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made every nerve of his body tingle within him. A little way
on one side of the camp was a low-lying heap of reddish soil,
which had assuredly not been there before. There was no
mistaking it for anything but a newly-dug grave. As the
young hunter approached it, he perceived that a stick had
been planted on it, with a sheet of paper stuck in the cleft
fork of it. The inscription upon the paper was brief, but to
the point:

JOHN FERRIER,
FORMERLY OF SALT LAKE CITY, {22}
Died August 4th, 1860.

The sturdy old man, whom he had left so short a time before,
was gone, then, and this was all his epitaph. Jefferson Hope
looked wildly round to see if there was a second grave, but
there was no sign of one. Lucy had been carried back by
their terrible pursuers to fulfil her original destiny, by
becoming one of the harem of the Elder's son. As the young
fellow realized the certainty of her fate, and his own
powerlessness to prevent it, he wished that he, too, was
lying with the old farmer in his last silent resting-place.

Again, however, his active spirit shook off the lethargy
which springs from despair. If there was nothing else left
to him, he could at least devote his life to revenge.
With indomitable patience and perseverance, Jefferson Hope
possessed also a power of sustained vindictiveness, which he
may have learned from the Indians amongst whom he had lived.
As he stood by the desolate fire, he felt that the only one
thing which could assuage his grief would be thorough and
complete retribution, brought by his own hand upon his
enemies. His strong will and untiring energy should, he
determined, be devoted to that one end. With a grim, white
face, he retraced his steps to where he had dropped the food,
and having stirred up the smouldering fire, he cooked enough
to last him for a few days. This he made up into a bundle,
and, tired as he was, he set himself to walk back through the
mountains upon the track of the avenging angels.

For five days he toiled footsore and weary through the
defiles which he had already traversed on horseback.
At night he flung himself down among the rocks, and snatched a
few hours of sleep; but before daybreak he was always well on
his way. On the sixth day, he reached the Eagle Canon, from
which they had commenced their ill-fated flight. Thence he
could look down upon the home of the saints. Worn and
exhausted, he leaned upon his rifle and shook his gaunt hand
fiercely at the silent widespread city beneath him. As he
looked at it, he observed that there were flags in some of
the principal streets, and other signs of festivity. He was
still speculating as to what this might mean when he heard
the clatter of horse's hoofs, and saw a mounted man riding
towards him. As he approached, he recognized him as a Mormon
named Cowper, to whom he had rendered services at different

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