It was a warm June morning, and the Latter Day Saints were asbusy as the bees whose hive they have chosen for their emblem. Inthe fields and in the streets rose the same hum of human industry.
Down the dusty high roads defiled long streams of heavilyladenmules, all heading to the west, for the gold fever had broken outin California, and the Overland Route lay through the City of theElect. There, too, were droves of sheep and bullocks coming infrom the outlying pasture lands, and trains of tired immigrants,men and horses equally weary of their interminable journey.
Through all this motley assemblage, threading her way with theskill of an accomplished rider, there galloped Lucy Ferrier, her fairface flushed with the exercise and her long chestnut hair floatingout behind her. She had a commission from her father in the City,and was dashing in as she had done many a time before, with allthe fearlessness of youth, thinking only of her task and how it wasto be performed. The travel-stained adventurers gazed after herin astonishment, and even the unemotional Indians, journeyingin with their pelties, relaxed their accustomed stoicism as theymarvelled at the beauty of the pale-faced maiden.
She had reached the outskirts of the city when she found theroad blocked by a great drove of cattle, driven by a half-dozenwild-looking herdsmen from the plains. In her impatience sheendeavoured to pass this obstacle by pushing her horse into whatappeared to be a gap. Scarcely had she got fairly into it, however,before the beasts closed in behind her, and she found herselfcompletely embedded in the moving stream of fierce-eyed, longhornedbullocks. Accustomed as she was to deal with cattle, shewas not alarmed at her situation, but took advantage of everyopportunity to urge her horse on, in the hopes of pushing herway through the cavalcade. Unfortunately the horns of one of thecreatures, either by accident or design, came in violent contactwith the flank of the mustang, and excited it to madness. In aninstant it reared up upon its hind legs with a snort of rage, andpranced and tossed in a way that would have unseated any but askilful rider. The situation was full of peril. Every plunge of theexcited horse brought it against the horns again, and goaded it tofresh madness. It was all that the girl could do to keep herself inthe saddle, yet a slip would mean a terrible death under the hoofsof the unwieldy and terrified animals. Unaccustomed to suddenemergencies, her head began to swim, and her grip upon the bridleto relax. Choked by the rising cloud of dust and by the steam fromthe struggling creatures, she might have abandoned her efforts indespair, but for a kindly voice at her elbow which assured her ofassistance. At the same moment a sinewy brown hand caught thefrightened horse by the curb, and forcing a way through the drove,soon brought her to the outskirts.
“You’re not hurt, I hope, miss,” said her preserver, respectfully.
She looked up at his dark, fierce face, and laughed saucily. “I’mawful frightened,” she said, na?vely; “whoever would have thoughtthat Poncho would have been so scared by a lot of cows?”
“Thank God, you kept your seat,” the other said, earnestly. Hewas a tall, savage-looking young fellow, mounted on a powerfulroan horse, and clad in the rough dress of a hunter, with a longrifle slung over his shoulders. “I guess you are the daughter ofJohn Ferrier,” he remarked; “I saw you ride down from his house.
When you see him, ask him if he remembers the Jefferson Hopesof St. Louis. If he’s the same Ferrier, my father and he were prettythick.”
“Hadn’t you better come and ask yourself?” she asked, demurely.
The young fellow seemed pleased at the suggestion, and his darkeyes sparkled with pleasure. “I’ll do so,” he said; “we’ve been in themountains for two months, and are not over and above in visitingcondition. He must take us as he finds us.”
“He has a good deal to thank you for, and so have I,” sheanswered; “he’s awful fond of me. If those cows had jumped on meHe’d have never got over it.”
“Neither would I,” said her companion.
“You! Well, I don’t see that it would make much matter to you,anyhow. You ain’t even a friend of ours.”
The young hunter’s dark face grew so gloomy over this remarkthat Lucy Ferrier laughed aloud.
“There, I didn’t mean that,” she said; “of course, you are a friendnow. You must come and see us. Now I must push along, or fatherwon’t trust me with his business any more. Good-bye!”
“Good-bye,” he answered, raising his broad sombrero, andbending over her little hand. She wheeled her mustang round, gaveit a cut with her riding-whip, and darted away down the broadroad in a rolling cloud of dust.
Young Jefferson Hope rode on with his companions, gloomyand taciturn. He and they had been among the Nevada Mountainsprospecting for silver, and were returning to Salt Lake City in thehope of raising capital enough to work some lodes which theyhad discovered. He had been as keen as any of them upon thebusiness until this sudden incident had drawn his thoughts intoanother channel. The sight of the fair young girl, as frank andwholesome as the Sierra breezes, had stirred his volcanic, untamedheart to its very depths. When she had vanished from his sight,he realized that a crisis had come in his life, and that neithersilver speculations nor any other questions could ever be of suchimportance to him as this new and all-absorbing one. The lovewhich had sprung up in his heart was not the sudden, changeablefancy of a boy, but rather the wild, fierce passion of a man ofstrong will and imperious temper. He had been accustomed tosucceed in all that he undertook. He swore in his heart that hewould not fail in this if human effort and human perseverancecould render him successful.
