"Thank God!" he said, hoarsely, stooping and kissing her. "It issettled, then. The longer I stay, the harder it will be to go. They arewaiting for me at the canon. Good-bye, my own darling--good-bye. In twomonths you shall see me."
He tore himself from her as he spoke, and, flinging himself upon hishorse, galloped furiously away, never even looking round, as thoughafraid that his resolution might fail him if he took one glance atwhat he was leaving. She stood at the gate, gazing after him untilhe vanished from her sight. Then she walked back into the house, thehappiest girl in all Utah.
CHAPTER III. JOHN FERRIER TALKS WITH THE PROPHET.
THREE weeks had passed since Jefferson Hope and his comrades haddeparted from Salt Lake City. John Ferrier's heart was sore within himwhen he thought of the young man's return, and of the impending loss ofhis adopted child. Yet her bright and happy face reconciled him tothe arrangement more than any argument could have done. He had alwaysdetermined, deep down in his resolute heart, that nothing would everinduce him to allow his daughter to wed a Mormon. Such a marriage heregarded as no marriage at all, but as a shame and a disgrace. Whateverhe might think of the Mormon doctrines, upon that one point he wasinflexible. He had to seal his mouth on the subject, however, for toexpress an unorthodox opinion was a dangerous matter in those days inthe Land of the Saints.
Yes, a dangerous matter--so dangerous that even the most saintly daredonly whisper their religious opinions with bated breath, lest somethingwhich fell from their lips might be misconstrued, and bring down aswift retribution upon them. The victims of persecution had now turnedpersecutors on their own account, and persecutors of the mostterrible description. Not the Inquisition of Seville, nor the GermanVehm-gericht, nor the Secret Societies of Italy, were ever able to puta more formidable machinery in motion than that which cast a cloud overthe State of Utah.
Its invisibility, and the mystery which was attached to it, madethis organization doubly terrible. It appeared to be omniscient andomnipotent, and yet was neither seen nor heard. The man who held outagainst the Church vanished away, and none knew whither he had gone orwhat 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 thehands of his secret judges. A rash word or a hasty act was followedby annihilation, and yet none knew what the nature might be of thisterrible power which was suspended over them. No wonder that menwent about in fear and trembling, and that even in the heart of thewilderness they dared not whisper the doubts which oppressed them.
At first this vague and terrible power was exercised only upon therecalcitrants who, having embraced the Mormon faith, wished afterwardsto pervert or to abandon it. Soon, however, it took a wider range. Thesupply of adult women was running short, and polygamy without a femalepopulation on which to draw was a barren doctrine indeed. Strangerumours began to be bandied about--rumours of murdered immigrants andrifled camps in regions where Indians had never been seen. Fresh womenappeared in the harems of the Elders--women who pined and wept, andbore upon their faces the traces of an unextinguishable horror. Belatedwanderers upon the mountains spoke of gangs of armed men, masked,stealthy, and noiseless, who flitted by them in the darkness. Thesetales and rumours took substance and shape, and were corroborated andre-corroborated, until they resolved themselves into a definite name.To this day, in the lonely ranches of the West, the name of the DaniteBand, or the Avenging Angels, is a sinister and an ill-omened one.
Fuller knowledge of the organization which produced such terribleresults served to increase rather than to lessen the horror which itinspired in the minds of men. None knew who belonged to this ruthlesssociety. The names of the participators in the deeds of blood andviolence done under the name of religion were kept profoundly secret.The very friend to whom you communicated your misgivings as to theProphet and his mission, might be one of those who would come forth atnight with fire and sword to exact a terrible reparation. Hence everyman feared his neighbour, and none spoke of the things which werenearest his heart.
One fine morning, John Ferrier was about to set out to his wheatfields,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. Hisheart leapt to his mouth, for this was none other than the great BrighamYoung himself. Full of trepidation--for he knew that such a visit bodedhim little good--Ferrier ran to the door to greet the Mormon chief. Thelatter, however, received his salutations coldly, and followed him witha stern face into the sitting-room.
"Brother Ferrier," he said, taking a seat, and eyeing the farmer keenlyfrom under his light-coloured eyelashes, "the true believers have beengood friends to you. We picked you up when you were starving in thedesert, 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 ourprotection. Is not this so?"
"It is so," answered John Ferrier.
"In return for all this we asked but one condition: that was, that youshould 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 haveneglected."
"And how have I neglected it?" asked Ferrier, throwing out his hands inexpostulation. "Have I not given to the common fund? Have I not attendedat the Temple? Have I not----?"
"Where are your wives?" asked Young, looking round him. "Call them in,that I may greet them."
"It is true that I have not married," Ferrier answered. "But womenwere few, and there were many who had better claims than I. I was not alonely man: I had my daughter to attend to my wants."
"It is of that daughter that I would speak to you," said the leaderof the Mormons. "She has grown to be the flower of Utah, and has foundfavour in the eyes of many who are high in the land."
John Ferrier groaned internally.
"There are stories of her which I would fain disbelieve--stories thatshe is sealed to some Gentile. This must be the gossip of idle tongues.What is the thirteenth rule in the code of the sainted Joseph Smith?'Let every maiden of the true faith marry one of the elect; for ifshe wed a Gentile, she commits a grievous sin.' This being so, it isimpossible that you, who profess the holy creed, should suffer yourdaughter to violate it."
John Ferrier made no answer, but he played nervously with hisriding-whip.
"Upon this one point your whole faith shall be tested--so it has beendecided in the Sacred Council of Four. The girl is young, and we wouldnot have her wed grey hairs, neither would we deprive her of allchoice. We Elders have many heifers, [29] but our children must alsobe provided. Stangerson has a son, and Drebber has a son, and either ofthem would gladly welcome your daughter to their house. Let her choosebetween them. They are young and rich, and of the true faith. What sayyou 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 veryyoung--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 andflashing eyes. "It were better for you, John Ferrier," he thundered,"that you and she were now lying blanched skeletons upon the SierraBlanco, than that you should put your weak wills against the orders ofthe Holy Four!"
With a threatening gesture of his hand, he turned from the door, andFerrier heard his heavy step scrunching along the shingly path.
He was still sitting with his elbows upon his knees, considering how heshould broach the matter to his daughter when a soft hand was laid uponhis, and looking up, he saw her standing beside him. One glance at herpale, 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 rangthrough the house. Oh, father, father, what shall we do?"
"Don't you scare yourself," he answered, drawing her to him, and passinghis broad, rough hand caressingly over her chestnut hair. "We'll fix itup somehow or another. You don't find your fancy kind o' lessening forthis chap, do you?"
A sob and a squeeze of his hand was her only answer.
"No; of course not. I shouldn't care to hear you say you did. He's alikely lad, and he's a Christian, which is more than these folk here, inspite o' all their praying and preaching. There's a party starting forNevada to-morrow, and I'll manage to send him a message letting him knowthe hole we are in. If I know anything o' that young man, he'll be backhere with a speed that would whip electro-telegraphs."