prompt:
Chapter: ON the morning which followed his interview with the Mormon Prophet,
John Ferrier went in to 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 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 hands in
his pocket, 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
Drebber, and I'm Joseph Stangerson, who travelled 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 Drebber 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 Drebber, 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. In their eyes this
competition between them for the maiden's hand was the highest of
honours 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!" Stangerson 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 Drebber; "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 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 rich as 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 on to the coverlet of his bed just over
his chest. On it was printed, in bold straggling letters:--

"Twenty-nine days are given you for amendment, and then----"

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
servants 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 twenty-nine 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
centre of the ceiling was scrawled, with a burned stick apparently,
the number 28. 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 27 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 on 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 sight 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. Turn 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 dishonour.

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 2 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 round 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. Ferrier 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 Ferrier
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, Ferrier
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 asprawl.

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 Ferrier. "How you scared me! Whatever made you
come in like that."

"Give me food," the other said, hoarsely. "I have had no time for bite
or sup for eight-and-forty hours." He flung himself upon the [21] 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 watched on every side. That is why I crawled
my way up to it. They may be darned sharp, but they're not quite sharp
enough to catch a Washoe hunter."

John Ferrier 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 were 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 o' the
Hope family in Utah."

"What are we to do?"

"To-morrow is your last day, and unless you act to-night you are lost.
I have a mule and two horses waiting in the Eagle Ravine. 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 Ferrier 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
watched, 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 half-way
through the mountains."

"What if we are stopped," asked Ferrier.

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 Ferrier peered over the fields which had been his own,
and which he was now about to abandon for ever. He had long nerved
himself to the sacrifice, however, and the thought of the honour 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 grain-land, 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.

Ferrier carried the bag of gold and notes, Jefferson Hope had the scanty
provisions and 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 and 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 cornfields. 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.

"To-morrow at midnight," said the first who appeared to be in authority.
"When the Whip-poor-Will calls three times."

"It is well," returned the other. "Shall I tell Brother Drebber?"

"Pass it on to him, and from him to the others. Nine to seven!"

"Seven to five!" repeated the other, and the two figures flitted away
in different directions. Their 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 the defile which led
between them was the Eagle Canon 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 Ferrier 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 track, so narrow in places
that they had to travel in Indian file, and so rough that only practised
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 pass 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.

"Travellers 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 Ferrier. His Mormon experiences had taught him
that that was the highest authority to which he could refer.

"Nine from seven," cried the sentinel.

"Seven from five," returned Jefferson Hope promptly, remembering the
countersign 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.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: The next day Ferrier gave the message to Hope to an acquaintance who was setting out for Nevada, stressing the urgency of the contents. When he returned to his home he saw that two young men were in his sitting room. One had a long pale face and the other was "a bull-necked youth with coarse, bloated features." The former was the son of Elder Stangerson, the latter the son of Elder Drebber. Stangerson explained that they were there to seek the hand of his daughter; he claimed that he deserved her because he only had four wives and Drebber had seven, but Drebber retorted that he had better financial prospects. Ferrier was enraged at their presumptuousness and ordered them to leave his home until Lucy summoned them. They were aghast at his rudeness, especially when he told them the way out of his house could be through the door or the window. They cried out that Ferrier had defiled the Prophet and the Council of Four and would regret his insulting manner. Ferrier was about to rush for his gun when Lucy stopped him with soothing words and a reminder that Hope would soon come for them. Ferrier knew his behavior was problematic, reflecting that "in the whole history of the settlement there had ever been such a case of rank disobedience to the authority of the Elders." Even men richer than him had gone missing. He tried to put on a brave front for his daughter, but she saw through his facade. The next morning he woke up and found a note pinned to the coverlet over his breast that said "Twenty-nine days are given you for amendment, and then -" This was terrifying in its ambiguity, as well as the fact that Ferrier had no idea how anyone entered the house undetected. The next morning there was a number 28 scratched on the ceiling, and the next found a number 27 painted upon the front door. The Ferriers never heard or glimpsed anyone. The numbers continued to appear every day as they counted down the days until Lucy had to make her decision. They instilled a "horror which was almost superstitious" upon Ferrier, and he could only wait for young Jefferson Hope to return. As the days got lower and lower, moving past 4 and 3 and finally arriving at 2, Ferrier resolved that the hunter was not coming but that he would still rather die than let Lucy be dishonored. As he sat disconsolately on the evening before the last day, he pondered what would become of his daughter when he was gone. He began to hear a scratching sound outside the door of the house and a gentle tapping. He got up and went into the hall and opened the door, wondering if he was about to be ambushed by his enemies. To his surprise, when he looked down he saw a man lying spread out on his stomach; the man continued to wriggle on the ground into the house and finally jumped up to reveal the personage of Jefferson Hope. Ferrier was shocked, but quickly acceded to Hope's demands for food and water, as he had not imbibed for 48 hours. After he had eaten Hope asked after Lucy and explained that his odd method of entering the house was the only way he would not be detected. The house was being watched on every side. Despite this information, Hope felt better now that his ally was here. Hope told Ferrier he had a mule and two horses waiting in the ravine and that they would push to Carson City, Nevada through the mountains. Ferrier woke up Lucy and Hope packed as much water as he could. The lovers had a brief reunion and then the three prepared to leave the house. Hope explained that they would have to leave through the side windows and run across the fields to the road, where they would then need to travel two miles to the ravine where their mounts were waiting. Lights in the house were extinguished and the escapees crawled out through the windows into the calm and cool night air. As they moved across the cornfield Hope suddenly pulled them down into the shadows. His keen hearing had picked up the hooting of an owl, answered by more hooting. One figure emerged and said "tomorrow at midnight." The other agreed and asked if they should tell Brother Drebber. The first man said yes, and then said "Nine to seven!" the second man replied, "Seven to five!" this was a sign of some sorts. When the men departed Hope guided his companions out across the fields as fast as they could go. They finally reached the ravine and mounted their animals. Only a hunter as skilled as Hope could attempt this confusing and menacing path through craggy cliffs and massive boulders and narrow pathways. At the most dangerous part of the pathway they suddenly saw a single sentinel on an overhanging rock. This man immediately asked "Who goes there?" Hope replied that they were travelers to Nevada. The sentinel asked with whose permission, and Ferrier responded which a phrase he knew -"The Holy Four." The sentinel then said "Nine to seven!" and Hope cleverly answered with "Seven to five" and the sentinel let them proceed. Finally, "they had passed the outlying post of the chosen people, and...freedom lay before them."


prompt:
Chapter: 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 marvellous though savage
beauty lay before them. In every direction the great snow-capped peaks
hemmed 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 hoarse 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 all ruddy and 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 fain 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 on 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 beetling 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 the 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 bade 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 back-ground. 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 animal 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 sub-divided 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. Weighed
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 a loud halloo
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 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 onwards 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 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 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
smouldering 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
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 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, 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 Ferrier?"

"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 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 Drebber 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, Drebber'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 chiselled 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 haunts 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 sottish 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 bier 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 Drebber 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
Drebber and Stangerson; and no one knew whither they had gone. Rumour
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 travelled 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 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 to 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.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: The travelers continued through the treacherous wilderness even though they were exhausted. Hope pressed the Ferriers onward, exhorting them to remember that their enemies were no doubt already on their tail. They saw no one, however, and hoped that they would make it out of the mountains safely. The afternoon of the second day saw their provisions begin to run out, so Hope decided to leave Lucy and her father with the horses and look for an animal to hunt. After walking for a few miles through the twisting ravine he espied a bighorn and was able to shoot it. As it was too heavy to carry, he cut off some pieces and headed back. Unfortunately, the ravine pathways were so similar that he could not exactly recall which path would lead him back to the Ferriers. Night was coming and he was no closer to finding his way. Finally, after being gone for about five hours he found his way to familiar territory. Giving a loud cry to alert the Ferriers of his imminent presence, he was disturbed when it merely echoed back at him unanswered. He began to dread what he would find when he got back to the fire. His fears became a reality when he arrived at only the smoldering remains of the fire, with no horses or human beings in sight. It was obvious that "some sudden and terrible disaster had occurred during his absence -a disaster which had embraced them all, and yet left no traces behind it." Shaking himself out of his bewilderment, Hope investigated the camp and observed the many hoof prints of multiple riders whose path clearly took them back to Salt Lake City. There was also a newly dug grave with the inscription on a piece of paper -"JOHN FERRIER, formerly of Salt Lake City, Died August 4th." There was no grave for Lucy; she had clearly been taken back to the city of Elect to assume her fate as one of the wives of Drebber or Stangerson. Hope was disconsolate at this, but almost immediately resolved that he would devote his life to revenge. He could apply his "strong will and untiring energy" to that one end. Hope toiled through the ravine back to a point where he could overlook Salt Lake City. There were clearly some festivities occurring that day, he observed, and wondering what was going on. His reverie was interrupted by a solitary rider, whom he recognized as an old Mormon acquaintance named Cowper. He accosted Cowper for news of Lucy Ferrier. Cowper was stricken and was nervous to speak with Hope, but after being pressed, informed Hope that the festivities were celebrating Lucy's marriage to young Enoch Drebber. Stangerson had shot her father and said his claim was better, but Drebber's party in the Council was stronger, and Young awarded Lucy to him. After Cowper bid Hope adieu, Hope slunk away into the mountains. Lucy pined away and died within a month of her wedding. This was not entirely distressing to Drebber, who had only really wanted her money. Drebber's other wives prepared her for burial; while they were doing so, they were shocked when Jefferson Hope burst into the room and kissed Lucy's brow and removed her wedding ring. He left before an alarm could be raised. Hope lived in the nearby wilderness, and scared Drebber and Stangerson with attempts on their lives. Once a bullet went through Stangerson's window and almost hit him, on another day a boulder nearly crashed down upon Drebber as he passed by a cliff. The two men kept up a guard from thenceforth and never went anywhere alone. Years passed and Hope stayed out of site. His rage had not cooled, however -it was even stronger after being nursed for so long. He stayed out of sight to gain money to pursue his object of revenge. After about five years he returned to Salt Lake City and was shocked to learn that a schism among the Chosen People led to the secession of many, including Drebber and Stangerson. There were no clues as to their whereabouts. Even though most men would have abandoned this as a lost cause, Hope was undaunted. He spent years tracking them down and was finally rewarded when he learned Drebber was in Cleveland. Drebber actually caught sight of Hope in that town and hurried away from his would-be murderer. Stangerson was now his secretary, and the two of them had Jefferson Hope arrested. He was detained for two weeks on account of not being able to post bail, and when he was released he discovered his two enemies had fled for Europe. Hope continued to save money and tracked them all over Europe. He was always a step behind until he finally caught up with them in London. The rest of the story would now be told from Dr. Watson's journal.


prompt:
Chapter: OUR prisoner's furious resistance did not apparently indicate any
ferocity in his disposition towards ourselves, for on finding himself
powerless, he smiled in an affable manner, and expressed his hopes that
he had not hurt any of us in the scuffle. "I guess you're 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 walk 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 we had bound round his ancles.
[23] 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 powerfully built man; and his dark
sunburned face bore an expression of determination and energy which was
as formidable as his personal strength.

"If there's a vacant place for a chief of the 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.

"I can drive 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 at 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, who went through 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 look startled. It
isn't suicide I am thinking of. Are you a Doctor?" He turned his fierce
dark eyes upon me as he asked this last question.

"Yes; I am," I answered.

"Then put your hand here," he said, with a smile, motioning with his
manacled wrists towards his chest.

I did so; and became at once conscious 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. In 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 aortic 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 is bound to burst before many days
passed. It has been getting worse for years. I got it from over-exposure
and under-feeding 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
cut-throat."

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, [24]

"Most certainly there is," I answered.

"In that case it is clearly our duty, in the interests of justice, to
take his statement," said the Inspector. "You are at liberty, sir, to
give your account, which I again warn you will be taken down."

"I'll sit down, with your leave," the prisoner said, suiting the action
to the word. "This aneurism of mine makes me easily tired, and the
tussle we had half an hour ago has not mended matters. I'm on the brink
of the grave, and I am not likely to lie to you. Every word I say is the
absolute truth, and how you use it is a matter of no consequence to me."

With these words, Jefferson Hope leaned back in his chair and began
the following remarkable statement. He spoke in a calm and methodical
manner, as though the events which he narrated were commonplace enough.
I can vouch for the accuracy of the subjoined account, for I have had
access to Lestrade's note-book, in which the prisoner's words were taken
down exactly as they were uttered.

"It don't much matter to you why I hated these men," he said; "it's
enough that they were guilty of the death of two human beings--a father
and a daughter--and that they had, therefore, forfeited their own
lives. After the lapse of time that has passed since their crime, it was
impossible for me to secure a conviction against them in any court. I
knew of their guilt though, and I determined that I should be judge,
jury, and executioner all rolled into one. You'd have done the same, if
you have any manhood in you, if you had been in my place.

"That girl that I spoke of was to have married me twenty years ago. She
was forced into marrying that same Drebber, and broke her heart over
it. I took the marriage ring from her dead finger, and I vowed that his
dying eyes should rest upon that very ring, and that his last thoughts
should be of the crime for which he was punished. I have carried
it about with me, and have followed him and his accomplice over two
continents until I caught them. They thought to tire me out, but they
could not do it. If I die to-morrow, as is likely enough, I die knowing
that my work in this world is done, and well done. They have perished,
and by my hand. There is nothing left for me to hope for, or to desire.

"They were rich and I was poor, so that it was no easy matter for me to
follow them. When I got to London my pocket was about empty, and I found
that I must turn my hand to something for my living. Driving and riding
are as natural to me as walking, so I applied at a cabowner's office,
and soon got employment. I was to bring a certain sum a week to the
owner, and whatever was over that I might keep for myself. There was
seldom much over, but I managed to scrape along somehow. The hardest job
was to learn my way about, for I reckon that of all the mazes that ever
were contrived, this city is the most confusing. I had a map beside me
though, and when once I had spotted the principal hotels and stations, I
got on pretty well.

"It was some time before I found out where my two gentlemen were living;
but I inquired and inquired until at last I dropped across them. They
were at a boarding-house at Camberwell, over on the other side of the
river. When once I found them out I knew that I had them at my mercy. I
had grown my beard, and there was no chance of their recognizing me.
I would dog them and follow them until I saw my opportunity. I was
determined that they should not escape me again.

"They were very near doing it for all that. Go where they would about
London, I was always at their heels. Sometimes I followed them on my
cab, and sometimes on foot, but the former was the best, for then they
could not get away from me. It was only early in the morning or late
at night that I could earn anything, so that I began to get behind hand
with my employer. I did not mind that, however, as long as I could lay
my hand upon the men I wanted.

"They were very cunning, though. They must have thought that there was
some chance of their being followed, for they would never go out alone,
and never after nightfall. During two weeks I drove behind them every
day, and never once saw them separate. Drebber himself was drunk half
the time, but Stangerson was not to be caught napping. I watched them
late and early, but never saw the ghost of a chance; but I was not
discouraged, for something told me that the hour had almost come. My
only fear was that this thing in my chest might burst a little too soon
and leave my work undone.

"At last, one evening I was driving up and down Torquay Terrace, as the
street was called in which they boarded, when I saw a cab drive up to
their door. Presently some luggage was brought out, and after a time
Drebber and Stangerson followed it, and drove off. I whipped up my horse
and kept within sight of them, feeling very ill at ease, for I feared
that they were going to shift their quarters. At Euston Station they
got out, and I left a boy to hold my horse, and followed them on to the
platform. I heard them ask for the Liverpool train, and the guard answer
that one had just gone and there would not be another for some hours.
Stangerson seemed to be put out at that, but Drebber was rather pleased
than otherwise. I got so close to them in the bustle that I could hear
every word that passed between them. Drebber said that he had a little
business of his own to do, and that if the other would wait for him he
would soon rejoin him. His companion remonstrated with him, and reminded
him that they had resolved to stick together. Drebber answered that the
matter was a delicate one, and that he must go alone. I could not catch
what Stangerson said to that, but the other burst out swearing, and
reminded him that he was nothing more than his paid servant, and that he
must not presume to dictate to him. On that the Secretary gave it up
as a bad job, and simply bargained with him that if he missed the last
train he should rejoin him at Halliday's Private Hotel; to which Drebber
answered that he would be back on the platform before eleven, and made
his way out of the station.

"The moment for which I had waited so long had at last come. I had my
enemies within my power. Together they could protect each other,
but singly they were at my mercy. I did not act, however, with undue
precipitation. My plans were already formed. There is no satisfaction in
vengeance unless the offender has time to realize who it is that strikes
him, and why retribution has come upon him. I had my plans arranged by
which I should have the opportunity of making the man who had wronged me
understand that his old sin had found him out. It chanced that some days
before a gentleman who had been engaged in looking over some houses in
the Brixton Road had dropped the key of one of them in my carriage. It
was claimed that same evening, and returned; but in the interval I had
taken a moulding of it, and had a duplicate constructed. By means of
this I had access to at least one spot in this great city where I could
rely upon being free from interruption. How to get Drebber to that house
was the difficult problem which I had now to solve.

"He walked down the road and went into one or two liquor shops, staying
for nearly half-an-hour in the last of them. When he came out he
staggered in his walk, and was evidently pretty well on. There was a
hansom just in front of me, and he hailed it. I followed it so close
that the nose of my horse was within a yard of his driver the whole way.
We rattled across Waterloo Bridge and through miles of streets, until,
to my astonishment, we found ourselves back in the Terrace in which he
had boarded. I could not imagine what his intention was in returning
there; but I went on and pulled up my cab a hundred yards or so from
the house. He entered it, and his hansom drove away. Give me a glass of
water, if you please. My mouth gets dry with the talking."

I handed him the glass, and he drank it down.

"That's better," he said. "Well, I waited for a quarter of an hour, or
more, when suddenly there came a noise like people struggling inside the
house. Next moment the door was flung open and two men appeared, one of
whom was Drebber, and the other was a young chap whom I had never seen
before. This fellow had Drebber by the collar, and when they came to
the head of the steps he gave him a shove and a kick which sent him half
across the road. 'You hound,' he cried, shaking his stick at him; 'I'll
teach you to insult an honest girl!' He was so hot that I think he would
have thrashed Drebber with his cudgel, only that the cur staggered away
down the road as fast as his legs would carry him. He ran as far as the
corner, and then, seeing my cab, he hailed me and jumped in. 'Drive me
to Halliday's Private Hotel,' said he.

"When I had him fairly inside my cab, my heart jumped so with joy that
I feared lest at this last moment my aneurism might go wrong. I drove
along slowly, weighing in my own mind what it was best to do. I might
take him right out into the country, and there in some deserted lane
have my last interview with him. I had almost decided upon this, when he
solved the problem for me. The craze for drink had seized him again, and
he ordered me to pull up outside a gin palace. He went in, leaving word
that I should wait for him. There he remained until closing time, and
when he came out he was so far gone that I knew the game was in my own
hands.

"Don't imagine that I intended to kill him in cold blood. It would only
have been rigid justice if I had done so, but I could not bring myself
to do it. I had long determined that he should have a show for his life
if he chose to take advantage of it. Among the many billets which I
have filled in America during my wandering life, I was once janitor and
sweeper out of the laboratory at York College. One day the professor was
lecturing on poisions, [25] and he showed his students some alkaloid,
as he called it, which he had extracted from some South American arrow
poison, and which was so powerful that the least grain meant instant
death. I spotted the bottle in which this preparation was kept, and when
they were all gone, I helped myself to a little of it. I was a fairly
good dispenser, so I worked this alkaloid into small, soluble pills, and
each pill I put in a box with a similar pill made without the poison.
I determined at the time that when I had my chance, my gentlemen should
each have a draw out of one of these boxes, while I ate the pill that
remained. It would be quite as deadly, and a good deal less noisy than
firing across a handkerchief. From that day I had always my pill boxes
about with me, and the time had now come when I was to use them.

"It was nearer one than twelve, and a wild, bleak night, blowing hard
and raining in torrents. Dismal as it was outside, I was glad within--so
glad that I could have shouted out from pure exultation. If any of you
gentlemen have ever pined for a thing, and longed for it during twenty
long years, and then suddenly found it within your reach, you would
understand my feelings. I lit a cigar, and puffed at it to steady my
nerves, but my hands were trembling, and my temples throbbing with
excitement. As I drove, I could see old John Ferrier and sweet Lucy
looking at me out of the darkness and smiling at me, just as plain as I
see you all in this room. All the way they were ahead of me, one on each
side of the horse until I pulled up at the house in the Brixton Road.

"There was not a soul to be seen, nor a sound to be heard, except the
dripping of the rain. When I looked in at the window, I found Drebber
all huddled together in a drunken sleep. I shook him by the arm, 'It's
time to get out,' I said.

"'All right, cabby,' said he.

"I suppose he thought we had come to the hotel that he had mentioned,
for he got out without another word, and followed me down the garden.
I had to walk beside him to keep him steady, for he was still a little
top-heavy. When we came to the door, I opened it, and led him into the
front room. I give you my word that all the way, the father and the
daughter were walking in front of us.

"'It's infernally dark,' said he, stamping about.

"'We'll soon have a light,' I said, striking a match and putting it to
a wax candle which I had brought with me. 'Now, Enoch Drebber,' I
continued, turning to him, and holding the light to my own face, 'who am
I?'

"He gazed at me with bleared, drunken eyes for a moment, and then I
saw a horror spring up in them, and convulse his whole features, which
showed me that he knew me. He staggered back with a livid face, and I
saw the perspiration break out upon his brow, while his teeth chattered
in his head. At the sight, I leaned my back against the door and laughed
loud and long. I had always known that vengeance would be sweet, but I
had never hoped for the contentment of soul which now possessed me.

"'You dog!' I said; 'I have hunted you from Salt Lake City to St.
Petersburg, and you have always escaped me. Now, at last your wanderings
have come to an end, for either you or I shall never see to-morrow's sun
rise.' He shrunk still further away as I spoke, and I could see on his
face that he thought I was mad. So I was for the time. The pulses in my
temples beat like sledge-hammers, and I believe I would have had a fit
of some sort if the blood had not gushed from my nose and relieved me.

"'What do you think of Lucy Ferrier now?' I cried, locking the door, and
shaking the key in his face. 'Punishment has been slow in coming, but it
has overtaken you at last.' I saw his coward lips tremble as I spoke. He
would have begged for his life, but he knew well that it was useless.

"'Would you murder me?' he stammered.

"'There is no murder,' I answered. 'Who talks of murdering a mad dog?
What mercy had you upon my poor darling, when you dragged her from her
slaughtered father, and bore her away to your accursed and shameless
harem.'

"'It was not I who killed her father,' he cried.

"'But it was you who broke her innocent heart,' I shrieked, thrusting
the box before him. 'Let the high God judge between us. Choose and
eat. There is death in one and life in the other. I shall take what you
leave. Let us see if there is justice upon the earth, or if we are ruled
by chance.'

"He cowered away with wild cries and prayers for mercy, but I drew my
knife and held it to his throat until he had obeyed me. Then I swallowed
the other, and we stood facing one another in silence for a minute or
more, waiting to see which was to live and which was to die. Shall I
ever forget the look which came over his face when the first warning
pangs told him that the poison was in his system? I laughed as I saw
it, and held Lucy's marriage ring in front of his eyes. It was but for
a moment, for the action of the alkaloid is rapid. A spasm of pain
contorted his features; he threw his hands out in front of him,
staggered, and then, with a hoarse cry, fell heavily upon the floor. I
turned him over with my foot, and placed my hand upon his heart. There
was no movement. He was dead!

"The blood had been streaming from my nose, but I had taken no notice of
it. I don't know what it was that put it into my head to write upon the
wall with it. Perhaps it was some mischievous idea of setting the police
upon a wrong track, for I felt light-hearted and cheerful. I remembered
a German being found in New York with RACHE written up above him, and it
was argued at the time in the newspapers that the secret societies must
have done it. I guessed that what puzzled the New Yorkers would puzzle
the Londoners, so I dipped my finger in my own blood and printed it on
a convenient place on the wall. Then I walked down to my cab and found
that there was nobody about, and that the night was still very wild. I
had driven some distance when I put my hand into the pocket in which
I usually kept Lucy's ring, and found that it was not there. I was
thunderstruck at this, for it was the only memento that I had of her.
Thinking that I might have dropped it when I stooped over Drebber's
body, I drove back, and leaving my cab in a side street, I went boldly
up to the house--for I was ready to dare anything rather than lose
the ring. When I arrived there, I walked right into the arms of a
police-officer who was coming out, and only managed to disarm his
suspicions by pretending to be hopelessly drunk.

"That was how Enoch Drebber came to his end. All I had to do then was
to do as much for Stangerson, and so pay off John Ferrier's debt. I knew
that he was staying at Halliday's Private Hotel, and I hung about all
day, but he never came out. [26] fancy that he suspected something when
Drebber failed to put in an appearance. He was cunning, was Stangerson,
and always on his guard. If he thought he could keep me off by staying
indoors he was very much mistaken. I soon found out which was the window
of his bedroom, and early next morning I took advantage of some ladders
which were lying in the lane behind the hotel, and so made my way into
his room in the grey of the dawn. I woke him up and told him that the
hour had come when he was to answer for the life he had taken so long
before. I described Drebber's death to him, and I gave him the same
choice of the poisoned pills. Instead of grasping at the chance of
safety which that offered him, he sprang from his bed and flew at my
throat. In self-defence I stabbed him to the heart. It would have been
the same in any case, for Providence would never have allowed his guilty
hand to pick out anything but the poison.

"I have little more to say, and it's as well, for I am about done up.
I went on cabbing it for a day or so, intending to keep at it until I
could save enough to take me back to America. I was standing in the
yard when a ragged youngster asked if there was a cabby there called
Jefferson Hope, and said that his cab was wanted by a gentleman at 221B,
Baker Street. I went round, suspecting no harm, and the next thing I
knew, this young man here had the bracelets on my wrists, and as neatly
snackled [27] as ever I saw in my life. That's the whole of my story,
gentlemen. You may consider me to be a murderer; but I hold that I am
just as much an officer of justice as you are."

So thrilling had the man's narrative been, and his manner was so
impressive that we had sat silent and absorbed. Even the professional
detectives, _blase_ as they were in every detail of crime, appeared to
be keenly interested in the man's story. When he finished we sat for
some minutes in a stillness which was only broken by the scratching
of Lestrade's pencil as he gave the finishing touches to his shorthand
account.

"There is only one point on which I should like a little more
information," Sherlock Holmes said at last. "Who was your accomplice who
came for the ring which I advertised?"

The prisoner winked at my friend jocosely. "I can tell my own secrets,"
he said, "but I don't get other people into trouble. I saw your
advertisement, and I thought it might be a plant, or it might be the
ring which I wanted. My friend volunteered to go and see. I think you'll
own he did it smartly."

"Not a doubt of that," said Holmes heartily.

"Now, gentlemen," the Inspector remarked gravely, "the forms of the law
must be complied with. On Thursday the prisoner will be brought before
the magistrates, and your attendance will be required. Until then I will
be responsible for him." He rang the bell as he spoke, and Jefferson
Hope was led off by a couple of warders, while my friend and I made our
way out of the Station and took a cab back to Baker Street.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: Once the prisoner found himself powerless, he stopped resisting and told his captors that he would walk down to the cab and would willingly get in. The men were surprised at his attitude, as well as his massively, powerfully-built frame. The prisoner was brought to the police headquarters and the name of the prisoner was taken down. Jefferson Hope was informed he would be put before the magistrates in a week, but he could speak a few words now. Hope replied that he had many words to speak and did not need to wait until his trial. He said that he would not even be tried, which surprised his captors. Hope asked Watson to put his ear to his chest; the doctor listened and then burst out, "Why...you have an aortic aneurism!" Quite calmly, Hope acknowledged the truth of this, explaining that he got it from years of overexposure and underfeeding in the mountains and that he would no doubt be dead very soon. It was important to him to leave an account of his crimes so the world did not think him merely a "common cut-throat." With the assent of the inspector and detectives, Hope settled down to tell his tale. He spoke calmly and methodically, and Watson vouched for the validity of his own journal's accounting of this, as he had access to Lestrade's notebook. Hope explained that the two men were guilty of the deaths of a father and daughter. The statute of limitations had run out and they could never be held legally accountable for their actions. Thus, it was necessary for him to be "judge, jury, and executioner all rolled into one." Any other man would have done the same. The girl had been married to Drebber twenty-one years ago and died of a broken heart. Hope took her ring and viewed revenge. As the men he followed were rich and he was poor, this was not as easy as he had hoped. He followed them throughout London, but soon realized he needed a job to put money in his pockets. He knew driving and riding came naturally to him so he applied to be a cab-driver. He managed to scrape by on this small salary, soon learning all the roads and byways of the tangled city. To his delight he finally learned that Stangerson and Drebber were staying at a boardinghouse. They were still quite cunning, however, and must have surmised they were being followed, as they never went anywhere alone. While Drebber was a drunk, Stangerson was quite alert. One night while observing their street, Hope saw another cab stop at their house and both men got in with their luggage. They headed toward the train station and asked after a Liverpool train. Hope was pleased when the men learned they had just missed it. Drebber told Stangerson he had some business to do and that they should split up for the time being. Stangerson was unhappy at this suggestion but after an argument, this was what occurred. Hope was elated, for his moment of retribution had finally come. He could not be too precipitous, however, for "there is no satisfaction in vengeance unless the offender has time to realize who it is that strikes him, and why retribution has come upon him." Hope remembered that a few days previous a man who lived on Brixton Road had dropped a key in his cab and Hope had made a copy of it. The empty house would be perfect for the murder. Drebber came out of the bar where he was drinking, got into a cab, and proceeded back to the boardinghouse. Hope witnessed Drebber's altercation with Arthur, and then, stumbling into the street, got into Hope's cab. Hope was thrilled, but bided his time and took Drebber to the bar that he requested. Hope explained to his listeners that he was not planning on killing Drebber in cold blood, but that he had pills that he had formed himself from a poison he learned about while working as a janitor at a college. The pills would be a much better and less violent death for his enemies. When Drebber got back into the cab, besotted with drink, he did not even notice when Hope drove him to Brixton Road. Hope helped Drebber out and the two men went into the dark empty house, Hope lighting a candle he had brought. As soon as the match was struck Hope looked at Drebber and said "Now, Enoch Drebber...who am I?" Horror spread across Drebber's face when he recognized his foe. Hope was filled with contentment as the imminent revenge he had so long desired. He accused Drebber of Lucy's murder by broken heart and watched with pleasure as Drebber cowered in fear. Hope then told him that God would decide who was to be vindicated; he took out both pills and explained that one was poison and one was a placebo and that whichever one Drebber took, he would take the other. Drebber's cries for mercy did not avail him and he finally chose one of the pills. Fortunately for Hope, Drebber chose the poison and died within minutes, his face contorted. Hope had a bloody nose that he had not noticed while this was occurring, and to mislead and tease the police he wrote RACHE on the wall with a finger dipped in blood. He departed the house but was despondent to learn that somewhere along the way he had dropped the beloved ring. When he returned and saw the police he pretended to be drunk. As for Stangerson, Hope climbed up a ladder into his room. He told Stangerson to account for the deaths and put the same choice of pills to him. However, Stangerson attacked Hope and the latter was forced to stab him in self-defense. After the murders Hope continued to drive the cab for a few days. One day a young street boy came up to him and told him a Sherlock Holmes requested his cab at 221B Baker Street. Thinking nothing of this, Hope went to the address. That was the end of his tale. It was told in such a fashion that all the listeners were left dumbstruck and silent at its close. Holmes finally asked who Hope's accomplice was who had come to pick up the ring, but Hope smiled and said he would not get his friend into trouble. Holmes agreed with Hope that the friend had behaved quite smartly. The conversation was finally ended when the inspector said it was time to comply with the forms of the law and put Jefferson Hope into prison. Holmes and Watson returned to Baker Street.


prompt:
Chapter: WE had all been warned to appear before the magistrates upon the
Thursday; but when the Thursday came there was no occasion for our
testimony. A higher Judge had taken the matter in hand, and Jefferson
Hope had been summoned before a tribunal where strict justice would
be meted out to him. On the very night after his capture the aneurism
burst, and he was found in the morning stretched upon the floor of the
cell, with a placid smile upon his face, as though he had been able
in his dying moments to look back upon a useful life, and on work well
done.

"Gregson and Lestrade will be wild about his death," Holmes remarked, as
we chatted it over next evening. "Where will their grand advertisement
be now?"

"I don't see that they had very much to do with his capture," I
answered.

"What you do in this world is a matter of no consequence," returned my
companion, bitterly. "The question is, what can you make people believe
that you have done. Never mind," he continued, more brightly, after a
pause. "I would not have missed the investigation for anything. There
has been no better case within my recollection. Simple as it was, there
were several most instructive points about it."

"Simple!" I ejaculated.

"Well, really, it can hardly be described as otherwise," said Sherlock
Holmes, smiling at my surprise. "The proof of its intrinsic simplicity
is, that without any help save a few very ordinary deductions I was able
to lay my hand upon the criminal within three days."

"That is true," said I.

"I have already explained to you that what is out of the common is
usually a guide rather than a hindrance. In solving a problem of this
sort, the grand thing is to be able to reason backwards. That is a very
useful accomplishment, and a very easy one, but people do not practise
it much. In the every-day affairs of life it is more useful to reason
forwards, and so the other comes to be neglected. There are fifty who
can reason synthetically for one who can reason analytically."

"I confess," said I, "that I do not quite follow you."

"I hardly expected that you would. Let me see if I can make it clearer.
Most people, if you describe a train of events to them, will tell you
what the result would be. They can put those events together in their
minds, and argue from them that something will come to pass. There are
few people, however, who, if you told them a result, would be able to
evolve from their own inner consciousness what the steps were which led
up to that result. This power is what I mean when I talk of reasoning
backwards, or analytically."

"I understand," said I.

"Now this was a case in which you were given the result and had to
find everything else for yourself. Now let me endeavour to show you the
different steps in my reasoning. To begin at the beginning. I approached
the house, as you know, on foot, and with my mind entirely free from all
impressions. I naturally began by examining the roadway, and there, as I
have already explained to you, I saw clearly the marks of a cab, which,
I ascertained by inquiry, must have been there during the night. I
satisfied myself that it was a cab and not a private carriage by the
narrow gauge of the wheels. The ordinary London growler is considerably
less wide than a gentleman's brougham.

"This was the first point gained. I then walked slowly down the garden
path, which happened to be composed of a clay soil, peculiarly suitable
for taking impressions. No doubt it appeared to you to be a mere
trampled line of slush, but to my trained eyes every mark upon its
surface had a meaning. There is no branch of detective science which
is so important and so much neglected as the art of tracing footsteps.
Happily, I have always laid great stress upon it, and much practice
has made it second nature to me. I saw the heavy footmarks of the
constables, but I saw also the track of the two men who had first passed
through the garden. It was easy to tell that they had been before the
others, because in places their marks had been entirely obliterated by
the others coming upon the top of them. In this way my second link was
formed, which told me that the nocturnal visitors were two in number,
one remarkable for his height (as I calculated from the length of his
stride), and the other fashionably dressed, to judge from the small and
elegant impression left by his boots.

"On entering the house this last inference was confirmed. My well-booted
man lay before me. The tall one, then, had done the murder, if murder
there was. There was no wound upon the dead man's person, but the
agitated expression upon his face assured me that he had foreseen his
fate before it came upon him. Men who die from heart disease, or any
sudden natural cause, never by any chance exhibit agitation upon their
features. Having sniffed the dead man's lips I detected a slightly sour
smell, and I came to the conclusion that he had had poison forced upon
him. Again, I argued that it had been forced upon him from the hatred
and fear expressed upon his face. By the method of exclusion, I had
arrived at this result, for no other hypothesis would meet the facts.
Do not imagine that it was a very unheard of idea. The forcible
administration of poison is by no means a new thing in criminal annals.
The cases of Dolsky in Odessa, and of Leturier in Montpellier, will
occur at once to any toxicologist.

"And now came the great question as to the reason why. Robbery had not
been the object of the murder, for nothing was taken. Was it politics,
then, or was it a woman? That was the question which confronted me.
I was inclined from the first to the latter supposition. Political
assassins are only too glad to do their work and to fly. This murder
had, on the contrary, been done most deliberately, and the perpetrator
had left his tracks all over the room, showing that he had been there
all the time. It must have been a private wrong, and not a political
one, which called for such a methodical revenge. When the inscription
was discovered upon the wall I was more inclined than ever to my
opinion. The thing was too evidently a blind. When the ring was found,
however, it settled the question. Clearly the murderer had used it to
remind his victim of some dead or absent woman. It was at this point
that I asked Gregson whether he had enquired in his telegram to
Cleveland as to any particular point in Mr. Drebber's former career. He
answered, you remember, in the negative.

"I then proceeded to make a careful examination of the room, which
confirmed me in my opinion as to the murderer's height, and furnished me
with the additional details as to the Trichinopoly cigar and the length
of his nails. I had already come to the conclusion, since there were no
signs of a struggle, that the blood which covered the floor had burst
from the murderer's nose in his excitement. I could perceive that the
track of blood coincided with the track of his feet. It is seldom that
any man, unless he is very full-blooded, breaks out in this way through
emotion, so I hazarded the opinion that the criminal was probably a
robust and ruddy-faced man. Events proved that I had judged correctly.

"Having left the house, I proceeded to do what Gregson had neglected. I
telegraphed to the head of the police at Cleveland, limiting my enquiry
to the circumstances connected with the marriage of Enoch Drebber. The
answer was conclusive. It told me that Drebber had already applied for
the protection of the law against an old rival in love, named Jefferson
Hope, and that this same Hope was at present in Europe. I knew now that
I held the clue to the mystery in my hand, and all that remained was to
secure the murderer.

"I had already determined in my own mind that the man who had walked
into the house with Drebber, was none other than the man who had driven
the cab. The marks in the road showed me that the horse had wandered
on in a way which would have been impossible had there been anyone in
charge of it. Where, then, could the driver be, unless he were inside
the house? Again, it is absurd to suppose that any sane man would carry
out a deliberate crime under the very eyes, as it were, of a third
person, who was sure to betray him. Lastly, supposing one man wished
to dog another through London, what better means could he adopt than
to turn cabdriver. All these considerations led me to the irresistible
conclusion that Jefferson Hope was to be found among the jarveys of the
Metropolis.

"If he had been one there was no reason to believe that he had ceased to
be. On the contrary, from his point of view, any sudden change would be
likely to draw attention to himself. He would, probably, for a time at
least, continue to perform his duties. There was no reason to suppose
that he was going under an assumed name. Why should he change his name
in a country where no one knew his original one? I therefore organized
my Street Arab detective corps, and sent them systematically to every
cab proprietor in London until they ferreted out the man that I wanted.
How well they succeeded, and how quickly I took advantage of it, are
still fresh in your recollection. The murder of Stangerson was an
incident which was entirely unexpected, but which could hardly in
any case have been prevented. Through it, as you know, I came into
possession of the pills, the existence of which I had already surmised.
You see the whole thing is a chain of logical sequences without a break
or flaw."

"It is wonderful!" I cried. "Your merits should be publicly recognized.
You should publish an account of the case. If you won't, I will for
you."

"You may do what you like, Doctor," he answered. "See here!" he
continued, handing a paper over to me, "look at this!"

It was the _Echo_ for the day, and the paragraph to which he pointed was
devoted to the case in question.

"The public," it said, "have lost a sensational treat through the sudden
death of the man Hope, who was suspected of the murder of Mr. Enoch
Drebber and of Mr. Joseph Stangerson. The details of the case will
probably be never known now, though we are informed upon good authority
that the crime was the result of an old standing and romantic feud, in
which love and Mormonism bore a part. It seems that both the victims
belonged, in their younger days, to the Latter Day Saints, and Hope, the
deceased prisoner, hails also from Salt Lake City. If the case has had
no other effect, it, at least, brings out in the most striking manner
the efficiency of our detective police force, and will serve as a lesson
to all foreigners that they will do wisely to settle their feuds at
home, and not to carry them on to British soil. It is an open secret
that the credit of this smart capture belongs entirely to the well-known
Scotland Yard officials, Messrs. Lestrade and Gregson. The man was
apprehended, it appears, in the rooms of a certain Mr. Sherlock Holmes,
who has himself, as an amateur, shown some talent in the detective
line, and who, with such instructors, may hope in time to attain to some
degree of their skill. It is expected that a testimonial of some sort
will be presented to the two officers as a fitting recognition of their
services."

"Didn't I tell you so when we started?" cried Sherlock Holmes with a
laugh. "That's the result of all our Study in Scarlet: to get them a
testimonial!"

"Never mind," I answered, "I have all the facts in my journal, and the
public shall know them. In the meantime you must make yourself contented
by the consciousness of success, like the Roman miser--

            "'Populus me sibilat, at mihi plaudo
       Ipse domi simul ac nummos contemplor in arca.'"

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: Jefferson Hope's aneurism burst that evening; he was found in his cell, dead, with a placid expression upon his face. After a few pensive moments following the news, Holmes brightened and commenced explaining to Watson how he had put the pieces of the case together and found the murderer within three days. His skill centered upon being able to reason backwards rather than look at a chain of events and predict what they would lead to. The latter was a common skill but reasoning backwards was very rare and quite useful indeed. In this case Holmes put this strategy to effect. When Holmes first arrived at the murder scene he noted the marks of a cab and deduced that it was there during the night. The footsteps in the yard revealed two men -one that was very tall and one that was fashionably dressed . Inside, the well-dressed one was found dead. Holmes smelled poison upon him and saw that his contorted face was a result of the poison. This crime was not committed for robbery, so it must have been political or for a woman. Political motivation was soon dropped, for "political assassins are glad to do their work and then fly." This must have been a private matter, not a public one. The word in blood on the wall was no doubt a blind. The ring of course answered the question, especially when Holmes learned the man came back for it. Looking around the room at the clues Holmes learned more about the murderer. After he left he telephoned Cleveland and asked about a marriage of Enoch Drebber. He learned that Drebber had once invoked the protection of the law against a Jefferson Hope, a "rival in love" who was now in Europe as well. The man in the cab was no doubt Jefferson Hope; being a cab driver was an excellent way to follow someone in London. Hope would not want to draw attention to himself by leaving his profession right away, so he would continue to drive the cab for a few days. Holmes sent his street urchin gang to every cab proprietor in London until he found the one Hope worked for. The murder of Stangerson was unforeseen, but could hardly have been prevented. Through that he came into contact with the pills. Watson warmly lauded Holmes for his detective prowess and encouraged him to publish an account of the case. Holmes told Watson he could do as he pleased and handed him the paper. In it was a paragraph about the case they had just solved. The paper lamented that the true facts of the case may never be known because of Hope's death, but that "we are informed upon good authority that the crime was the result of an old-standing and romantic feud, in which love and Mormonism bore a part." It said Lestrade and Gregson were responsible for the capture, and that an amateur named Sherlock Holmes helped and might someday "attain to some degree of their skill." Holmes laughed at that, and reminded Watson of when they started this whole affair he had warned him of this -"that's the result of all our Study in Scarlet; to get them a testimonial!" Watson told him that he had all of the facts in his journal and would make them known to the public. In the meantime he should remember the Latin words of the Roman miser that said "the public hiss at me, but I cheer myself when in my own house I contemplate the coins in my strong-box."