly. “I want to tell you gentlemen all about it.” “Hadn’t you better reserve that for your trial?” asked the inspector. “I may never be tried,” he answered. “You needn’t lookstartled. It isn’t suicide lam thinking of. Are you a doctor?” He turned his tierce, dark eyes upon me as he asked the last question. “Yes,?l am,” I answered. “Then put your hand here,” he said, with a smile, motioning with his manacled wrists toward his chest. , , I did so, and became at oncec onscious of an extraordinary throbbing and commotion which was going on inside. The walls of his chest seemed to thrill and quiver as a frail building would do inside when some powerful engine was at work.ln the silence of the room I could hear a dull humming and buzzing noise which proceeded from the same source. “Why,” I cried, “you have an aor- ' tic aneurism!” “That’s what they call it,” he said, placidly. “I went to a doctor last week about it, and he told me that it was bound to burst before many days passed. It has been getting worse for years. I got it from over-exposure and underfeeding among the Salt Lake mountains. I’ve done my work now, and I don’t care how soon I go, but I should like to leave some account of the business behind me. I don’t want to be remembered as a* common cutthroat.” The inspector and the two detectives had a hurried discussion as to the advisability of allowing him to tell his story. “Do you consider, doctor, that there is immediate danger?” the former asked. (TO BE CONTINUED.!