The Darlington news. (Darlington, S.C.) 1875-1909, May 17, 1894, Image 3
A.- dot*:
CHAPTER I—(Continued
The younff hunter’s oarn race grtvt
bo gloomy over this remark that Lucy
Ferrler laughed aloud.
“There, I didn’t mean that,” she said; I
“of course, you are a friend now. You
must come and see us. Now I must
push along, or father won’t trust me
with his business any more. Oood-by!”
"Good-by," he answered, raising his
broad sombrero, and bending over her
little hand. She wheeled her mustang
round, gave it a cut with her riding-
whip, and darted away down the broad
road in a rolling cloud of dust.
Young Jefferson Hope rode on with
his companions, gloomy and taciturn.
He and they had been among the Ne
vada mountains prospecting for silver,
and were returning to Salt Lake City
in the hope of raising capital enough
to work some lodes which they
had discovered. He had been as keen
as any of them upon the business until
this sudden incident had drawn his
thoughts into another channel. The
sight of the fair young girl, as frank
and wholesome as the Sierra breezes,
had stirred his volcanic, untamed heart
to its very depths. When she had van
ished from his sight, he realized that a
crisis had come in his life, and that
neither silver speculations nor any
other questions could ever be of such
importance to him as this new and all- ,
absorbing one. The love which had
sprung up in his heart was not the sud
den, changeable fancy of a boy, but
rather the wild, fierce passion of a man
of strong will and imperious temper, i
He had been accustomed to succeed in ;
ail that he undertook. He swore in ^
his heart he would not fail in this if j
human effort and human perseverance
could render him successful.
He called on John Kerrierthat night,
and many times again until his face
was a familiar one at the farmhouse.
John, cooped up in the valley, and ab
sorbed in his work, had little chance of
learning the news of the outside world
during the last twelve years. All this
Jefferson Hope was able to tell him,
and in a style which interested Lucy
as well as her father. He had been a
pioneer in California, and could nar
rate many a strange tale of fortunes
made and fortunes lost in those wild,
halojron days He had been a scout,
too, and a trapper, a silver explorer
and a ranchman. Wherever stirring
adventures were to be had, Jefferson
Hope had been there in search of them.
Ho soon became a favorite with the
farmer, who spoke eloquently of his
virtues. On such occasions Lucy was
silent, but her blushing cheek and her
bright, happy eyes showed only too
clearly that her young heart was no
longer her own. Her honest father,
may not have observed these symptoms, !
but they were assuredly not thrown ;
away upon the man who had won her
affeotions.
It was a summer evening when he ;
came galloping down the road and :
pulled up at the gate. She was at the
doorway, and came down to meet him. I
He threw the bridle over the fence and
strode up the pathway.
“I am off, Lucy,” he said, taking her
two hands in his and gazing tenderly
down into her face; “I won't ask you
to come with me now, but will you be
ready to come when I am here again?”
“And when will that be?” she asked,
blushing and laughing.
“A, couple of months at the outside.
I will come and claim you then, my
MX WAS BTII.I. SITTISO WITH
BOWS OS U1S USEES.
darling. There’s no one who can
stand between us.”
“And how about father?"
“He has given his consent, provided
we get these mines working all right.
1 have no fear on that head.”
“Oh, well, of course, if you and fa
ther have arranged it, there’s no more
to be said,” she whispered, with her
cheek against his broad breast.
"Thank OodI” he said, hoarsely,
stooping and kissing her. “It is set
tled then. The longer I stay, the
harder it will be to go. They are wait
ing for me at the canyon. Oood-by,
my own darling—good-by. In two
months you shal) see me.”
He tore himself from her as he spoke,
and, flinging himself upon his horse,
galloped furiously away, never even
looking round, as though afraid that
his resolution might fail him if he took
one glance at what he was leaving.
She stood at the gate, gazing after
him until he vanished from her sight.
Then she walked bock into the house,
the happiest girl in all Utah.
, CHAPTER III
row rzaarza talks with ths raornar.
Three weeks had passed since Jeffer
son Hope and his comrades had depart
ed from Salt Lake City. John Ferrier's
heart nas sore within him when he
thought of the young man’s return,
and of the impending loss of his adopt
ed child. Yet her bright and happy
face reconciled him to the arrangement
more than any argument could have
done. He had always determined,
deep down in his resolute heart, that
nothing would ever Induce him to
allow his daughter to wed a Mormon.
Such a marriage he regarded as no
marriage at all, but as a shame and a
disgrace. Whatever be might think of
the Mormon doctrines, upon that one
point he was inflexible. He had to
seal his mouth on the subject, however,
for to express an orthodox opinion was
a dangerous matter in those days in
Land of the Saints.
Yes, a dangerous matter—so danger
ous that even the most saintly dared
only whisper their religious opinions
with bated breath, lest something
which fell from their lips might be
misconstrued, and bring down a swift
retribution upon them. The victims
of persecution had now turned perse
cutors on their own account, and per
secutors of the most terrible descrip
tion. Not the Inquisition of Seville,
nor the German Vehmgericht, nor the
secret societies of Italy, were ever able
to put a more formidable machinery in
motion than that which cast a cloud
over the territory of Utah.
Its invisibility, and the mystery
which was attached to it, made this
organization doubly terrible. It ap
peared to be omniscient and omnipo
tent, and yet was neither seen nor
heard. The man who held out against
the church vanished away, and none
knew whither he had gone or what had
befallen him. His wife and children
awaited him at home, but no father
ever returned to tell them how he had
fared at the hands of his secret judges.
A rash word or a hasty act was fol
lowed by annihilation, and yet none
knew what the nature might be of this
terrible power which was suspended
over them. No wonder that men went
about in fear and trembling, and that
even in the heart of the wilderness
they dared not whisper the doubts
which oppressed them.
At first this vague and terrible power
was exercised only upon the recalci
trants, who, having embraced the
Mormon faith, wished afterward to
pervert or to abandon it. Soon, how
ever, it took a wider range. The sup
ply of adult women was running short,
and polygamy, without a female popu
lation on which to draw, was a barren
doctrine indeed. Strange rumors be
gan to be bandied about—rumors of
murdered immigrants and rifled camps
in regions where Indians had never
been seen. Fresh women appeared in
the harems of the elders—women who
pined and wept, and bore upon their
faces the traces of unextinguishable
horror. Belated wanderers upon the
mountains spoke of gangs of armed
men. masked, stealthy, and noiselesa,
who flitted by them in the darkness,
These tales and rumors took substance
and shape, and were corroborated and
re-eorroborated until they resolved
themselves into a definite name. To
this day, in the lonely ranches of the
west, the name of the Danite Baud, or
the Avenging Angels, is a sinister and
ill-omened one.
Fuller knowledge of the organiza
tion which produced such terrible re
sults served to increase rather than to
lesson the horror which it inspired in
the minds of men. None knew who
belonged to this ruthless society. The
names of the participators in the deeds
of blood and violence, done under the
name of religion, were kept profound
ly secret. The very friend to whom
you communicated your misgivings as
to the prophet and his mission might
be one of those who would come forth
at night with fire and sword to exact a
terrible reparation. Hence, every man
fcarad his neighbor, and none spoke
of tfca things which were nearest his
heart.
One fine morning, John Ferrier was
about to set out to his wheat-fields,
when he heard the click of the latch,
and, looking through the window, saw
a stout, sandy-haired, middle-aged
man coming up the pathway. His
heart leaped to his mouth, for this was
none other than the great Brigham
Y'oung himself. Full of trepidation—
for he knew that such a visit boded
him little good—Ferrier ran to the
door to greet the Mormon chief. The
latter, however, received his salutation
coldly, and followed him with a stern
face into the sitting-room.
"Brother Ferrier,” he said, taking a
seat, and eyeing tAe farmer keenly
from under his light-colored eyelashes,
“the true believers have lieen good
friends to you. We picked you up
when you were starving in the desert,
we shared our food with you, led you
safe to the chosen valley, gave you a
goodly share of land, and allowed you
to wax rich under our protection. Is
not this so?”
“It is so,” answered John Ferrier.
“In return for all this we asked but
one condition; that was that you
should ambrace the true faith, and
conform in every way to its usages.
This you promised to do; and this, if
common report says truly, you have
neglected.”
“And how have I neglected it?”
asked Ferrier, throwing out his hands
in expostulation. “Have I not given
to the common fund? Have I not at
tended at the temple? Have I not—”
“Where are your wives?" asked
Yonng, looking round him. “Call
them in. that I may greet them."
“It is true that l have not mr., ried,"
Ferrier answered. “But women were
few, and there were many who had
better claims than I. I was not a lone-
| ly man; I had my daughter to attend
to my wants."
“It is of that daughter that I would
speak to you,” sai l the leader of the
Mormons "She has grown to be the
flower of Utah and has found favor in
the eyes of many who are high in the
land.”
John Ferrier groaned internally.
“There are stories of her which I
would fain disbelieve—stories that she
is sealed to some Gentile. This must be
the gossip of idle tongues. What is
the thirteenth rule in the code of the
sainted Joseph Smith? ’Let every maid
en of the true faith marry one of the
elect; for if she wed a Gentile she oon^
mlts a grievous sin.’ This being so it is
impossible that you, who profess the
holy creed, should suffer your daughter
to violate it,"
John Ferrier made no answer, but
he played nervously with his riding
whip. . ,
“Upon this one point your whole
faith shall be tested-so it has been
decided in the sacred council of four.
The girl la young, and we wguld not
have her tfed gfay hairs; neither woum
we deprive her of all choice. We elders
have many heifers [Heber C. Kimball,
in one of his sermons, alludes to his
hundred wives under this endearing
epithet], but our children must also be
provided. Stangerson has a son, and
Drebber has a son, and either of them
would gladly welcome your daughter
to theh- house. Let her choose be
tween them. They are young and rich,
and of the true faith. What say you
to that?”
Ferrier remained silent for some
little time, with his brows knitted.
“You will give us time,” he said, at
last. “My daughter is very young—
she is scarce of an age to marry."
“She shall have a month to choose,”
said Young, rising from his seat “At
the end of that time she shall give her
answer.”
He was passing through the door,
when he turned, with flushed face and
flashing eyes. “It were better foryou,
John Ferrier,” he thundered, “that you
and she were now lying blanched skel
etons upon the Sierra Blanco, than
that you should put your weak wills
against the orders of the Holy Four!"
With a threatening gesture of his
hand he turned from the door, and
Ferrier heard his heavy step scrunch
ing along the shingly path.
He was still sitting with his elbows
upon his knees, considering how he
should broach the matter to his daugh
ter, when a soft hand was laid upon
his, and looking up he saw her stand
ing beside him. One glance at her pale,
frightened face showed him that she
had heard what had passed.
“I could not help it,” she said, in an
swer to his look. “Uls voice rang
through the house. 0 father, father,
what shall we do?”
“Don’t you scare yourself,” he an
swered, drawing her to him, and pass
ing his broad, rough hand caressingly
over her chestnut hair. “We’ll fix it
up somehow or another. Yon don't And
your fancy kind o’ lessening for this
chap, do yon?”
A sob and a squeeze of his hand were
her only answer.
“No; of course not. I shouldn't care
to hear you say you did. fle's a likely
lad, and he's a Christian, which la more
than these folk here, in spite o’ all
their praying and preachings There's
a party starting far Nevada to-morrow,
and I 11 manage to aend him a message
letting him know the hole we are in.
If I know anything o' that young man,
he'll be back here with a speed that
would whip electro-telegraphs.”
Lucy laughed through her tears at
her father's description.
“When he comes, he will uJvise us
for the best. But It is for yon that I
am frightened, dear. One hears—one
hears such dreadful stories about those
who oppose the prophet; something
terrible always happens to them."
“But we haven't opposed him yet,"
her father answered. “It will be time
to look out for squalls when we do.
We have a clear month before us; at
the end of that, I guess we had best
shin out of Utah.”
"Leave Utah?”
“That's abont the size of It."
“But the farm?”
“We will raise as much as we can In
money and let the rest go. To tell the
truth, Lucy, it isn’t the first time I
have thought of doing it. I don’t care
about knuckling under to any man, as
these folk do to their darned prophet.
I'm a free-born American, and it's all
new to me. Guess I'm too old to learn.
If he comes browsing about this farm,
he might chance to run up against a
charge of buckshot traveling in the op
posite direction.”
“But they won't let us leave,” his
daugher objected.
“Wait till Jefferson comes, and we’ll
■oon manage that. In the meantime,
don’t yon fret yourself, my dearie, and
don’t get your eyes swelled up, else
he'll be walking into me when he aees
yoa. There's nothing to be afeard
about, and there’s no dangw at all."
John Ferrier uttered these consoling
remarks in a very confident tone, but
she could not help observing that he
paid nnusual care to the fastening of
the doors that night, and that he care
fully cleaned and loaded the rnsty old
shotgun which hung upon the wall of
his bedroom.
CHAPTER IV.
A FLIGHT FOB I .ITS
On the morning which followed hla
Interview with the Mormon prophet,
John Ferrier went into Salt Lake City,
and having found his acquaintance,
who was bound for the Nevada moun
tains, he intrusted him with hia mes
sage to Jefferson Hope. In it he told
the young man of the imminent dan
ger 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 light
er heart.
As he approached hia 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 pcesession of
his sitting-room. One, with a long,
pale face, was leaning back In the
rocking-chair, with hia feet cocked
upon the stove. The other, a bull-
necked youth with coarse, bloated fea
tures, was standing In front of the
window with his hands in his pockets,
whistling a popular hymn. Both of
them nodded to Ferrier as he entered,
and the one in the rocking-chair com-
menced the conversation.
“Maybe you don't know us,” he said.
“This here is the son of Elder Drebber,
and I'm Joseph Stangeraon, who trav
eled with you in the desert when the
Lord stretched out His hand and gath
ered 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 Stonges
son, “at the advice of our fathera, to
aolicit 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 Stangeraon,"
cried the other; "the question is po\
how many wives we have, but how
many we can keep. My father has
now given over his mills to we, 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
hla own reflection is Uto "We
will leave it all to her decision. -
During this dialogue, John Ferrier
had stood fuming in the doorway,
hardly able to keep hia riding-whip
from the backs of his two vial tors.
“Look here,” he said at last strid
ing up to them, “when my daughter
summons you, you can come; but until
then, I don't waat to see your faces
again.’’
The two young Mormons stared at
him in amazement. In their eyes this
competition between them for the
maiden’e hand was the highest of
honors both to her and her father.
“There are two ways out of the
room,” cried Ferrier: “there is the door,
and there is the window. Which do
you care to use?"
His brown face looked so savage, and
his gaunt hands so threatening, that
his visitors sprang to their feet and
beat a hurried retreat The old farmer
followed them to the door.
“I^t me know when you have
settled which it la to be,” he said
sardonically.
“THEBE ARE TWO WATS OUT OT THE
BOOH,” CRIED FEBKIER.
“You shall smart for this!” Stanger-
son cried, white with rage. “You
have defied the prophet and the coun
cil of four. You shall rue It to the end
of your days."
“The hand of the Lord shall be
heavy upon you,” cried young Dreb
ber; “He will arise and smite yon!”
“Then I’ll start the smiting," ex
claimed Ferrier furiously, and would
have rushed upstairs for his gun had
not Lucy seised him by the arm and
restrained him. Before he eculd
escape from her, the clatter of horse’s
hoofs told him that they were beyond
his reach.
“The yonng canting rascal.,!" he ex
claimed. wiping the perspiration from
his forehead. “I would sooner see yon
in your grave, my girl, than the wife of
either of them.”
“And so should I, father,” she an
swered. 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 some
one capable ef 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 pun
ished so sternly, what would be the
fate of this arch rebel? Ferrier knew
that hia 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 s brave man, but he trembled at
the vague, shadowy terrors which
hung over him. Any known danger he
could face with a firm lip, bnt this sus
pense 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 bis conduct, and he was
not mistaken, though it came In
an unlooked-for manner. Upon rising
next morning he found, to his sur
prise. a small square of paper pinned
on to the coverlet of hia bed, just over
his chest. On it was printed in bold,
straggling letters:
“TWK.NTV-HIRE DAT* ABE OIVEM TOU
WOK AMENDMENT, AND THEN—”
The dash was more fear-inspiring
than any threat could have been.
How this warning came into hia room
puzzled John Ferrier sorely, for his
servants slapt in an outhouse, and the
doors and windows had all been se
cured. 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 cour
age 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 morn
ing. They had sat down to their
breakfast when Lucy, with a cry of
surprise, pointed upward. In the cen
ter of the ceiling was scrawled, with a
burned stick, apparently, the number
38. To hla daughter it was unin
telligible, and he did not enlighten
her. That night be sat up with his
gun and kept watch and ward. He
saw and heard nothing, and yet in the
morning a great 37 had been painted
upon the outside of his door.
Thus day followed day; and as sure
as morning came he found that his un
seen enemies had kept their register,
and had marked np in some conspicu
ous 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 Feijier could not discover whence
these daily warnings proceeded. A
horror, which was almost supersti
tious, came upon him at the sight of
them. He became haggard and rest
less, and hla eyes had the troubled
look of some haunted 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 tq ten; hut there wea no news
of the absentee. One by one the num
bers dwindled down, and still there
came no sign at him. Whenever n
horseman clattered down the road or a
driver shouted at hla 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 hia limited klowledge
of the mountains which surrounded the
settlement, he knew that he was pow-
leis. The more frequented roads ware
etriettr watched and guarded, and
none eould pass along tnem wunont
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 pert with life Itaelf
before he consented to whet he re
garded as his daughter's dishonor.
He was sitting alone one evening
pondering deeply over his troubles,
and tearchlng vainly for some way oift
of them. That morning had shown
the figure 3 upon the wall of his
house, and the next day would be the
last of the allotted timq. What was
to happen then? All manner of vague
and terrible fancies filled his imagina
tion. And his daughter—what was to
become of her after he was gone?
Was there no escape from the invisi
ble 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. Some
one was evidently topping very gently
upon one of the panels of the door.
Was it some midnight assassin who
had come to rarry out the murderous
order of the secret tribunal? Or was
it some agent who was marking uf)
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
hesrt. 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; hut 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 lylrg
flat upon his face upon the ground,
with arms and legs sill asprawL
So unnerved was he at the sight
that he Isaned up against the wall with
his hand to his throat to stifle his in
clination 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 grouml and into the halt with the
rapidity and noiselessness of a serpent.
Once within the house the man sprang
to his feet, closed the door and re
vealed to the astonished farmer the
fierce and resolute expression of Jeffer
son Hope.
“Good God!" gasped John Ferrier.
“How yon scared me! Whatever made
you come in like that?”
“Give me food,” the other said,
hoarsely. “1 have had no time for bite
or sup for eight-and-forty hours." He
flung himself upon the cold meat and
bread which were still lying upon the
table from his host's supper, and de
voured it voraciously. “Does Lucy
bear up well?" he asked, when he had
satisfied his hunger.
“Yes. She does not know the dan
ger,” 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 he 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 de
voted ally. He seized the young man's
leathery hand aad wrung it cordially.
“You’re a man to be proud of,” he said.
“There are not many who would come,
to share eur 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 hornets’ neat.
It's Lucy that brings me here, and be
fore harm comes on her I guess there
will be one less o’ the Hop* family in
Utah."
“What are we to do?”
“To-morrow is your last day, and un
less 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.”
"Thatwilldo. I have as mnch more to
add to It. We must push for Carson City
through the mountains. Yon had best
wake Lucy. It is as well that the serv
ants do not sleep in the house.”
While Ferrier was absent preparing
his daughter for the approaching jour
ney, Jefferson Hope packed all the eat
ables that he could find into a small
parcel, and filled a stoneware ]ar 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 re
turned 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.
“Wa must make onr start at once,”
said Jefferson Hope, speaking in a low
but resolute voice, like one who
realises the greatness of the peril, but
has steeled hla heart to meet It. "The
front and back entrances are watched,
but with cantioa we may get away
through the aide window and across
the fields. Once on the rood, 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 dark
ened window Ferrier peered over the
fields which had been his own, and
which he was now about to aban
don forever. He had long nerved him
self to the sacrifice, however, and the
thought of the honor and happiness
of his daughter outweighed any regret
»t hia ruined fortunes. All looked sc
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 hnatei
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
Botes. Jefferson Hope had the scanty
provisions and water, while Lucy had
the small bundle containing a few of
her more valued possessions. Opening
the window very slowly and carefully,,
they waited until a dark cloud had
eomewhaA obeeured the alghU end
then one by one peseefl through into
the llttlu 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
cornfield. They had just reached this
point when the young man seized his
two companions and dragged them
down into the shadow, where they lay
silent and trembling.
It was as well that his prairie train
ing had given Jefferson Hope the ears
ot a lynx. Me and his friends hsc
hardly crouched down before the mel
ancholy hooting of a mountain owl
was heanl 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 lieen making, and uttered the
plaintive signal cry again, on which a
second man appeared out of the ob
scurity.
“To-morrow at raidnight," said the
first, who appeared to be in authority.
"When the whippoorwill calls three
times.”
“It is well.” returned the other.
“Shall l tell Brother Drebber?”
“Fass it on to him, and from him to
the others. Nino 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 ol
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
tke fields at full 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 de
pends 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 recogni
tion. Before reaching the town the
hunter branched away into a ragged
and narrow footpath which led to the
mountains. Two dark, jagged peaks
loomed abevc them through the dark
ness. and the defile which led between
them was the Eagle canyon in which
the horses were awaiting them. With
unerring instinct Jefferson Hope
picked his way among the great
bowlders and along the bud of a dried-
up vater-course, until he came to the
retired corner, screened with rocks,
where ths 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 paths.
It was a bewildering route for any
one 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 bowlders
and debris ma le all advance impossi
ble. Between the two ran the irregu
lar track, so narrow in places that
they had to travel in Indian file, and sc
rougli that only practiced riders could
have traversed it at all. Yet, in spite
of all dangersundjlitllculties,the hearts
of the fugitives were light within them,
for every step increased the distance
between them and the terrible despot
ism from which thev were flying.
[TO BE CONTINUED.]
pHARLESTON, SUMTER AND
NORTHERN RAILROAD
CHARLES E. KIMBALL Receiver
XU
NORTH.
acuk O nu.
SOUTH.
1
2
AM.
P.M.
Lv 7.80
Charleston
8.45 ArJI
8.40
Pregnall’s
7.27
10.47
Sumter
5.27
12.05
Darlington
4.12
12 56
Bennettsville 8.21
1.20
Gibson
2.57
1.47
Hamlet
2.80
Ar 6.00
Raleigh
10.15 Lv
P.M.
P.M.
No. 1 connnects with
Seaboard
Air Line at Hamlet for Raleigh
Wilmington, Charlotte, Shel
by, Routherfordton ;aiul at Charlotte
with R. & D. Vestibule Limited for
Washington and New York. I’asseu-
gers can take sleepers at Charlotte at
8 :39 p. m.
No. 3 passengers by this train have
through Sleepers. New York to Char
lotte, connects with 8. A. L. at Ham
let from Charlotte, Raleigh and
North, and from Wilmington, con
nects with 8. C. Rv. at Pregualls for
Charleston, Columbia, Augusta aud
the West. Dinner at Hamlet.
C. MILLARD, Superintendent.
C & D. and C. Si 8. RAILROADS.
. In effect Dec 8, 1893.
Through Passenger Train.
Leave Wadesboro 4.30 a m
Bennett's 4.51am
Morven’s 5.04 a in
McFarland 5 17 a m
Cheraw 6.00 a in
Cash's 6.13 a m
Society Hill 6.26 a m
Dove's 6.44 a m
Floyd’s 6.49 a m
Darlington 7.00 a m
Palmetto 7.11 a ra
Arrive Florence 7.35 a m
Leave Florence 7.15 p in
Palmetto 7.38 p in
Darlington 7.38 p in
Floyd’s 7.50 p m
Dove's 7 55 p m
Society Hill 8 13 p m
Cash’s 8.37 p m
Cheraw 8.50 p tu
McFarland 9.18 p in'
Morven’s 9.39 p m
Bennett’s 9.54 p m
Arrive Wadesboro 10.15 p m
Freight Train.
Leave Florence 7.30 a m
Darlington 8.40 a m
Arrive Cheiaw 11.30 a m
Leave Cheraw 1.00 p m
Darlington 4.00 p m
Arrive Florence 6.00 p m
A. F. RAVENEL, President.
N
ORTHEASTERN RAILROAD.
In effect Jan. 11, 1894.
Bucklen's Arnica Salve.
The Best Salve in the world
for Cuts, Bruises, Sores. Ulcers,
Salt Rheum, Fever Sores, Tetter,
Chapped Hands Chilblains,
Corns, and all Skin Eruptions,
and positively cures Piles, or no
pay required. It is guaranteed
to give perfect satisfaction, or
money refunded. Price 25 cents
per box. For sale at Willcox &
Go’s drugstore.
SOUTH BOUND.
No. 61
Leave Florence
7.45 a m
Kingstree
Lanes
9.20 a m
Arrive Charleston
No. 85.
Leave Florence
3.37 a m
Lanes
4.52 a m
Arrive Charleston
6.50 a m
No. 28.
Leave Florence
Kingstree
8.37 p m
lanes
9.00 p m
Arrive Charleston
.11.00 p m
No. 53.
Leave lanes
7.05 p m
Arrive Charleston
8.45 p m
Train on C. A D. R. R. connects at
Florence with No. 61 Train.
NORTH BOUND.
No. 78.
Leave Charleston
. 3.35 a m
Lanes
5.30 a m
Kingstree
5 52 a m
Arrive Florence
7.10 a m
No. 60
Leave Charleston
. 5.00 p m
Lanes
Kingstree
7.25 p w
Arrive Florence
No. 14.
Leave Charleston
8.80 p m
Lanes
5.29 p m
Kingstree
5.45 p m
Arrive Florence
6.45 p m
No. 52.
Leave Charleston
7.00 a m
Arrive Lanes
Every Man
A Capitalist. *
You can become a capitalist at
once by laying by a small part ol
your yearly income and invest-
ing it in a Tontine policy of the
Equitable Life
For $20 you can instantly se
cure a capital of $i ,ooo (or for
$200 a capital of $io,ooo), thus
acquiring an estate which you
may leave to your heirs, or re
tain as a fund for yonr own
support in old age, if your life
be prolonged.
Such a step will prompt you
to save, wili strengthen your
credit, will increase your con
fidence, will preserve you from
care and will give you lasting
satisfaction.
The Plan U Simple.
The Security Absolute.
It is the perfect development
of the Lfe policy. To-day is
the right time to get facts and
figures. Address
W. J. RODDEY, Manager,
Por the Carolines.
ROCK HILL. 5. C.
XT ARTSY ILLE RAILROAD.
In effect Dec 8, 1893.
DAILY MIXID TRAIN
Leave H&rtavil! - 6.00 a m
Jovann 6.20 a m
Floyd’s 6.85 a m
ArriveDarlington 7.30 a m
Leave Darlington - 6.30 p m
Floyd’s 8.00 p m
Jovann 8.30 p m
Arrrlve Hartsvtlle 8.40 p m
J. F. DIVINE, Oen. Sopt.
No. 52 runs through to Columbia
via Central R. R. of S. C.
No. 78 runs solid to Wilming
ton, N. C., making close connection
with W. & W. R. R. for all points
North.
Train No. 14 runs via Wilson
and Fayetteville—Short Line—and
makes close connection for all points
North.
J. F. DIVINE. Gen. Supt.
amriLMINGTON, COLUMBIA &
TV AUGUSTA RALROAD.
In effect Dec. 3, 1893.
SOUTH BOUND.
No. 55.
Leave Wilmington 3-20 p m
Marion 6.11 p m
Arrive Florence 6.50 p m
No. 50.
Leave Florence 7.10 p m
Sumter 8.28 p m
Arrive Columbia 10.00 p m
No. 68.
Leave Florence 7.45 a m
Arrive Sumter 9 20 a m
No. 52.
Leave Sumter 9.53 a m
Arrive Colombia 11.06 a m
No. 52 runs through from Charles
ton via Central Railroad; leaving
Lanes 8-40 a m, Manning 9 18 a m.
NORTH BOUND.
No. 51.
Leave Colnmbia 4.30 a m
Sumter 5-57 a m
Arrive Florence 7.15 a m
No. 56.
Leave Florence 7.40 a m
Marlon 8.23 a m
Arrive Wilmington 11.10 a m
No. 53.
Leave Columbia 4.20 p m
Arrive Sumter 5.35 p m
No. 59.
Leave Columbia—
Sumter 5.45 p m
Arrive Florence— 6.55 p m
No. 53 rnns thiounu so cuarleston
via central Railroad, arriving Man
ning 6.15 p m. Lanes 7.00 p m,
Charleston8.45 pm.
Trains on Manchester and Augusta
B. R-, leave Sumter dally except Sun
day, 10.50 a. m., arrive Rimini 11:59 a.
m. Returning leave Rimini 1.00 p.
m.. arrive Sumter 2:10 p. m.
Trains on Wilmington, Chadbourm
and Conway Railroad leave Chad-
bourn at 10 10 a m, arrive at Conway
12.30 p m, returning leave Conway at
2:00 p. m., arrive Chad bourn 4:50 p.
m. Leave Chadbourn 7.00 a m and
5.15 p m, arrive at Hub 7 45 a m aud
8.00 p m. Returning leave Hub 8.15 a
m and 6-30 p in, arrive at Chadbonru
9.00 a m ana 7.15 p m. Dally exeept
Sunday.
JOHN F, DIVINE. Gen’l Supt,